Page 7 of Tempt Me

“Why not stay here? Jackson will give you an internship and teach you everything you need to know about coding.”

My cheeks heated, and the truth came bubbling out. “I don’t want him to give me anything. I want to earn it.”

My family had money, but they all made contributions in their own ways. They ranged from my mother’s volunteer work to Jackson’s multibillion-dollar company.

Except for me. I’d been handed things my whole life. If I wanted respect from my family, and myself, I had to find a way to contribute to society. Jamila could understand that, even if she hadn’t grown up in a mansion like I had.

I gazed into her dark-chocolate eyes. I couldn’t let her go without helping her in some way.

“I get it,” she said. “Let me snag my jacket, and then I’ll give you the tour of Jamilow Software’s global headquarters.” She winked and flung open the door to Jackson’s office.

A minute later, she was back, shrugging into her white blazer. I almost laughed at the difference between her spotless blazer and my stained chef’s coat, but I had to save my breath for jogging to keep up with her long strides to the elevator.

“Hey, Paulina,” I called as we passed her desk. “Jackson said you can have the rest of the day off. Have a great weekend!” That’d serve him right for all the noogies.

Because of the fish stink clinging to my clothes, we lowered the windows of her white Porsche Cayenne on the drive to Mountain View. She dragged the story of Larry and my disastrous day from me. I didn’t mind because her musical laugh was my favorite. It wasn’t a flute-like titter but a sound clear, bright, and loud like a trumpet. It always made me feel like sunlight landing on my face, and I laughed too.

Once we hit 101, the wind noise kept us from talking much, so I didn’t have a chance to ask what had bothered her earlier. I’d figure it out at her office. Then I’d find a way to make it better. That was something I didn’t suck at.

She parked her SUV in the CEO’s reserved spot. A reporter perched on top of one of the giant planters outside the glass front doors, but Jamila blew past him. Keeping my face averted, I followed in her wake. The last thing she needed was for him to recognize me in my stained outfit and have to explain why the Joneses’ socialite daughter was dressed as one of Jamilow’s line cooks.

As soon as we were in the lobby, a blond, white guy in his thirties rushed Jamila. He wore an ill-advised combination of raspberry-colored pants that were too loose in the seat and an expensive-looking pair of navy-and-brown brogues. His slim-fit white shirt was rumpled, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to the middle of his forearms.

“Thank fuck you’re here. I’ve been fielding calls all day. We need to talk—” He scanned me from my windblown hair to my green flip-flops, and looking down his nose, he said, “The entry for the kitchen staff is next to the loading dock.”

“It’s okay,” Jamila said. “Natalie, meet Winslow Keating-Ashworth, my COO. Winslow, this is Natalie Jones. I promised her a tour of the office.”

Winslow gave me a longer survey. His red-rimmed blue eyes widened. “Natalie Jones, of the Jasper Joneses?”

My chest tightened every time someone brought up my dad. They all seemed to remember him—know him—better than I did. “Yeah,” I said.

“Sorry, I…” He gestured at my stained uniform.

I rolled my eyes. Jamila’s number two or not, he should treat staff members better than that even if they worked in the cafeteria.

“Let’s walk and talk,” Jamila said, gesturing for us to flank her. The security guard tried to stop me, but one steely glare from Jamila had him opening the gate for me to pass through without a badge.

“Cafeteria’s through there.” Jamila waved toward a set of double doors as she stepped onto the open staircase that led to the second floor. “I’ll introduce you to the kitchen manager later if you decide that’s still your passion.” She winked.

I smiled back, wishing I could catch that wink and lock it away. Had I ever spent this much one-on-one time with Jamila before? My brother was always around to steal her attention with their inside jokes, his similar career, and easy camaraderie. Not today. Today, Jamila was all mine on our private tour. Despite my gross clothes, I was going to treasure every moment she spent with me today.

“Billie’s on the warpath,” Winslow said. “She’s called twice. She wants to know why you didn’t consult the board before you hired a PI.”

I winced at the reminder of the Christmas party’s hostess. Tech heiress Billie Woods was a friend of my mother’s who funded startups and sat on several boards, including Jamila’s. She had a reputation for being a keen investor. I didn’t envy Jamila’s being on the receiving end of her wrath. I still felt the burn of her glare as I was carried out of her party.

“She texted me,” Jamila said. “I’ll give her a call back in a bit and settle her down. You stay away from her. We don’t need to get her any more riled up.”

Winslow’s cheeks matched his trousers. “I’ve got a meeting scheduled this afternoon with the investor relations folks.”

“Why?” Jamila asked as she breezed through a set of glass doors. I was still scuttling up the stairs, and Winslow didn’t bother holding the door for me. I caught it just before it closed and hurried through.

So much for my private tour.

We passed a row of offices. Behind the frosted glass doors, most appeared to be occupied even on a Friday afternoon. The labels next to the doors had only names, but I assumed they were upper management from the large windows and the wood furniture I could make out through the glass.

“Do you think we should send a message to the shareholders about the situation?” Winslow asked.

I hadn’t liked the dude at first, but he seemed to be doing the right things. Sometimes first impressions were mistaken. Grudgingly, I raised him a notch in my book despite his disastrous fashion choices.

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