He nodded and looped his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. “Yeah, this.” He crushed his mouth to hers and kissed her even more wildly, more passionately than before, stealing the breath clean from her lungs and turning her legs to jelly.
When they finally came up for air, she was lightheaded and more turned on than ever.
“I’ll be whatever you want me to be, Eva, but just know that if I had my way, I’d be more. I’m going to give you time to think. One night with no names, no expectations is one thing, but we’re neighbors now. You need to really think about what it is you want.” He swiped his thumb over her bottom lip. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m right next door.” Then he kissed her again, once, closed-mouthed but no less fierce, only to release her—against her will—and head down the path to the driveaway, disappearing into the night and around the hedge that separated their houses.
She was about to close the door when she heard a faint but very distinct moo from just beyond the hedge, followed by, “Goodnight, Just Eva.”
Laughing and smiling a smile that hurt her face, she shut the door and leaned back against it, her heart thundering, her pulse racing and her hope for the future seeming brighter than it had in a very long while.
6
Scott tossed on his sunglasses as he locked the door to his red Toyota Tacoma and headed toward his office building. Dynamic Creative Marketing and Advertising was located in downtown Seattle, not three blocks from Pike Place Market, with its fish-tossing mongers and kitschy shops. He could walk to all the best food trucks and restaurants for lunch, as well as his buddy Mason’s sports bar for an after-shift drink.
He’d been at Dynamic Creative for two months now and, so far, had loved every single minute of it. Even though he applied for the vacant COO position and was more than qualified for it, the man in charge of hiring—Remy Barker—didn’t think Scott was right for that position and offered him the senior marketing consultant position instead.
Scott hadn’t been pleased at first, since Remy was a good fifteen or so years younger than him and had clearly earned his position through nepotism, but Scott took the job anyway. Dynamic Creative was the leading advertising and marketing firm in the city—possibly the state—and he wanted his foot in the door no matter what.
So even though he wasn’t one of the top dogs running things, he was still in charge of a shitload. On day one, he was assigned his own team and given a snazzy corner office with a view of the Ferris wheel on the water. Not too shabby, but he’d have preferred the fancy letters behind his name too and the salary to go along with it.
He knew he had a bit of a strut when he entered the building, but so fucking what? He was happy. He had a sexy new neighbor, he’d rubbed one out that morning, and he was starting another great week at his awesome job.
What better way to start a Monday than that?
Tapping his fingers on Sondra’s desk as he entered the office, he smiled at the grandmotherly receptionist and asked her about her weekend.
“It was great, hon, thanks. And yours?”
He couldn’t keep the cocky grin from his face if he tried. “It was awesome, thanks.”
“Your nine o’clock appointment is waiting for you in your office, Mr. Dixon,” Sondra went on. “I grabbed him a coffee.” She handed Scott his messages.
Right! Mr. Fletcher, the whale of a client that Remy wanted Scott to land. Finally, Mr. Fletcher had agreed to take Scott’s call, and the two had spoken on the phone for only a brief five minutes, but those five minutes seemed to be enough, and the man agreed to come in and have a proper meeting with Scott. Hear his pitch and find out just what Scott and his team could really do for Fletcher Holdings.
And Fletcher Holdings held a lot. Nightclubs, strip clubs, lounges, vape shops, and a few casinos outside city limits. He seemed to have his hand in over a dozen pies, but the newest confection he’d gotten involved with was a distillery, and Dynamic Creative wanted a piece of that pie. They wanted to help Mr. Fletcher bring Fletcher Spirits to the masses.
Sondra wished him luck and handed him his mug of coffee—just like she did every morning—and he headed toward his office, whistling.
Yes, today was a day to whistle.
He was about to land this VIP client with the pitch of a lifetime, and hopefully before the week was over, Eva would be coming over for a cup of sugar—or more.
“Mr. Fletcher,” he started, stepping into his office, where a man in a dark suit with dark hair sat with his back to Scott. The man stood up and turned around. “I’m Scott Dixon. So nice to meet you. Thank you very much for coming in today.” He offered his hand.
“Please, call me Todd.” His smile encompassed his entire face, and his eyes became laser focused. He shook Scott’s hand, his grip firm, almost too firm, as if he were trying to establish some kind of dominance. It sent a frisson of unease racing to the base of Scott’s skull, but he chalked it up to the client simply trying to make sure Scott knew who was in charge. He braced himself for a bit of a pissing match. That always seemed to be the way when the whale was an alpha asshole who was used to bossing people around.
Well, so was Scott, and soon Mr. Todd Fletcher would realize just who was running this show. And it wasn’t him.
Todd’s smile was wily, almost too big to be real. “It was the least I could do after your quick phone pitch. I definitely want to hear more. Sounds like you and your team could make me a buttload of money.”
Scott chuckled as he released Todd’s hand and continued on into the office and around to his desk. “That’s the plan. Making you a buttload of money makes us a buttload of money, so we’re in for a win-win here.”
They both took their seats, smiling. Todd sipped his coffee and inclined his head toward the photo of Freddie that sat on the windowsill. “That your boy?”
Scott took a sip of his own coffee. “Sure is. Freddie. Hell of a kid.”
“Got two sons of my own, lights of my life.”
“Kids are great, aren’t they? Keep you feeling young. Until you wrestle with them, then the next morning as you struggle to get your ass out of bed and you feel twenty years older.”
Todd’s pale ice-blue eyes didn’t crinkle at the sides or sparkle, but he laughed. “So true.” He cleared his throat, his face turning serious, thick brows narrowing. “I’m a busy man, Scott, so let’s get down to brass tacks. What can you and your team do for Fletcher Holdings that no other marketing team can?”
Scott planted both hands on his chrome desk and grinned. “Well, Todd, I’m glad you asked.” Then he proceeded to wow the man with each and every one of his plans until Todd’s socks were so far knocked off, they were clear across the room.
“Ready to go, buddy?” Scott asked as he swung Freddie’s Ironman backpack over his shoulder and helped his son into his sweater. “Did you have a good day?”
Freddie nodded as he took Scott’s hand, and they headed out of the classroom where after-school care was held. He yawned wide, tilting his head back, which made his poker-straight strawberry-blond hair flop back. “Yeah, it was a good day, Dad, but I missed you.”