Page 107 of Work with Me

“Hey, no fair guessing.” A little of my excitement leaked out. I’d wanted to surprise him.

“No more guessing.” He tightened his grip on me. “Tell me.”

With my fingertip, I traced the curve of the lips on his Rolling Stones T-shirt. “I booked my next gig. And it’s here in San Francisco.” I dared to look up. For the last month, he’d been begging me to come live here so we could stop the endless travel and separations that exhausted us both. But was it really what he wanted? His expression was blank and still.

“Jamila asked me last November to do a job for her, but I turned it down. She ended up delaying the project, and now it’s available again. It’s a—a year-long gig.” My voice faltered. Why didn’t he look happy?

“I was thinking I’d bring Noah when the school year ends. He’d stay here through the summer, and if things work out, he could start school here in the fall. If…if that’s what we want.” My voice had dropped to a whisper.

“You’re telling me you’re coming to San Francisco for the next year? Maybe longer?” His voice rumbled through my chest, pressed against his.

“Yes?” It was barely audible.

He crushed me into him, lifting me off the ground. “I don’t believe it. That’s the best news ever.” He set me back down and stared into my face. “It’s real? I haven’t passed out from heat exhaustion back at the keg? Better pinch me.”

I pinched his nipple, a little harder than I should. “You scared me! I thought you were upset. That you didn’t want me here after all.”

He gasped at the pain. And then he crashed his lips onto mine, bruising them against my teeth. His tongue invaded my mouth, and his fingers marched right past the hem of my skirt, teasing the bare skin of my ass revealed by my red thong. I’d worn a different style of big-girl panties for my big-news weekend.

He was steel against my stomach, and I rubbed against him, needing more. When he nudged one leg between mine, I ground against the roughness of his jeans. My thong dug into my swollen flesh, lighting me up in pleasure. If he kept kissing me like that and teasing along the edge of my panties, I might be able to come right there against his jeans. I ground harder into him, chasing the sensation.

“Jay. Are you back here?”

Cooper’s voice was decidedly unamused. Still, he gave us a minute to compose ourselves. Jackson straightened my skirt and then adjusted his jeans. I rubbed my pink lipstick off the corner of his mouth and then smudged a thumb around the outline of my lips.

“Right here, Coop.” He stepped around me, shielding me from his partner.

“Sorry to interrupt. I assume you’ll be leaving soon, and I wanted to check the talking points with you for the speech.”

I reached for Jackson’s hand. “Stay. Do the speech. I’ll wait.” Jackson had worked too hard to assert himself, to become an equal partner over the past two months, to lose this opportunity to appear before his employees as a leader.

When he turned to look at me, his gaze was soft and grateful and full of love. “We’ll do it now. I’ll just be a minute.”

“Alicia.” Cooper looked anywhere but at my face. I must’ve missed a smudge of lipstick.

“Cooper. Congratulations on the year-end results.” They’d announced them a few days ago. I wished my ratios were that good. But I’d get there. Eventually.

“Thank you.” He flashed me a glance that wasn’t as subzero as usual. Not quite friendly, but closer than when he’d stormed out of that conference room at the launch party. Maybe he and I would eventually get to be friends, too.

I stepped up next to Jackson to pass him. I’d get a beer from Marlee and find a spot to stand while I listened to their speech. But he stopped me, whispering in my ear. “You must be tired from the flight. Go up to the sixth floor. You can relax in my office.”

I nodded and crossed the courtyard to reenter the lobby. After taking the elevator to the top floor, I stepped out into a bright, airy space. The converted mill’s original wide-plank floors glowed with the reflection of the skylight right above.

Which way to go? There were four corner offices; surely the company’s cofounder had to have one of them. I strode across the floor toward the nearest one, weaving between the workspaces in the center.

The office was unlit, and the door was closed. The nameplate read, “Cooper Fallon.” Cooper was downstairs, so I risked a peek through the glass wall. It looked the same as it had on that disastrous video call after the bad sushi incident. The day Cooper had accused us of an affair, and I’d told him I didn’t even like Jackson. I never lied, but I’d lied that day.

A chime sounded from someone’s workstation behind me, reminding me I was staring into the COO’s office. I glanced around. One of the other executives or their admins might still be up here. Weston, the CEO, whom I’d never met but whom Jackson had told me all about, might be prowling the floor. I backed away and went to the next corner office.

I’d lucked out. This door had Jackson’s name and his new title, VP of Development, on the plate. The door was closed, and the scanner light next to it glowed red.

Tentatively, I pushed the handle, but it didn’t budge. Jackson had told me to wait in his office. Were there cameras capturing my every move? Would a security guard burst onto the floor and escort me out? I tried to keep the apprehensive wince off my face as I extended the visitor badge clipped to my neckline toward the scanner. The light flashed green, and the lock clicked. With a victorious smile, I pushed the door open.

Unlike Cooper’s sunny office, Jackson’s was overshadowed by two adjacent, taller buildings. Still, some natural light filtered in from the two huge windows as well as from the glass front of his office.

A rug anchored a small seating area with a couch, a chaise, and two armchairs. Through a half-open door behind it, a small bathroom was visible. On the opposite wall, a bookshelf was filled not with books but with pieces of computer equipment: a pile of hard drives and another of circuit boards, a couple of disassembled laptops, a clear acrylic tray filled with screws.

Predictably, Jackson’s desk held a similar array of electronics, plus a few stacks of papers adorned with sticky notes and flags that said, “Sign here.” The enormous wood rectangle was big enough to support a docking station for Jackson’s laptop plus three big screen monitors. The monitor edges butted up against each other so Jackson could code without distraction from the windows or the front glass wall. It was a good setup for him. Marlee had probably arranged it.

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