“I know, Mom. Which is why I already have a plan and have been keeping on top of everything to make sure there aren’t any issues along the way. Everything will go flawlessly. We simply spend a few hours mingling among them and the rest of the town, and it’ll be over before we know it. Easy. But I’ll make sure the party is still amazing, one worthy of the Worthington name. Then next year, we’ll go back to normal.” I glance down at the watch on my wrist and back to her. “I’m due at Town Hall in the next hour to meet Jackson Pearce.”
Mom nods, regaining her mask of composure that she momentarily let slip. “Very well. Let me worry about telling your father. You just make sure that you handle this and uphold the Worthington reputation. Let me make you some tea before you get on the road.”
And just like that, doing what she absolutely does best, she goes back to pretending that everything is perfect and nothing is amiss.
I’m the one who got locked up and then accidentally slept with the enemy, and now there’s no getting out of being around him until this party is over.
Parking my Mercedes in the only other unoccupied parking space in front of Town Hall, I grab my bag and step out onto the sidewalk as I eye Jackson’s old, rusty truck parked in front.
It looks like one strong gust of wind could have it in heaps of metal on the ground. The paint is chipping, and the tailgate is rusted where the letters CHEVROLET are on the back.
“Judging my truck like you judged my house, Emmie?” A deep voice comes from right beside me, causing me to startle and drop my bag onto the concrete, its contents scattering all over the ground.
Jesus, I almost just had a heart attack.
“Damn, you’re jumpy today. Thinking of anything in particular? Anyone?” I can see the cocky grin on his face, and if he wasn’t so damn infuriating, I might want to kiss him. Again.
Which is definitely out of the question. It was a one-and-done kind of thing.
“Well, that’s generally what happens when you sneak up on an unsuspecting woman.” Bending, I start to gather everything and shove it back into my bag as he joins me to help. He smells just like he did the other night, crisp and clean, masculine. The kind of smell that you pick in a candle store that reminds you of the dreamiest man.
Which is seriously not helping the fact that I am supposed to be hating him again, not wanting to take him for a ride like Santa’s sleigh.
“Emmie?” he asks, his voice low as he squats in front of me.
“What?”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I called your name a few times. I asked if you were okay. You seem… off today.”
Swiping the rest of my stuff into my bag, I plaster on a cool smile, even though I’m feeling anything but right now. I’m extremely flustered and now beginning to doubt whether I will somehow be able to pull this off at all. I can’t even look at him without remembering him between my thighs, his beard brushing against the sensitive skin of my legs as he ate me like a starving man. Or how he felt buried deep inside me, my toes curling on his shoulders.
I stand, brushing off my suede pencil skirt, and hold my bag against my chest. “Never better. Ready?”
He eyes me for a moment before shrugging, and I give myself just twenty seconds of checking him out before we walk into Town Hall. Today, he’s wearing a pair of dark jeans, old, scuffed work boots, and a dark green Henley that is practically molded to the muscles of his biceps.
“After you, Snowflake,” he murmurs when he catches me looking at him, his dark amber eyes smoldering in the way only they can.
Ignoring the nickname, I brush past him toward Town Hall and pull open the heavy front door, letting myself inside.
My first thought is how dark it is, with little to no natural light, and it smells like stale, old mothballs. It’s probably been a year since Town Hall has been used, judging by the amount of dust coating every surface.
My nose scrunches at the sight. God, I have so much work cut out for me.
“Fuck yeah. There’s a bar!” Jackson says excitedly.
Of course, the primary thing he’s worried about is alcohol. Not the place being outdated, dirty, and barely inhabitable.
Why am I not surprised?
“Can you channel your excitement for drinking into something productive like… helping me measure or, I don’t know… figuring out how to let this place air out?”
Jackson walks over, crossing his arms over his chest. “There’s nothing wrong with this place, Emmie. Very… vintage. Little spit and shine, and she’ll be good as new.”
“Please never say that. Ever again.”
“Why? Making you think about the other night?” He smirks.
Saint Nick help me, but I am. Apparently, my vagina is a ho ho ho for this man, which is very, very problematic.
I close the distance between us in two short strides. “I thought we agreed that we would never, ever, under any circumstance bring that night up again?”
He shrugs. “Did we?”
“You’re infuriating. Has anyone ever told you how absolutely infuriating you are?” I retort, rolling my eyes. “Look, clearly, that was a mistake. One we agreed we would never bring up again, so please, can we… not? This is already complicated enough as it is, and we don’t even like each other, Jackson.”
“I mean, you liked when I had my coc—” Reaching out, I slap my hand over his mouth to silence him, feeling his lips tugging up beneath my fingers.
Asshole.
“Don’t. Seriously, Jackson, this is truly never going to work if we don’t both act like adults and realize that it was an error in judgment and move on. We fucked. It happened, and now we’re moving past it like it never happened.”
I remove my hand from his mouth, and only then do I notice that his whiskey-colored eyes have darkened. He steps forward until the tips of his dirty boots touch my stiletto boots. “Don’t worry, Snowflake. You’ll be begging me for my cock again soon.”
My jaw drops in shock. Excuse me? That… He’s…
Before I can even form a response to that, he’s halfway across the room, pulling a measuring tape out of the back pocket of his sinfully tight, faded jeans.
I don’t let my gaze linger and instead stride over to him. “So you’re just going to measure… What, exactly?”
“Clearly, we’re not getting anywhere standing around, talking about things that don’t matter, right?” His brows rise as if repeating my own words back to me is going to win this argument. “Might as well make good use of the time. What do you need from me?”
Sighing, I walk back over to my bag and pull out my notebook and pen, opening it to the last page I took notes on before… that night happened.
“Uh… Theme. You said you’re against a black-tie cocktail affair, but we have to meet in the middle somewhere. Can we at least have a sit-down, formal dinner? If not, I worry my parents might not even come to the damn party, and it’s important to them, okay? I know you probably don’t care, but this party is a centuries-old tradition for my family.”
“Sure, but I’m not using five forks, and I’m definitely not eating some crazy shit like caviar. How about a sit-down dinner with regular Christmas food? Turkey? Roast? Something everyone likes?”
I nod, brushing my hair out of my face as I write it down in my notebook. “Fine. Champagne? Beer?”
Even though the thought of drinking another beer makes me want to gag, I know we should have a variety for everyone.
“Definitely. Maybe some seltzers? BYOB or a paid bar?”