Want You Back Page 12

  There was nothing to do but respond. “Tom—”

  He held up his hands. “No, no, don’t say anything that’s gonna incriminate yourself. I’m just asking you, as a friend, if there’s something going on between you… snuff it out. You’re not in trouble now, of course, but — man, I hate to be like this — but if you can’t make a clean break… we’ll be forced to take more extreme measures. Joe and me.”

  “Like what?” I had to ask, needed to know.

  “Like firing you, Jacob. You’d have knowingly violated the code of conduct, and a boss’ direct orders. Even though I like you, consider you a good buddy, we’d have to do it to cover our own asses from liability. You feel me?”

  The question hung in the thick Floridian air. Flies buzzed around us, and I slapped a mosquito that attempted to puncture my neck.

  I had to stick with my story. “Tom, there’s nothing between Sierra and me, and there isn’t gonna be. Is that a good enough answer?”

  His face fell, as though disappointment clung to his forehead and dragged it down into a series of increasingly intricate wrinkles.

  Tom sighed, and replied, “Whatever you say, Jacob. I hope it’s the truth.”

  “It is.”

  “Well… okay then. Let’s finish touring this site.”

  As we picked up our walk once more, my heart thudded wildly in my chest. I’d almost been found out. Or, technically, I had been found out, it was just that Tom had no way of confirming his completely accurate suspicions.

  But though I’d evaded Tom’s hammer, at least for the time being… he had made some good points. Not ‘good,’ per se, but painfully accurate. I guess I’d been so busy trying to convince Sierra that I wasn’t a scoundrel that I hadn’t stopped to think what would happen if she did forgive me.

  Because in what world could we really be together? We both needed these jobs, I knew that. Sierra had grown up poor and would never leave financial stability just to follow love — she was romantic, but not stupid. And I was in a similar bind — I needed Pillers, and I specifically needed this job, to keep Got Wood afloat. Sure, I could find another job if things went belly up, but I was also supporting my dad.

  And if we didn’t leave Pillers, we couldn’t be together — this, assuming that she even wanted to be together in a long-term way. I think she did, but who am I to say? Neither of us would or could exit the company, so this was a non-starter. Our future potential relationship was going to be over before it’d even started. That was a stinging blow.

  Tom had also pointed out that we lived in different towns. It wasn’t a crazy long distance, I guess, but I’ll be honest with ya — I’m fixin’ to settle down. It’s about that time in a man’s life where you get to thinking about having some little ones to raise right, a house you built with your own two hands, and a partner in all the merriment and madness. And that meant being in the same town, in the same house, in the same bed.

  So, yeah. I’d dodged and parried Tom’s verbal inquisition. But now he’d opened up my mind and allowed a sea of unwelcome questions to tumble in. My lies were growing as my answers were disappearing.

  Chapter 18

  Sierra

  THE PREP day had been a final sprint after the marathon that was this weekend.

  The marketing team — of which I was the head, thank you very much — had holed up in a room, pulled out our computers, and frantically begun putting the finishing touches on all the various pitches. To a passing observer, it might have looked like a hackathon, with far fewer sweatshirts and Pringles cans.

  The whole thing was a rush that pushed me to the verge of giddiness. Trying to make it all come together seamlessly forced me to be on my toes at every single moment, and I found myself nearly vibrating with energy. We’re gonna do this, I thought, fingers racing over the keyboard at lightspeed. We’re actually gonna win the deal with Charles.

  I’d gone over all the PowerPoint presentations, the Excel spreadsheets, the mock-ups. I color-corrected every slide within an inch of its life, ran over each infographic with a fine-toothed comb. Sometimes, it felt good to just let my type-A side run wild, to let that not-so-freaky flag fly. For all that I’d been frustrated — and turned on — this weekend, I’d forgotten how nice it was to just do a job well. And, in honesty, to not be forced into any more “team-building” activities — Charles had given us the full day to ourselves and gone out to some gala. It was a pleasure to not see his bearded face for twelve hours.

  Above most everything else, I loved the way my team looked at me, like I could do anything in the world. They were a good group, and the way they believed in me kinda made me believe in myself.

  Plus, when I was busy being their leader and marching us onwards, hopefully towards victory, each naughty thought I had about Jacob felt all the more illicit. When I pictured his pecs beneath my hands, or his cock trembling near my slit, I got chills. Was I allowed to be doing this on the clock? But every time I questioned whether or not people could see the momentary flag in my friendly but professional behavior, I did a quick visual sweep of the room and saw that I’d gone undetected.

  Before I knew it, six had rolled around and the door to our room was being swung open by Tom. Behind him stood Jacob, looking like a snack in a white tank top, jeans and Timberlands. God, it had taken him long enough. My panties had been moist, bordering on damp, for at least several hours, if not the whole day. Though I don’t know why I thought his presence would improve upon that situation — in fact, it immediately made it worse, transforming my possibly damp panties into soaked ones.

  I could devour you, right here and right now, I thought, then tried to telegraph that to Jacob with my eyes. He raised one fine brown brow to show me that the message had been received. There was something else behind his gaze, something a little unsettling, but I mentally shelved it for later — frankly, I was too busy thinking about how I — or rather, we — were going to get my wet underwear off.

  “Hey, folks,” Tom said, interrupting Jacob’s and my staring match and causing both to flicker our eyes away in diverging directions. “We’re back from the site. How’s things with marketing?”

  My team members all gave thumbs up, or various approving noises, then turned to me for the official report on the day.

  “Good,” I replied, shifting seamlessly from seductress to marketing guru — maybe you really can have it all. “I’d say we’re nearly done.”

  He nodded. “Glad to hear it.” He readjusted the weight on the balls of his feet, and his body angle changed, thus revealing that he was standing in front of a ton of takeout bags.

  Tom continued, “I know Charles’ food is fancy and whatnot, but I figured you all might want something a little greasy. Did I get it right?”

  “Oh yeah,” I confirmed enthusiastically, looking around as my team let out whoops of delight. “You nailed it.” Despite my usual push for clean living, this was a special occasion. Besides, from what I could make out on the bag, it was Chinese — my favorite. My mouth began salivating for some spicy peanut noodles, maybe a little fried tofu. Ooooh, spring rolls.

  But my excitement was cut off by Tom saying, “Sierra, can you see me outside for a second?”

  My heart skipped a beat. Was I in trouble? I felt, all of a sudden, like a schoolgirl being called out by a teacher. It was a distinct and rapid adjustment from the previous sense of leadership that had been buoying me. Jacob’s eyes found mine, but he gave me an imperceptible shrug, as if to say, I don’t know any more than you do. Damnit.

  Okay, there was no need to panic. This wasn’t elementary school. In all likelihood, Tom wanted to go over details of the pitch with me without distracting the rest of the team. That was normal. Very normal, my survivalist brain, trying to keep me from a full meltdown, insisted.

  As I rose slowly from the table, with the entire marketing team looking on in confusion, I noticed that Joe, who’d spent the last hour or so working with us — he’d been a floater throughout the day — was risi
ng too. Shit, was I in serious trouble? Was this about that stupid Instagram video? Or, God — had they found out about me and Jacob?

  There was nothing to do but exit the room and find out.

  I pushed through the door, letting my hand lightly brush Jacob’s and taking solace in his rough skin. I assumed that he’d go to his room, or maybe hang back and make conversation with the marketing kids, and thought that this one touch would have to carry me through several more painful minutes without him.

  And then Tom said, “Jacob, no point in you hanging around with marketing. You can step outside with Sierra, Joe and me.”

  Oh fuck.

  That couldn’t be good.

  You’re freaking out, my mind said, trying to comfort me now. This could very well be about Jacob’s aspect of the pitch. That was true — it needed to get a few kinks worked out. Yes, that was probably it. His pitch. Definitely not about our torrid affair.

  The four of us assembled in the hallway, my back against a rose-colored fresco. I noticed that Jacob seemed too big for the corridor, as though his very personhood were outsized for this manicured mansion. The thought sat well with me, or at least, better than any other thought seemed to be sitting in my head at the moment.

  As much as I didn’t want to know what was going on, I also wanted to rip off the Band-Aid, so I started the ball rolling.

  “So…” I began, directing my attention to Joe and Tom. “What’s going on?” I cut myself off before I could ask ‘are we in trouble?’ Having watched way too many police procedurals, I knew that half the time, what you said about yourself was the most incriminating evidence.

  Joe and Tom turned to one another, and then to me and Jacob.

  Joe launched in first. “I just wanted to say, you guys have done a great job, faking this whole relationship. Very believable. I wasn’t sure I was sold, but then Jacob, you jumped off that ship and damn, was I impressed.”

  Oh my God. Wait. Were we — were we about to get away with this? My mind had been supplying reassuring phrases, but logically, I knew that the odds were stacked against me. Us, I should say. Like, even as I clung desperately to those pacifying mantras, I’d known that Joe and Tom were probably here to tell us to shut it down. But… at the risk of ‘hoping too far’… were we out of the woods?

  “Thanks,” Jacob said into the long lull, his tone indecipherable. Oops. I must’ve been so distracted with excitement that I’d forgotten to, well, respond. “It was nothing, really.”

  Joe shook his head. “It wasn’t nothing. I think the two of you really helped showcase Pillers as a family company. And God knows Charles cares about that as much, if not more, than the actual pitch.” He rolled his eyes at this.

  Tom took up the conversational thread. With his gaze fixed on Jacob, he replied, “You’ve both been excellent. You just have to make it through tomorrow, and then you can go back to being strangers. How does that sound?”

  I felt all the tension in my body dissipate, and I wanted to breathe a huge sigh of relief, though of course, if Joe and Tom weren’t tipped off already, that would probably get them on the scent.

  But back to the good news, which was that, apparently, they hadn’t caught us after all. What are the frickin’ odds, you know? I counted my lucky stars, and then recounted them. This discovery — namely, that they hadn’t made any discoveries, meaning Jacob and I — was a huge weight off my chest.

  Though, if I’m being honest, there was something in the way Tom looked at Jacob that made me wonder if perhaps we hadn’t been so undetectable.

  You’re being silly, I told myself. You’re just imagining problems that aren’t there. Calm down.

  Well, that did sound like me. I needed to accept the victory, and move on.

  However, his suggestion that we could ‘go back to being strangers’ didn’t sit well with me. In fact, it seemed to take up residency in the front of my brain, and pound on the back of my skull like a brass door knocker. Was that all we would be? Strangers? Two ships passing in the night, never to drop anchor? I was surprised at how profoundly sad that possible future made me.

  As much as I wanted to ask Jacob what he was thinking, to run my hands over that perfectly tousled hair with the bits of blond streaked in by the sun and look deep into his eyes and ask, I resisted.

  Instead, I at last responded to Tom’s question. “It sounds great,” I confirmed. “Perfect strangers.”

  Jacob gave a nearly imperceptible nod of his head. “Strangers,” he repeated, though his voice sounded hollow.

  “Great,” Joe said brightly, with an enthusiasm I was sure neither Jacob nor I felt. “Tom, Jacob, would you like to see our final pitches, make sure we got all the measurements right, insert any info you collected today from the site?”

  The men agreed, and followed us back into the room.

  We ran over the presentations, noshing on Chinese food and debating the pros and cons of fonts. By ten that night, I could feel my team flagging, and wanted to make sure they got a good night’s sleep before the big day tomorrow, and signaled the bosses that maybe it was time to turn in. Joe and Tom gave the final okay to everything.

  Well, with one exception that was rather convenient for me.

  Joe asked, “Sierra, would you mind helping Jacob clean up his presentation for Got Wood Inc.? He’s designed most of it himself, since it shouldn’t be too long, and Pillers doesn’t really get into his sourcing, et cetera. And,” he turned to Jacob with a smile, “he doesn’t exactly have a crack marketing team like we do.”

  “It’s true,” Jacob concurred. “That’d be great, Sierra, if you’re okay with it.”

  “Sure, anything for my fake boyfriend.”

  My team got a laugh out of this — they all knew me, and were in on the joke. Jacob raised his eyebrows a little, and I couldn’t tell if he was turned on by the idea of our mutual secret or a touch disappointed that I’d called him a ‘fake,’ that I’d written him off so easily.

  “All right, we’re turning in for the night,” Joe announced. He pointed to the two of us. “Don’t you two stay up too late, you hear?”

  “You got it, boss,” Jacob concurred, with a tip of his imaginary cap. “We’ll be in bed before you know it.”

  With that, the marketing team, Joe and Tom took their leave of us, politely cleaning up their leftover Chinese takeout and bidding us goodnight. I sighed happily — though the job could be stressful, I did like my little work family. They were good eggs, you know?

  The door shut and I pivoted to Jacob, who was leaning against the table, his legs slightly spread apart, boots planted to the ground.

  “So,” I said, dropping my voice a few octaves, “let’s get to work.”

  Chapter 19

  Jacob

  SIERRA LEANED over the table, her ample cleavage on display just above the bleached wood. Had she done that just to tease me? Little minx.

  She began to pull up some files on the computer. I’d try to be more specific with you, but the truth is, I don’t know shit about computers. Like I said — I’m an outdoors guy. I leave the tech to the Silicon Valley nuts.

  “All right,” she said, grinning at me as her slim fingers danced across the trackpad. “As much as I’d rather be doing other things, we do need to finalize your pitch.”

  I ran a hand down her arched back, gently pulling her tucked T-shirt out of her jeans, and pushed my hand up over her now-bare spine.

  “You sure?” I asked, trailing my hand up and down, feeling delighted when I felt her back arch further, as if becoming animated by my touch.

  She groaned a little, but concentrated on the projection. Or at least did a remarkable impression of someone focusing on a projection. “Yeah… I think…”

  “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “I… I’m not,” she admitted.

  But even as she said it, I could see her perfectionism kick in. “How about,” she bartered, “we work on it, just a bit. If we don’t, I won’t be able to enjoy my, ah, reward
.”

  I growled with frustration, but I also loved watching Sierra do her job, so I settled back into my chair with a grumble. If that was the tradeoff I had to make, so be it. Even delaying physical pleasure was worth it for the other, more emotional pleasure I got from seeing her work. She reminded me of the women from my youth, the ones in the ‘80s with the big shoulder pads and permed hair. I mean that in the absolute sexiest way possible.

  “Okay, okay,” I agreed. “Let’s finish the presentation.”

  Admittedly, I didn’t end up being much help with that. Every time she tried to so much as move the mouse or highlight a cell, I’d find a new way, a new place, to touch her — the back of the knee, the top of a foot, the nape of the neck. I couldn’t help myself — she was just so delicious when her mind was whirring. She sighed a little each time my fingers made contact, and I could feel her defenses dropping, her resistance waning.

  “Jacob,” she pleaded. “We have to get through this.”

  “Do we?” I asked, as I caressed her hip. “What if we just… didn’t?”

  She looked at me like I was crazy. I explained, “The presentation looks okay. I’m not an expert, but it’ll get the job done. Besides, nobody cares about my pitch, I’m just the guy with the wood. They care about yours. I’m just a very small part of this project.”

  “Don’t say that,” she murmured. “Though you are very much a guy with wood,” she added with a wink, eyes falling on my pants.

  “But it’s true,” I insisted, dragging her back to my original point, tooth and nail. “We’re just timber. Pillers is the whole package.”

  “You’re wrong. Framing is a big—”

  “Let’s not argue,” I said, as I wrapped my hands around her waist, spinning her away from the presentation and towards me. “Let’s just fuck.”

  Her blue eyes burned into my own, and I could see from the way her breath hitched on her lips that she wanted it as badly as I did. Far be it from me to distract a woman on the job but…