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“Thank you for asking, Aliza. I own Dynamix PR. A high-profile boutique marketing agency.”
“That’s right! I knew you looked familiar. You recently won the AVA Digital Award for your work on the Cola campaign.” Aliza’s face brightens as she shakes her index finger in my direction.
“Yes, I did.” I nod proudly.
“Oh, yeah. You did do that campaign. That explains—”
“Miss, your drink?” the bartender says, sitting the glass on the counter.
“That’s great, Sabrina. I don’t know much about your field, but I do know a good ad when I see one,” Aliza adds.
“Thank you, that’s sweet of you,” I say between sips.
“Of course.” She smiles. “Are you here with anyone?”
I inhale, prepared to answer, but D'Andre speaks instead.
“Um,” he scoffs. “Doubtful. Sabrina doesn’t have time for—” D'Andre continues.
A hand presses softly against my back, forcing me to glance over my shoulder. Standing at my side is a tall, well-dressed man I’ve never seen before.
“Hey, babe, sorry I’m late,” he says, cupping my face and planting his lips on mine.
I stand frozen, narrowing my eyes in on him while he wraps his arm around me, pulling me close to his warm chest. His tongue parts my lips, and my shoulders unexpectedly soften at his gesture. A hand slides down my spine, resting just where my arch begins to curve into my ass. I push away, separating us. He backs up, only slightly, yet leaving one hand on the small of my back.
“What’s going on, bud? I’m Jackson,” he says, holding out his hand to shake D'Andre’s.
D'Andre’s face tells me he’s just as confused as I am by the presence of this stranger. Words are lost to me as I observe him hesitantly accepting the man’s gesture. I trail my gaze to their grip, and the unspoken competition of my handshake is stronger than yours transpires between them. It’s not until they break their hold that I turn to get a good look at this guy. His expression is that of a man who is confident in himself and his actions. A man who has no regrets about waltzing in and inviting himself into my personal space. A man who, though attractive, is about to get a piece of my mind.
“D'Andre,” he says, giving Jackson a wavering glance.
“And you, miss?” Jackson reaches for Aliza, cupping her manicured fingers between his palms.
“Aliza,” D'Andre interjects and wraps his arm around her waist, wrenching her from Jackson’s grasp.
D'Andre darts his eyes from me then to Jackson, his shoulders tensing when Jackson returns his hand to the small of my back. An uneasy look stretches across his face, and for the first time since the start of our conversation, I’m pleased with his presence.
“Nice to meet you, Aliza!” Jackson continues and places his free hand into his left pocket.
She smiles and nods gingerly.
“What do you—” D'Andre begins.
“Well, it’s was good to meet you both.” Jackson leans in for a farewell shake then secures a button on his black Armani blazer. He then turns to me, with both palms caressing my shoulders and asks, “Are you ready, babe?”
I’m not given a chance to answer. Jackson relieves me of my half-finished drink, lifts it to his lips, and downs it in one gulp. He places the empty glass on the counter, clutches my wrist softly, and guides me along the navy-blue carpet and out into the corridor. I glance backward at D'Andre and Aliza, unsure if I should be nervous that they are slowly becoming distant shadows or be grateful to be free of them.
We walk through a set of double doors with golden frames trimming the glass panes. Once we are across the threshold, I yank free of his grasp. Jackson stops and stares at me, wearing a smile on his tanned face. My brows furrow, and my skin heats up at the nerve of this man. Who does he think he is, coming in here, kissing me, and dragging me out into this hallway without so much as a how are you?
Just as I am about to tell him this, he starts talking first.
“Looked like you needed saving back there. But allow me to formally introduce myself.” He unbuttons his blazer, swipes one side behind his back, and stuffs his hand in his pocket, holding the other out towards me. “I’m Jackson Mitchells, it’s very nice to meet you.”
When I don’t accept his handshake, he rubs his fingers along the edge of his lips and snickers. I step forward and slap him. His head jerks sideways as the sound of my skin hitting him vibrates through the empty space surrounding us.
“You have some fucking nerve,” I snarl. “I don’t know you and certainly didn’t invite you to put your lips on me. Then you waltz me out here as if I’m supposed to be grateful to you.”
“You’re right, that was wrong of me.”
“No, that was disrespectful of you.”
“Was only trying to help. That guy was being a jerk, and I could sense how uneasy it made you.”
“Wouldn’t you say you were quite a jerk yourself? I didn’t ask for anyone’s help and I don’t care what your intentions were. Don’t you ever touch me without my permission again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jackson holds up both hands and backs away, but not once during this interaction does he lose that smirk on his face.
This only angers me more, prompting me for a more in-depth response. But that would probably be exactly what he wants, to elicit any kind of reaction out of me, and I refuse to give him that. I release an exaggerated breath and stomp to the nearest elevator, using every ounce of my willpower to keep from looking back at him. From the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me, his smile never faltering. I jam the call button repeatedly, praying for it hurry up, and hoping he will leave already. Whichever happens first would be good with me. I grip my wrist and catch a peek of him in my peripheral vision, shifting from one foot to the other. I press the button once more, and this time the doors chime open. I step forward and quickly glance over my shoulder to find him walking back to the banquet room.
Now alone, I slam myself against the nearest wall of the lift and let out a shaky breath, silently replaying the last few moments over in my head until I reach my floor and find myself safely locked in my cabin.
