Page 37 of Big & Bossy

“Wow,” I breathed, coming to a stop in the center of the lobby. Shoppers and business men and women dodged their way around me but I didn’t care, I could stand here for hours, taking in every last little detail. “This is incredible.”

“It is.” Quincy grinned. “They restored it back to its original design?—”

“Back in the eighties and nineties,” I finished for him. I wasn’t able to contain my growing smile, even with Jackson’s arm so casually wrapped around my shoulders. “It’s Frank Lloyd Wright’s only work in the downtown area. I’ve done my research.”

Quincy chuckled, nodding to himself. “Well then. How much can I reasonably teach you if you’ve learned all you need to know?”

“I can definitely learn more,” I responded, leaning back into Jack just a hair. His warmth flooded my back as he pulled me in closer, his arm moving to hold me in place against his chest. I could feel his chin against the top of my head, just before he placed a little kiss. “I want you to show me. And talk to me, tell me everything you know. It’s nice to actually chat with someone knowledgeable about this stuff.”

“Don’t you get that with Harry?” Jack mumbled against my head.

“Not to this extent. Harry knows his stuff, but I still know more than he does.” I snorted at the admission, but it was true. I’d excelled in university, and Harry… well, he’d passed. “How do you feel about the light fixtures?”

“I like them,” Jack said quietly.

“Are they original?” I asked Quincy, my stomach beginning to churn with nerves from being so close to Jack.

“Yeah, they were put in back in 1905. If you wanted something similar, you’d have to get them custom-made.”

I nodded as I pulled out my notebook, making a quick note to remind myself of that later. It was already half full of ideas from the other places we’d stopped at so far. “The tile is gorgeous. Is that original?”

Quincy nodded.

“I don’t know how well that would work in the central offices, but for the lobby, something with this kind of design but more in your colors, Jack, could look really interesting,” I tacked on, jotting down another note.

Jack nodded against my head as he adjusted his arm, knocking into mine on accident. My notebook fell, the pen following after it, echoing through the already noisy lobby as both hit the cold tile.

“Sorry,” Jack said, releasing me in an instant. Before I could even bend to pick them up, he was down on one knee on the dirty ground, collecting them for me. I watched him, my breath frozen in my lungs, and he gave me a little smirk as he tucked the pen neatly back into the fold of the pad. He stood too close to my short skirt for my liking. I jumped as I felt something against my ankle, just a single finger trailing up the back of my leg over my stockings, so light I almost didn’t notice.

A shiver ran down my spine as he reached my skirt, lifting it just slightly at the back. He only pulled away once he’d reached the swell of my ass, a smug little grin plastered to his face as he looked down at me. “Are you alright, Mandy?”

My cheeks warmed as I felt the blood rush not only to my face but down between my thighs as well. Already, I could feel the smallest pool of heat form beneath the tights. Bad day to not wear fucking underwear, Miranda.

I cleared my throat. “F-fine.”

He’d been very touchy-feely today, always holding my hand or resting his somewhere on me, and now this. I wasn’t sure if it was just because of the cameras and occasional paparazzi or if it was more to do with what he’d let slip days ago at his campus. I still wasn’t sure if I believed it.

“Should we move into the library?” Quincy asked, gesturing with his hand toward the stairwell.

“Yes, please.”

————

Jackson’s hand rested firmly on my knee as we sat in the Tesla that he’d rented for the day. I was tired, my feet hurt, and all my mind could think about was getting back on the plane and flying home, getting to sleep in my own bed, and…

My stomach growled audibly.

Food. I was starving. I’d spent so much of today engrossed in architecture and interior design that I’d completely forgotten to have lunch, let alone dinner.

Immediately, Jackson turned a corner, cutting across two lanes of traffic and turning off the main road, no longer following the signs to O’Hare International. “Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are you going? The signs said?—”

“Don’t worry about it, princess.”

He turned down a side street, and then another, stopping in front of a small building with a plain black exterior and a little sign next to the door that simply said Oriole.

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