Page 26 of My Ex's Best Friend

“France? Is this the museum project?"

Jake smirks, a playful glint in his eyes. "It is, so I need you to get familiar with everything as soon as possible."

It makes sense, and I appreciate the strategic approach. "Very well. Anything else I should know?"

He straightens up, his gaze lingering on mine. "Yes, to make sure you get a taste of what we are about, you will be assigned a starting client. All you have to do for now is handle the client. Please let me know if you have any questions. I'll be right over there." He points toward his office.

“And what exactly does handling clients mean here?”

“You’ll be expected to entertain them and indulge them on their whims.” He shrugs. With a sheepish grin on his face, he says, “I’m kidding.”

I miss this about us. The playfulness, the fact that one look was enough to know what the other was thinking, what the other needed. I miss my best friend. But I can’t let him hurt me again.

So, I keep my face blank, and eventually, his smile fades.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What I meant was you’re expected to make partnerships and evaluate private client work, AKA take each client file and asses what stage we’re at making a sale. Further, we’ll be working on making a tailor-made profile on a client so that we can map their likes and wants and make the next acquisition seamless. That way, we bridge the gap between two sales from an established client by having a portfolio made up for each one of them beforehand.”

“And when new pieces come in, we’ll be able to know who exactly to reach out to first for making a sale.” Sounds like a brilliant idea. It reduces downtime between sales by at least thirty per cent if my estimates are correct.

He looks faintly impressed. “Exactly. Looks like you’ll have no problem fitting in.”

I don’t know why it happens, but I feel a blush creep through my body at his words. Thankfully, he’s gone before my skin stings and grows hot.

After a full day reading the file and getting familiar with my new workspace, thinking about the trip to France, while trying, and failing, not to think about Jake and how good he looks and how close he is and how great he smells, I return home, exhausted.

Flopping down on the couch, I find my mind consumed by thoughts of Jake yet again. I still can’t believe I agreed to work with him.

The images of that passionate night flash before my eyes, uninvited. It's as if the universe is mocking me.

The memory of our intertwined bodies, the heat between us, his musk as it envelops me. It’s a battle of hurt and desire.

“Ugh.” I lie down on my couch. I can’t keep thinking of my boss, ex-best friend this way. That’ll just make everything way worse.

8

JAKE

Sitting in my office chair, I am doing my best to focus on the emails in front of me as I flick my pen, the clicking sound not helping in the least. And my eyes keep wandering toward the door and glancing at the clock every few minutes.

I press the intercom button. "Bea, has Kiera arrived yet?"

Bea's voice, a touch annoyed, filters through the intercom. "Not in the last thirty seconds since you asked, Jake. She's not due for another twenty minutes."

"Right, right. Just curious." My eye fly to the clock again. Fuck, she’s right. It’s way too early still.

Another couple of emails read and the clicking of my pen drives me wild, but I can’t seem to put the damned thing down.

Without me even trying, my finger reaches the intercom. "Bea, any sign of Kiera?"

“Still eighteen minutes to go. Don’t worry. If you didn’t scare her away yesterday, she should be here soon, Mr. Bennett.”

Shit. Bea calling me Mr. Bennett is not a good sign.

Why am I this nervous?

I try to distract myself with more emails, and I think a lot of time passed and still no sign of Kiera. I am trying to hold myself back but somehow my finger is back on that intercom and I’m asking about her again.

Bea appears at my door. "Jake, seriously, she's not here yet because there are still sixteen minutes to go before she is due to be here. Now, do you want me to set up a camera or something?"

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