Under the table, Ruby kicked off her pumps. “Hopefully that date works for James Cleaver.”
“Speaking of whom, did he ever ask you out?”
“No, but he’s becoming more and more flirtatious. I don’t know what to think.”
“He certainly takes his sweet-assed time. I mean, it was obvious to everyone that he was into you at the Christmas party,” Meg said, dropping into a chair opposite Ruby.
Ruby shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Wait a minute. You used to be dying for Mr. Perfect to ask you out. Now you act like you couldn’t care less.” Meg leaned across the desk. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing! I mean, I just don’t want to get my hopes up.” But the words sounded false and dry. Because it seemed any man paled in comparison to Mark, even Mr. Cleaver.
“Anyway,” Ruby said. “Let’s just hope James can make the twenty-eighth work.”
“You just got the hottest band around to play at a private company event. He’s gonna make it work.” She went to the door and put her hand on the knob. “So call him. I’ll be in the prop room, digging for inspiration.”
After Meg left, Ruby picked up the phone and dialed James Cleaver’s number. Of course, just when he answered, the steady thud of Mark’s music in the next room hit her, reminding her that Mark was just down the hall, recording with Emmett. So close.
“Ruby?”
She snapped her attention back to the phone. “Yes! I’m sorry, James. Emmett’s recording today, so things are a bit noisier than usual.”
“I completely understand. So, gorgeous. How’s my favorite event planner doing today?”
“Great! I’m doing just great.” He was flirting, definitely. James Cleaver, who was so nice and normal and perfect. He was reliable, everything she wanted, and he was finally showing an interest in her. So, she should be doing her best to get him to ask her out, not squeezing her legs together, trying to lower her response to being in the same building as a certain musician she wished she could say no to.
She shook her head. “Good news. Great news, in fact. The Dark Riders have agreed to play your show.”
Thump thump thump. The music was getting louder, making it difficult to concentrate. Making her hot. She loosened the pink scarf tied neatly around her neck. “The possible problem is that they can only play on the twenty-eighth, just three weeks away.”
“Can you put the event together in such a short time frame?”
Can you spend three weeks around Mark St. Crow without falling for him?
“Definitely,” she said, nodding to herself. “I certainly can.” No more spankings, no more dinners. No more jasmine. She brought her wrist to her nose and sniffed. It smelled like skin, not jasmine.
“Then we’re on,” James said. “I knew you could do it, Ruby. You’re the best, you really are.”
“Thank you, James.”
There was a long pause, and then she heard him take in a breath. “Ruby, I was wondering if you would go out with me sometime. Maybe dinner?”
“Oh, sure, James. That would be nice.” She realized she should be much, much happier with his invitation than she was.
“Great! I mean, how about this weekend?”
Tap tap clink, tap tap clink; the beat had shifted, becoming slower, more dynamic.
“Ruby?”
“Um… ,” she found herself hesitating. “Let’s do it after the Spring Fling. I’m just… slammed between now and then.”
“Sure, sure. That sounds great.”
She opened her top desk drawer, looking for that smell. “Aha!” On top of a neat row of pencils was a jasmine vine, the end tucked into a small vial of water.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. So, thanks for the dinner invitation. I’ll e-mail you the contract and we’ll get started.”
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon, gorgeous.”
She hung up and slumped onto her desk, resting her forehead on a pile of papers. The music was louder now, and it seemed to be vibrating through the entire building, thumping into her forehead like some kind of medieval torture. Each note seemed to carry his presence, made her want to go to him.
Made her want to be tied up again.
Made her want to be spanked again.
Made her want to submit again. To him.
Yeah, she wanted those things, but each time she let it happen, she unlocked her heart a little more. Got a bit more vulnerable. Got a bit more scared.
She yanked open the drawer, removed the jasmine vine, and ran upstairs to Meg’s kitchen, where she threw the flowers into the trash can.
Her doorbell rang at seven-thirty that night, and when she answered it she heard Mark’s voice through the staticky call box.