Caught(15)

“It’s sweet.” Jarod’s knuckles brushed along her arm as he studied the jewelry. It felt as if it was an invitation to something more, and Viv secretly wished for a bar bathroom to materialize.

“Okay, so about the quid pro quo?” Jarod circled back.

“Yeah, about that. You want to watch one of my sex tapes—is that what you’re asking?”

“Well, that’d be great, actually. Level footing and all of that, Vivian.”

“Sorry pal, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t have one.” It was the truth, and she wondered if that made her seem prudish to a guy like Jarod.

“No boyfriend then?” he asked.

She shook her head, and thought she saw the trace of something resembling relief wash over Jarod’s face. Or was that wishful thinking on her behalf?

“Well, you have to give me something,” he said.

“Like what?” she asked, caught up in his spell. Dazed. He had such finesse in the art of talking—or was it flirting?—something the men in her past lacked. She was ill-equipped to handle his sweet-talking ways.

He simply raised an eyebrow, and deep down, she wanted to give him anything he asked for. She was tired and stressed to the limit. So was he. Maybe that’s why they continued with the juvenile banter.

The scene was becoming more and more surreal. Having Jarod Cage this close in her office was the equivalent of having a porn star in her bedroom. She had seen this man do things that nobody should see. Especially if that person was your client. She considered giving him something, the quid pro quo, knowing that’s all it was—nothing more, just something to even the playing field. She needed to take action to gain his trust if this was going to work. They were both putting their futures in the other’s hands.

Something had to break here, and that something just might be her. It might not be such a bad thing. Once they cleared the air of all the sexual tension, they could get back to work.

Jarod didn’t say a word when she pressed him for an answer. But Viv, in her wound-up state, knew just how to shut him up. Act like a man. Take the challenge. She would not lose this project. She’d get Jarod Cage to his little race and secure her position in New York, but first she’d have to tame the beast. Then he’d be out of her system.

PR Rule Number 3: Be proactive.

She could do that. So without giving it a second thought, she went on instinct. She stood up, untied her wrap dress, and let it drop to the floor. Yeah, probably not exactly what Miranda meant. It was a good thing she wasn’t around to see this.

There. Quick and painless, like he said earlier.

Except it was neither.

“Is this what you had in mind?” she asked, steadying herself. “Your way to even the score between us? Okay, have at it. Take a nice long look.”

She pushed her feet into the floor, imagining they were growing roots to anchor her. It’s the method her yoga teacher used to help the class with their balance, and she needed all the balance she could get.

Then she stood there on display in her best bra and panty set—the pale lime-green lace demi cup that held her up fabulously, and a pair of booty-hugging panties in the same delicious fabric. They were the undergarments she never had a need for until now, because let’s face it, the ensemble was less than comfortable. Still, she thanked the gods she was so well-prepared for this unexpected moment.

It got his attention all right. His mouth dropped open and he froze.

That’s right, Cage. My ball. My court.

“My God, what are you trying to do to me?” His voice was raw.

She may have been known for her original tactics with clients, but this was off the charts batshit. Straight up stupid crazy. Something that was becoming even more evident as Sex on Wheels slowly rose and began to close the distance.

He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and released a deep and labored breath, but he didn’t stop coming toward her.

Oh no, no, no.

He hesitated for a moment before running a single finger down her arm, not to be overshadowed by her brash move. Goose bumps peppered the skin in Jarod’s wake, and she found herself leaning into his touch.

Until the knock on her office door.

Viv nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound. She snagged her dress off the floor and grabbed Jarod by the arm and pulled him into her coat closet.

They made it inside before the next knock.

“Viv,” the visitor called from outside.

“Shhh,” she whispered to Jarod.

The squeak of the door sounded.

She held her breath, panic coursing through her veins. They held still, neither of them moving. What in the hell was she thinking pulling that crap?

Jesus H., not only was she going to lose out on New York, she was going to be fired from Elite altogether. Rumors would circulate about her slutty stunt and she’d never work again. Viv’s temples ached as she envisioned the brutal end of her career.