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He doesn’t sit. Instead, Jenson wanders over to the floor to ceiling glass wall and puts his hands, linked, behind his back and stares out, the picture of ease.
I narrow my eyes.
And wait.
“Just wanted to drop by, see how things are going,” Jenson says.
Crossing my legs, I nod. “You’ve never dropped by in your life. I doubt you’ve done that to your husband.”
Jenson turns and shrugs. “Your mother also spoke to me, not long after you did. Between us, I don’t give a fuck about the sincerity of this relationship, just that you pass the criteria. But your mother had questions.”
Why my mother is in contact with my father’s personal lawyer is anyone’s guess. Then again, her relationship with my father after the divorce and all his subsequent divorces is also anyone’s guess, so I leave it be.
“What sort of questions?”
Jenson shrugs again. “Who she is, and everything else. Your mother said she met her. She liked her, but she was…concerned about you getting involved with someone who works for you.”
“It happens, and my money’s more than protected. The family name, too.” I lean back in my chair. “If that’s her concern.”
“Not everything is to do with the Sinclair name and money, Hudson.”
I just laugh. He’s so wrong.
“And it would be a union that must last past the cut-off date, as you well know,” he says, delicately as possible. “As we discussed.”
“Your concern and my mother’s is…touching. But I’m old enough to take care of things on my own. I’ve gotten to this point in life, after all.”
“I think—” Jenson starts to look uncomfortable at this point, “—your mother is concerned over your happiness.”
“I have everything I want.”
The man nods, then he comes up to my desk and the delicate veneer falls away. “You have less than four weeks to get everything you say you want, Hudson. Don’t screw it up. It’s the one and only chance.”
“I’m aware.” I make a point of looking at my watch. Scarlett will be here shortly with what I need before I head to my meeting, and this little get together has outstayed its welcome. “If there’s anything more?”
“No, Hudson. Just remember what I said. And your mother’s concerns.”
“You’re distracted.”
I glance at Scarlett, who sits prim and proper and businesslike to the point of military issue armory, and I sigh.
She’s bubbling beneath the surface. Too much energy that creeps into my blood, heightening my senses, and makes me too aware of her and way too aware of the tension between us.
“We’ve got less than four weeks now. It’s time to up the ante.”
She breathes out, running her hands over the thighs of her cropped trousers as she sits on the leather sofa in my office, looking for all the world like I’ve sentenced her to death. I frown.
But I don’t say anything. I tuck it away as we get to work, finding myself distracted by her.
Scarlett smells too good, and I never realized before that subtle is a lot more dangerous than overt.
Subtle means I want to move closer, slide my mouth close to the skin of her throat as we go over the dates and what I need for work. It means I want to touch her, see if the top she wears, a lightly billowy thing in red that’s buttoned up and casts shadows when the light is right and suggests if I get up close and real personal I might be able to see what lies beneath.
As we work, I hand her a printed page and our hands brush. It’s an accident and it’s like someone punched me in the solar plexus.
“I need those people,” I say, pointing to the top four on the page. “I need them pushed back, but I need them not to feel like that.”
She turns and hooks her hair behind her ear where she wears tiny little white gold studs I hadn’t noticed before. Scarlett bites down on the corner of her lip and I want to lick it.
