Page 23 of Fresh Tracks
“What?” I wipe a stray drop of tea from my chin. “Oh god, did I have something on my face that entire time they were here?”
He smirks and takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Work for me, Grace.”
Jeez. I guess he is very serious about this, but I feel like maybe making him sweat a little first would be fun.
“We’re just going to dive right into this? No courting or wooing me like the prized asset I am?” I lean forward in my chair, propping my elbow on my knee and my chin on my fist. “You know a girl likes a little foreplay. Ease into the main event, you know?”
He nearly chokes on his coffee and suddenly, without my brother or sister-in-law here, he looks a lot less at ease. Almostnervous. I swear I even see a hint of red creep up from his stubble over his cheeks.
“Do I make you nervous, Mr. Jacob?” I tease, my voice laced with amusement and maybe a touch of flirtatiousness. OK, more than a touch.
He glares back at me, but I still see a hint of that nervousness as he squirms in his seat. I savor this moment before he replies. “Something like that. You have a knack for seeing through me, Rainbow.”
Something like that.
Seeing through me.
I don’t know what to make of that, but I don’t have time to think about it. TJ grabs the arm of my chair, and slides me closer to him, turning it so we're eye to eye. With his jacket in his lap, the motion draws my eyes to his defined biceps and chorded forearms, barely straining to move me and my armchair. He literally just turned the tables on me, or I guess chair.
I’m starting to get it. My Grandma, Veronica, Josie, even Collin and Walker. I can see TJ’s appeal. He is hot. I'm just going to tuck that away though because I might actually be crazy enough to work for him.
He crosses his arms over the back of the chair. “I mean it this time. I’m serious. I want you to manage my charitable giving. You'd be working with my brother, Jake, who also happens to be my accountant, financial advisor, and lawyer.”
There’s no playfulness, no doubt, no nervousness, in his voice now. That has completely vanished. This doesn’t feel like the spur of the moment question he blurted out at the bar the first time he asked me. His blue eyes are so intense, unflinching in holding my gaze, leaving no doubt that he means it.
This time, he's all business, all confidence, all conviction. I’m used to cocky ski bros or arrogant finance guys and their irritatingswagger. But this look — this matter-of-factness in his tone — is something different. It’s almost a presence more than an attitude.
I swallow, sitting taller in my chair. “OK.”
His eyes soften and his grip on the back of the chair relaxes. “Wait, what? That easy?” He looks both shocked and relieved, which is exactly what I'm feeling right now. Collin and Josie warmed me up to the idea last night and now, seeing TJ in person again, it feels like the universe is back on my side, giving me a sign.
“Yep. So is this a full time job?” I hold my fingers together like I'm holding a pencil in one hand, scribbling notes on an imaginary note pad in the other. “What will my responsibilities be, Mr. Jacob?”
His eyes flick upward in annoyance. “Can you stop calling methattoo? TJ is more than fine.” He grabs a napkin off the coffee table and scribbles something on it with a pencil that was tucked behind his ear.
Wait, was that there the whole time? Hidden by that shaggy blond hair? Maybe it’s some kind of musician quirk, always ready to jot down a lyric when the moment strikes.
He quickly folds the napkin and hands it to me.
Our fingers graze as I pull my hand away with the napkin note. I feel the brief warmth of his touch and the tension in him that spreads into me. His hand recoils, almost like a reflex and he drops to his side. I notice how his hand curls into a fist before flexing his fingers back out and resting them on his thigh.
I sigh and tilt my head. “Really? Handwritten notes on napkins? And who carries a pencil? You know you could just text me it if you don’t want someone else to overhear. God, you really are old.” I meant it as a playful jab, but he seems both unamused and unaffected.
“Look. If I gave you that much to manage,” he points tothe number on the napkin, “to pick causes for, when and how to donate, would that be a full time job?”
I pull the note to my chest like I'm hiding my poker hand, wearing a sheepish grin. He watches me, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile as he leans forward over the back of the chair.
I fold the note open and look down. My mouth hangs open and I’m not sure when I stopped blinking.
That’s a big number.
“TJ,” my voice comes out as a breathy whisper. I find myself almost speechless for a change. “That's like seven figures. Is this a joke?”
“Oh, shit,” his brows furrows and forms a line in between them, drawing my eyes to that little piercing. He reaches over and snatches the napkin. He scribbles something on it and hands it back. “Sorry. I missed a zero.”
I open the note again, and wow… OK, now there are eight figures.
I have so many questions.
