Page 74 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
“No.”
I could tell right away he was going to anyway, which he did.
“You’re an attractive young woman, Miss Hardwick. You also seem intelligent and pragmatic, a combination that in my experience is rarer than a unicorn sighting. There’s no need for someone like you to sell yourself short.”
I winced at his choice of words. He had the grace to look apologetic.
I said tightly, “Just have the changes to me by tomorrow,” and left, slamming the door behind me.
I had to lean against
the wall in the corridor outside for a long time before my stomach settled enough to keep walking.
A few days later I had the finalized contract in hand. I decided to celebrate by having a mental breakdown.
I was facedown on my desk when the phone rang. Inconveniently, it kept on ringing, even when I ignored it and let it go to voice mail twice. After a short pause it started to ring again. I had the sense it was shouting at me, and I knew who was on the other end of the line before I even picked up.
“Hello?”
“Bianca. It’s Jackson.”
He sounded agitated. What a surprise. “As if I couldn’t tell from the growl.”
“Why weren’t you answering? I called the front desk and Pepper insisted you were in your office.”
I added Pepper to the list of my employees I was going to kill. “I am in my office. I’m just . . . thinking.”
There was a short pause. “That sounds ominous.”
“I had an attorney review the contract.”
Another pause, then his voice, dry as bone, “Please contain your excitement. I don’t think my ego can handle such enthusiasm.”
I sighed, flopped back into my chair, and propped my feet up on my desk.
He demanded, “Talk to me.”
I fought a childish urge to stick my tongue out at the phone. “Just prewedding jitters, dear, nothing to worry about.”
His voice changed to the soft, stroking murmur he so rarely used. “Getting cold feet, are we?”
The intimacy in his voice raised gooseflesh on my arms, which I defiantly credited to the air-conditioning. “Are you deliberately talking about me in first-person plural pronoun to irritate me?”
“I only have to breathe in your presence to irritate you. Now tell me what’s wrong.”
I closed my eyes and spent a few seconds deciding where to start. “It’s a little overwhelming, this whole thing we’re doing. I never imagined getting married would be like applying for a line of credit.”
“It’s always like that,” he replied instantly. “What else is wrong?”
My eyes snapped open. He sounded a little too sure of himself there. “Are you speaking from experience?”
His silence was fraught. I bolted upright in the chair. “You’ve been married before?” I attributed my unnecessary shout to my breakdown and gave myself a pass.
“No. I have. Not.” He punctuated his words with a hammer like he did when especially miffed, but I sensed something more behind this denial than his usual pissiness, so I decided to poke the bear.
“Are you lying to me?”
Over the phone came a bristling animal noise which, had I heard it while walking outdoors in the dark, would have made me wet myself.
