Page 11 of A Perfect Fit

If my gaze could blaze holes, I’d ruin his suit for sure.

I get to work, making his black coffee, and when I’m done, I place the coffee cup on his table with two napkins. “Here you go. An extra napkin for you since you’re so worried about your precious suit.”

Jackson stares at his coffee, then at one of the napkins, which has fuck you in my best fancy cursive writing in blue pen, as well as doodles of a smiling stick figure man and hearts and flowers around the words.

His eyes gleam under the brightness of the cone-shaped pendant lights, and he lets out a rich, velvety laugh that bounces off the walls. A genuine laugh, too, not a phony one.

I narrow my eyes. “What’s so funny?”

Holding my gaze, Jackson stares at me with a look that could easily pull anyone into his evil whirlpool of charm. Despite the fact that he’s the one sitting down and I’m towering over him, my pulse quickens, my body betraying me.

But that amounts to nothing compared to what comes out of his mouth next.

“If you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve just told me straight up, Isabella.”

My jaw drops, and I feel my cheeks burning with disgust.

Ego. His ego is bigger than the whole sky, the whole planet, the entire solar system, and it’s probably as big as his di⁠—

Oh my God.

He’s corrupted my mind.

I’m spiraling.

I’m spiraling, and it’s all his fault.

Jackson casually takes a sip of his coffee, clearly enjoying my flustered state.

“It’s a shame that being back on land hasn’t cleared your delusions,” I say through gritted teeth.

Heat is still blooming across my cheeks, and despite the AC being on full blast, I feel like I’m suddenly standing in the middle of the Sahara Desert. Once again, all thanks to Jackson.

Jackson crosses his legs, amusement dancing in his eyes, like he can read all my inner thoughts. “It’s okay. You can admit you’re secretly in love with me. I won’t hold it against you.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I hiss, rubbing my sweaty palms against my apron. I don’t give him a chance to reply, leaving his table before this can backfire any further.

Returning to my spot behind the counter, I attend to the new customers while Jackson drinks his coffee and continues scrolling through his phone as if he has all the time in the world. At some point, I accidentally drop an empty to-go cup, and I swear I see him shaking his head at me in disapproval.

After what feels like forever, he finally gets up to leave, bringing his coffee cup to the bus bin on the shelf next to the pickup counter that’s labeled Dishes Here.

“Took you long enough,” I say.

“I had to sit for some time and monitor for any symptoms,” he explains. “You know, in case you’d poisoned me.”

“Ha-ha,” I drawl. “Absolutely hilarious, Carter.”

He checks his watch. “By the way, the coffee was average. Hopefully, you’ll do a better job next time.”

My molars grind. “Hopefully, you step on dog poop and have a bird shit on your clothes when you walk out the door.”

Jackson lets out a laugh. “Then I’ll get my shoes and clothes dry-cleaned and bill the fees under your name.”

I clench my jaw, not giving him the satisfaction of a response.

Keep dreaming, jackass.

Chapter Five