Page 130 of Tempt

DearGod, he’s beautiful.

I’ve seen hundreds of pictures of Jax Jamieson, watched hours of video, and even been to one of his concerts. But the complete effect of all of him, inches from my face, might be too much for one person to handle.

And that’s before he speaks.

“I repeat. What. Thefuck. Is going on?”

His voice is raw silk. Not overly smooth, like the Moviefone guy. A little rough. A precious gemstone cut from rock, preserved in its natural glory.

There are things I’m supposed to say if I ever meet Jax Jamieson.

I wrote them down somewhere.

“I’m Haley Telfer,” I manage finally. My throat works as I shove a hand under me, shifting onto my knees to pick up the papers. “But you know that.”

His irritation blurs with confusion. “Why would I know that?”

“You’re standing on my Social Security number.”

One of the papers is under the toe of his sneaker. I grab the edge of it, and his gaze narrows. What is it with me and pissing off these people?

Not that pissing off Wendy comes close to pissing off Jax Jamieson.

(Whom apparently I’m going to refer to with both names until the end of time.)

“Haley Telfer?”

“Yes?” I whisper because, holy shit, Jax Jamieson refers to people with two names too.

“You have ten seconds to get out of my studio.”

* * *

The tech and I stand next to each other, peering through the glass studio door into the hall. My jacket’s back on, not that the guy’s coming anywhere near me because he thinks I’m a lunatic.

On the other side of the door, Jax exchanges angry words with a man in a suit.

“That’s Shannon Cross,” I say.

The tech nods, stiff. “Correct. The CEO showing up means one or both of us is fired.”

“Well… which is it?”

We watch as Jax stabs a finger toward me and stalks off.

“I’m guessing you,” my companion murmurs.

The door opens, and Shannon Cross looks at me. “My office. Five minutes.” He turns and leaves.

After gathering my papers, I take the tech’s directions to the elevator to the third floor. A watchful assistant greets me and asks me to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs.

Great. I’ve been here less than an hour, and I’m about to be fired.

Instead of spinning out, I study the picture on the wall and the caption beside it.

Wicked Records’s headquarters. Founded in 1995, relocated to this new building in 2003. Employs two thousand people.

“Miss Telfer.”

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