Free Best Laid Plans by Robyn Kelly Page A

The
thought is so depressing. “It was another lifetime.” My tone sounds maudlin,
even to me. If he offers to break my losing streak right now, I might even say
yes.
    He scans my face. “I wish I
knew what was going on in that brain of yours. Maybe if you weren’t such a
mystery…”
    He doesn’t finish the
sentence. Maybe what? Maybe he wouldn’t be interested?
    “I can see I’ve moved too
fast earlier tonight. You’re very willing when you’re aroused, and I took that
for experience. It’s important we communicate well. I…make mistakes…when I
misjudge situations.” He steps back from me and I almost fall forward. I hadn’t
realized I was pressing myself against him that much.
    He surveys the room. “This is
where we had dinner?” Stripped bare, without the décor, it’s just a plain
assembly room. Linoleum floors, bars on the windows, acoustical tile ceilings. I
watch him move around the space, trying to compare what he remembered to what
he is seeing now. “Why did you decide to expand the party?”
    His tone has changed from
accusatory to curious, and I know I don’t have to defend myself. “I listened to
your brother. He was bored to tears in the countryside. I knew he needed
something urban, something loud and bright. Something that would stimulate all
his senses.”
    I want to add, Oh, and I
had all that money , but my filter is firmly in place now.
    “I thought he’d be interested
in wine importing.” I can hear the frustration in his voice. Family does that to
you.
    “No, your brother is more mojito
than nebbiola. I see him running a club, not a distribution chain.”
    The tight set of his lips
informs me he’s not about to indulge his brother’s latent talents.
    “How was this space to work
in?” And for the next twenty minutes, he bombards me with questions. Why did I
choose this space? How big is the parsonage? What worked? What didn’t work? How
were the owners? Are the buildings attached? What did I do pre-planning? What
had the inspection found? He asks a ton of questions and listens to my answers.
A man who listens. Jackson must suffer from multiple personality disorder. If
only I could keep this one.
    I stifle a yawn as best I can,
but he notices.
    “You’ve had a long day. You
must be weary .”
    I can’t help but smile. “I
thought you didn’t like teasing.”
    “I don’t like being teased. Let’s get you home.” He opens the door and holds it for me as I step out
into the cool night air. I’m grateful Robert is closing the party. Still, I don’t
think it’s good for clients to see me yawning—or have their fingers in my hoo-ha.
    Jackson locks the door in his
first attempt. I have to test it myself, and he raises an eyebrow.
    “I have a lot of experience
with locks.” He hands me the keychain.
    I put it in my ditty bag as he
places his hand on my back again, and walks me to his car. When he opens the
door, I hesitate, not knowing what he is planning.
    The man is all cool professionalism.
“My driver will take you home. I’m going back to the party. We’ll talk
tomorrow.”
    Of course. Behind closed
doors, he’s dangerous, sexy Jackson. In front of the help, he’s unruffled CEO
Jackson. No public displays of passion. Except that once, when the spotlight
found us. When he thought I was throwing his money in his face. The money he
intended to buy me with.
    I settle in to the seat as he
shuts the door. I look to see who’s driving, and it’s Ron.
    “Ron, it’s good to see the back of your head again.”
    “It’s good to see you in the rearview mirror.” That comment
could be taken a number of ways, but I let it go. I give him my address, and
his reply is, “I know.”
    Of course he does. I’m not the only one with snooping
skills.
    As I text Robert that I’ve
left, my stomach grumbles. I’m sure it’s loud enough for Ron to hear in the
front seat. I try to remember the last time I ate, and realize I didn’t have a
chance today. Funny: when I’m