I swallowed hard to get rid of the sudden choking sensation in my throat. I was over analyzing. A few friends of mine had been to Europe, so what? Her statement didn’t have to mean anything.
“Lake Como was divine,” Emma continued. “And even though it’s just a lake and doesn’t really have a proper beach, I liked the privacy of it.”
Shit. She was there—at Jett’s private place, which meant they most certainly spent the night in the same house rather than in a hotel. Bile rose in my throat, and the throb inside my head turned up a notch, as I imagined her in his bed.
“His place is heavenly, isn’t it?” she gushed. “He showed me everything.”
My stomach twisted into tiny knots as pangs of jealousy hit me with full force. Emma stopped in front of another glass office and turned to face me, unaware of the hurricane wracking havoc with my insides. Her smile was still in place, and a tiny glint played in her eyes as she continued down memory lane. “Did you get to visit the beach?”
“Once.” I blushed again at the memory of Jett perched between my legs, lapping at my lady parts for the first time. He had such a gifted tongue, it couldn’t possibly be an innate talent. He must have gained the experience from somewhere, which drew my attention back to Emma, and my initial fondness for her began to dissipate into thin air. Maybe being friends with her wasn’t such a bright idea after all. I walked past her into the room, suddenly intimidated by her infectious smile and her perky ass.
“Is this my office?”
When she nodded, I tossed my handbag on the desk and slumped into my swivel chair. Booting up the desktop computer, I figured she’d get the hint and leave. Unfortunately, Emma seemed to have taken an instant liking to me and harbored no such plan. She popped into the leather guest chair opposite from me and crossed her sky-high legs, triggering another pang of jealousy. It wasn’t her fault she was so gorgeous, and I sure couldn’t blame Jett for being attracted to her. Heck, even I liked what I saw, when I had never been one to show bisexual tendencies.
Emma leaned forward and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, Mr. Mayfield has hinted he might be taking me again this summer.”
My breath caught in my throat.
Over my dead body.
I smiled a saccharine smile so sweet I felt sick just imagining it. “Isn’t he generous?”
“Yes.” Sighing, she brushed her hair back. “The house belongs to his son though, and he’s not so keen on Mr. Mayfield popping over.” She trailed off, letting me fill in the blanks.
Son?
My eyes narrowed on her as my head put two and two together, and a flash of relief washed over me. She was talking about Jett’s father.
“Isn’t Robert Mayfield married?” I was vaguely aware of the idiotic grin on my face, but I couldn’t help it. Jett wasn’t a whore—his father was, which was perfectly acceptable as long as he hadn’t passed that trait to Jett.
“He’s been divorced for a few years. Told me he was heartbroken because his wife cheated on him, and this is the reason why he won’t remarry so soon again,” Emma said, probably believing every word that womanizer told her. She didn’t even know he was the cheater and not his ex-wife.
I nodded, playing along, because having one Sylvie in my life was enough. I didn’t need more friends who’d drag me to the local bar whenever yet another unfaithful guy broke up with them. But she was the only person I knew here and, most importantly, she wasn’t sleeping with Jett, so I figured I wouldn’t mind her tagging along. “Do you drink?”
“Not often.”
An evening in Sylvie’s company and that would change in a heartbeat.
“I’m meeting a few friends for after-dinner drinks on Friday night. You should come. You and my friend Sylvie will have lots in common.”
Her smile beamed back into place. “Thanks. I’d love to.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, during which Emma introduced me to my working schedule before she returned to the reception desk. At eight-thirty, the hall began to fill with people. Some walked past, ignoring me. Others peered in to introduce themselves, eyeing me up and down as though to determine whether I was fit for the job. These were the big players in real estate. While the prospect of meeting them had scared me two weeks ago, I found them no more intimidating than Sylvie’s hair stylist, who kept pursing his lips in sheer horror every time he caught a glimpse of my unruly locks.
By nine a.m. the soothing background music was replaced with the shrill ringing of phones. I began to skim through Jett’s meeting schedule for the day, officially starting my first day of work at Mayfield Realties as Jett’s personal assistant, when a tall figure appeared at the periphery of my vision.
“Brooke, a word please.”
My head snapped sharply in Jett’s direction, and my heart jumped into my throat.