Jameson is deep in conversation with the men as the four of them stride through the crowded foyer. Everyone stops and stares. I stand still as he walks past, and at the last moment he glances up and catches sight of me. His step falters, and I give him a subtle shake of my head. I don’t want anyone to know about us. He nods once as if in understanding and keeps walking as he falls back into his conversation. We watch as they leave through the front doors and disappear up the street.
They must be going out for lunch.
“Seriously, where do we find men like the Miles brothers?” Ava sighs.
“Right?” I watch the street they disappeared up.
“One of these days,” she whispers. “One of these days.”
I wonder if Jameson had a long and boozy lunch, and more importantly, did he bring back cake? It’s getting to that time of the day where my mind is fixed firmly on something sweet to have with my coffee. “Hi, Emily, have you got your stories we are running with tomorrow?” Hayden asks.
I smile up at him. Hmm. “I didn’t think they were due until four, and it’s only three.”
Hayden is the person who I turn the news in to, and he then passes them on to the next stage.
“I know, but I like to get a head start,” he says casually.
Head start on what? Is he the one selling the stories? Is that why he wants them early, so he can get them off to the highest bidder?
“They’re not ready yet.”
“Okay, cool.” He smiles. “Email them over as soon as you get them sorted.”
My eyes hold his. “Sure.”
I watch him walk back to his desk and fall into conversation with the person who sits next to him.
I’m watching you, asshole.
I look around the office with renewed determination. I’m watching all of you. Every single one.
It’s just now four, and I email Jameson.
Hi,
I booked you a massage with a physio. They will be at your place at seven. Hope this suits your plans.
FB
xoxoxo
A few moments later, a reply bounces back.
Dear FB,
Please define “they.”
J
xx
I roll my eyes. I knew this was coming.
Dear Mr. J,
They . . . aka . . . male physiotherapist professional, nonsexual-act-performing masseuse. Specializes in back treatment and hella expensive.
FB
xoxoxo
I wait for a few moments, and a reply bounces back.
FB,
Fine, can you let them into my apartment, please? I’ll have Alan pick you up at seven. I’ll meet you there, maybe fifteen minutes late.
J
xox
I smile broadly as hope blooms in my chest. I write back.
Are we seeing each other tonight?
He replies.
Yes. I’m away for the week next week, therefore, I’m taking next week’s meetings too. See you tonight.
Jay
xox
I probably should play a little hard to get and pretend I have something going on . . . but I just don’t have it in me. I email back.
Jay,
I’ll make dinner. What do you want?
FB
xoxo
A reply bounces back.
The only thing I want to eat tonight is you. Now get back to work before I bend you over your desk.
xox
I smirk as I feel my face flush, and I click out of my emails. He is undoubtedly the hottest man on earth.
I feel like a master chef in Jameson’s fancy kitchen. It’s just now seven, and I turn the gas on and lift the pot of water onto it. I like having dinner ready for him. I know he’s never had it, so it feels special to do it for him.
The security buzzer sounds, and I look around. Shit. Where’s the intercom?
I see a phone and screen near the front door. I pick up. “Hello?”
“Hello, this is Matthew, the physio. I’m here for a massage therapy session.”
I smile as I stare at the screen. Matthew is good looking, has the whole Scandinavian thing going on. “Come up.” I push the button and release the door for him, and he disappears into the elevator. Moments later, he knocks on the door. “Hello.” I smile.
“Hi.” He walks in wearing a white uniform and carrying a fold-up massage bed.
Wow . . . Matthew is really hot. Maybe I should get a massage too?
“Where do you want me to set up?” he asks.
“Umm.” I frown as I look around. Where do I want him to set up? “Just hang on a minute.” I walk down the hallway and peer into the rooms. There’s a room at the end with a treadmill and weight bench. “Just down here at the end, please.”
He saunters down with his sexy walk and begins to set up. Suddenly I’m reminded that this is the exact scenario that Jameson had with Chloe . . . only they really did have sex. My stomach rolls at the thought.
Stop it.
“I’ll be out here if you need me.” I walk nervously back out into the kitchen. Shit, is it safe to leave him down there alone? Should I be watching him or something?
I peer back down the hall to make sure he doesn’t come out of that room and snoop around. Oh, damn it, what’s the protocol with strangers in a place like this?
The front door clicks, and Jameson comes into view. “Hello,” he says flatly.
I smile. “Hi.” I wrap my arms around him. “How’s my man?”
“Fine.” He brushes past me in a rush.
Oh. I frown. That’s not the greeting I was hoping for.
“Is he here yet?”
“Yes, in the room down at the end.”
“I’ll just have a quick shower. Can you tell him I’ll be five minutes, please?”
“Sure.”
He disappears into the bedroom, and I walk back down the hall. “Jameson is just taking a quick shower. He will only be a few minutes.”
“Okay, thanks.” Matthew smiles.
I walk back out into the kitchen and stir the vegetables I have cooking. Maybe I should have stayed at my place tonight. He didn’t seem too pleased to see me.
Ten minutes later warm hands come around my waist from behind, and Jameson’s lips find my temple. “Hey, babe,” he whispers softly.
I turn to find him with a white towel around his waist. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just really tired.” He exhales heavily. “The last thing I feel like is a fucking massage,” he whispers as he holds his cheek to mine.
“You’ll feel much better after it,” I say. “Massage, dinner, and bed.”
He rolls his eyes and trudges up the hall.
I smile as I listen. Every time Jameson inhales, he gives a slight snore. I’m sitting on the couch in my pajamas watching a movie, and he’s lying with his head on my lap, fast asleep.
This feels strangely . . . normal.
He wasn’t joking when he said he was tired. He’s more than tired—he’s exhausted.
I think it’s more mental exhaustion than physical, and I can’t imagine what he deals with at work every day. He’s had the pressure of running Miles Media from such a young age. Even in his youth, he would have been coached for this role. But Jameson Miles the CEO is a mere mortal, and I feel a protective urge roll over me.
I mindlessly run my fingers through his hair and enjoy this close time with him.
I don’t imagine many people see him so relaxed. “Jay,” I whisper softly.