Beautiful Distraction(159)

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.

Holy cow.

He was steaming hot. With that disheveled bedhead, broad shoulders, strong chest, and moss-green gaze of his—he belonged on the front page of a fashion magazine. He was dressed in a black well-tailored business suit, white shirt, and a black silk tie. His trademark upper button was undone, allowing a glimpse of bronze, smooth skin. Skin I had licked and trailed with my fingertips all the way down his smooth torso to the narrow line of dark hair that—

“Brooke?” His tone was detached, but the flicker in his eyes betrayed his amusement.

He knew I found him attractive, and he made no secret of it. Damn him and his inflated ego. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it registered that I was still staring. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t peel my eyes off him. The way his slacks rode low on his hips, emphasizing a bulge and strong quadriceps, reminded me I had rode on those thighs merely twelve hours ago. I could still taste his skin on my lips as we moved in perfect unison. Damn! Why couldn’t I get the picture of him naked out of my head?

“You want me to come to your office?” Stupid question since he’d already said so.

He nodded slowly. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“Okay.” I jumped to my feet and wiped my clammy hands on the front of my skirt nervously. Jett held the door open and motioned me to walk past, not moving an inch. I squeezed myself between his towering body and the hard doorframe, my ass brushing the front of his slacks, sending my dirty mind into a frenzy.

“This space is crammed. No wonder people can’t wait to get the hell out of here for an early release,” Jett whispered.

My gaze flew up to meet his. His poker face was still in place, but his eyes seemed to poke fun at me.

“I like crammed places,” I muttered through gritted teeth, and headed down the corridor into what I hoped was the right direction.

“Shame,” Jett whispered behind me.

Trying my hardest to ignore my acute awareness of him, I inhaled a sharp breath and held it as I slowly counted to five. It was my way to keep my calm in the face of a storm, only this storm was raging right inside my panties.

“Next door to your right,” Jett said.

Even without his instructions, I would have been able to distinguish his office from his co-workers because it was the only one boasting blinds that were half-drawn.