“My apologies.” He extends his arm, and we shake quickly before he stuffs both hands in his pockets. “I promise I’m harmless.”
“That’s because your lovely Korean wife will be a fan of twisting you by the balls for even glancing at our—” Blue-gray eyes roam over me, and my chest expands beneath Jace’s amused gaze. He’d given me the same look many times the other night, and it’s even more unnerving now. “—Lucy.”
Their Lucy.
His Lucy.
Well, damn. I rip my eyes from him. I still can’t face him without thinking of the other night or overanalyzing every word he says, so I look at Theo. Daisy’s Mohawk-wearing fiancé snorts and lifts a metal storage cabinet that’s at least a hundred pounds without so much as a grunt. "Nari won’t have much to twist." Peeking around the side, he bends his head in a cordial nod. "Welcome to the madhouse, ma'am."
It always catches me off guard when someone calls me ma'am—especially when they're probably older than me—but I don't correct him. “I’m happy to be here.”
“Sure you are,” Jace says under his breath before turning from the room and taking off. I follow behind him, maintaining a safe distance between our bodies when I finally catch up and fall in step beside him. I'm afraid to touch him. Afraid that, if I do, my body will react the same way it did on Saturday. To my embarrassment, the flutter returns to my chest when he studies the side of my face, as if he's willing me to look at him.
I don't.
"Why are you doing that?"
"Griff really is harmless, even if he has no filter. He’s very much in love with Nari and their thirty kids."
“Thirty kids. Really, Jace?”
“It’s three, but if you met them, you’d say thirty too.”
"Well, Griff is tame.” A gritty laugh tumbles past his lips, so I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. "I'm not planning to talk about it if that's what you're waiting for." In fact, I had repeated it like a mantra all the way to work.
I will not talk about the sex party.
I will not bring up the Voyeur Room.
I will not freak out about what happened.
“Are you still pissed?”
“That you tricked me into walking blindly into a situation that made me uncomfortable?” I demand. “Of course I’m not.”
"And yet you came,” he drawls. "Good job on not being so … buttoned-up, by the way."
Screw him for saying that. This morning, I had gone for a step above business casual with low black heels, black and white houndstooth-patterned pants, and another crisp white button-up. My mother had given me hell for the top couple of buttons I intentionally left undone. She's always been a stickler for neatly pressed clothes, which she attributes to twenty years of helping my father keep his uniforms tidy for work.
I run my fingertips over my cuffs and glance up at Jace. My heels are so short that he towers a good five inches over me, appearing more powerful than ever. "Since you cater to the naked and unafraid, I figured this was safe.”
"Naked and unafraid, huh?” I nod, winning a grin that curls the pit of my stomach. “I wish you'd been this sarcastic when I knew you all those years ago."
"To hear you tell it, I was."
"No, love, you were a know-it-all. And now you're a sarcastic know-it-all."
I skim my teeth over the soft flesh of the inside of my cheek. "Isn't that the worst type?"
"Not if she keeps you on your toes."
I consider asking him exactly what he means, but I don't as we approach a man with a high bun who's a couple of inches taller than my five foot six. He's behind a large workshop table, his head bent over a design sketch while he hums along with the music streaming through his earbuds. He holds up a finger when Jace impatiently knocks against the metal surface of the table like it’s a door. After he scribbles a few notes, Man Bun jerks one earbud out and looks up at us, a gleam in his dark eyes.
"Ahh, so this is the shark. Funny, I don't really think of the Jaws song looking at her up close." He hums a few bars of the climactic theme before shaking his head and giving me a once over. “It’s nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
"You called me a shark?" I gasp, leaning away from my new boss and glowering up at him.
He grins boldly. Deliciously. Damn him. “It’s what your former boss at W-whatever called you. Because you’re hungry and motivated. I thought the name fit you to a T.”
Of course he did. Smoothing my features into a sweet and, hopefully, un-shark-like smile, I take a step closer to Man Bun and offer my hand. "I'm Lucy Williams."
"Ashton Frey." He shakes my hand, making a face because the dirt from his fingers smudges mine. He reaches under the table and comes back up a moment later with a blue shop towel that he hands to me. "Be careful what you wear around here, it's easy to get dirty."
"She's already aware of that," Jace says too suggestively for my liking. Heat pulses through me along with a vivid picture of the scene at Mr. B’s house. For as long as I live, I likely won’t forget what I saw at that party. I hear Jace’s footsteps heading in the other direction, and I turn around to find he's already halfway to the other end of the workshop.
"Keep up," he calls behind him, not bothering to turn around.
"It was good to meet you," I tell Ashton. His mouth twitches as he wishes me good luck. He's the second of Jace's employees to tell me that today, and another nervous bubble forms in the center of my chest.
Not only have I accepted a job working for Mr. Kinkster, he’s also apparently an asshole. Just like in high school.
Although Jace’s legs are much longer than mine, I still manage to catch up in four long strides. "What exactly have you told them about me?" I ask through ground teeth. He feigns a look of confusion. "Just so I know why they're giving me funny looks in the break room."
"Only that they'll be getting bigger bonuses next Christmas because the shark is going to put us on the map."
His words send my heart sinking to my stomach. "You shouldn't make them promises."
"And why the fuck not? You said it yourself when I called and offered you the position: By this time next year, you'll have our name out to every corner of the world." When I don't immediately respond, he pauses and turns to face me. And when I avoid his gaze, he reaches out and tucks a rough fingertip beneath my chin, jerking the air from my lungs. He forces my stare up to his.
I wish he’d just asked me to look at him. I would have complied, I would have met his eyes without even a hint of protest, if it meant keeping my wits and breath and emotions intact.
I fold my arms over my chest, and a harsh noise strains through my lips. "That's when I thought you made clocks."
"And now you know I make fuck-toys and other fun goodies, so you've got plenty to work with." He lowers his hand from my face then walks away. Again. Heaving a harsh sigh, I take a few seconds to still the butterflies whirling through my chest, and then I join him in front of one of the tall shelves pushed against the far wall of the workshop.