Page 31 of Tempting Eden

“Drop it, Fairfax. There is one thing you do know, though. What’s for dinner?”

He laughed and patted my shoulder. “I’m thinking of ordering in some Trainstation?”

My mouth watered. Trainstation was the best meat-and-three in town. “Yes.”

“Chicken pot pie?”

“Yes.”

“Fried green tomatoes, greens, mac and cheese?”

“All of the above.”

“All right. I’ll throw in some buttermilk pie and get the order placed. Anything else you need?”

I raised my head and flinched against the late afternoon sunlight cutting through my windows. “Another pot of coffee.”

“Coming right up.” He left me as my phone buzzed.

Jack’s voice came through, smooth and deep. “Clara, broker from Miami, calling.”

I rubbed my eyes lightly. “Which one is she?”

“Has a family from the Dominican Republic looking for a landing pad on the coast for when they come to visit relatives. Parents and three small kids.”

Damn, he was good.

“Fine. Put her through.”

I worked for four more hours, talking the entire time, giving the same spiel on repeat, but tailored to meet each broker’s needs. It was family friendly; it was perfect for retirees; no better place for newlyweds; it was a singles haven; career driven? Perfect! And on and on.

It was working; eight more units reserved. At this rate, I’d be over fifty percent sold by the time the party rolled around. Then the real battle would begin, selling off the not-so-attractive lower floors and the super pricey top floor. In-between was easy.

By the time I came up for air, I was certain the food was cold, which made me sadder than a sane person should have been over cold food. But soggy fried green tomatoes would make any self-respecting Southerner cry.

I pushed out my glass doors. Jack and I were the only ones still left in the office.

“Hungry?” He looked up at me with those eyes, the ones that watched me so intently the night I laid bare beneath him. His collar hung open, and his sleeves were rolled up. I wondered if any more clothes would come off as the evening progressed. I licked my lips.

“Yes.”On multiple fronts.

“Come on.” He rose and led me past the cubicles and into the kitchen.

I sat in one of the plastic chairs, common to office kitchens the world over, as he slid on an oven mitt. He pulled out tray after tray of food from the oven and set them on top of the stove.

I moaned when the aroma hit me. “Oh my God, I’m so hungry.”

He shuffled over, grabbed a couple of paper plates from the cabinet, and spooned up servings from each of the trays.

“Roll or cornbread?” he asked.

“Both.”

He gave me a wry glance over his shoulder. “Correct answer.”

His dark slacks made his ass look perfect, rounded but masculine. All muscle. Something a girl could really sink her teeth into.

He turned, and I found myself staring at his crotch. I looked up and away, but not before catching his half-smile out of the corner of my eye. He laid the plates down on the table, both overflowing with Trainstation deliciousness.

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