Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (11 page)

He nods, typing the name into the Internet search bar.
Instantly, the screen is flooded with images of the actress’s beautiful face.

“Who is she?” Jay asks, scrolling through page after page of
photos.

“She’s a Swedish-born actress,” I inform him, “Not a
household name just yet, but I think that’s good for us. She’s done a lot of
indie films, and she’s super talented.”

“Not to mention stunning,” Jamison observes.

He’s not wrong. Svea Andersson is a quintessential beauty.
Big gray eyes, full lips, delicate nose, high cheek bones. Her long blonde hair
and statuesque figure don’t hurt, either.

“Do you think she’s
too
pretty?” I ask Jay.

“Is there such a thing for Hollywood?” he laughs.

“Good point,” I allow, “I think she can definitely handle
the part, that’s for sure.”

“If she’s your first instinct, then I think we should get
her on the phone,” Jay says, “Your judgement is top-notch.”

“Then what am I doing hanging out with you?” I tease him.

“Very funny,” he replies, tossing a sheet of crumbled paper
at me. “Listen, I’m starving. Let’s break for lunch, yeah?”

“Yeah, I could eat,” I tell him, pulling myself to my feet,
“Got anything in the kitchen?”

“The kitchen?” he scoffs, standing to join me, “I have a
better idea. Come with me.”

Moments later, Jay and I step out onto the front steps of
the brownstone, finally greeting the day. The warm summer breeze plays against
my bare legs, warming my pale skin.

“When was the last time you actually left the office for
lunch?” Jamison asks, taking my hand in his.

“That’s easy,” I reply, “Never.”

“Holy shit,” he laughs, leading me down the steps, “I have
so much to teach you. The first of which is the value of a little day
drinking.”

We wander over to a little French restaurant around the
corner, sharing a few small plates and a bottle of Sauvignon blanc. It feels
almost illicit, taking an hour to relax in the middle of the work day. But then
every moment with Jamison King feels like an adventure. Once he’s settled the
bill, we decide to walk off our buzz, heading over to the Hudson River Park for
a stroll. We make our way out along one of the piers, leaning against the
railing as we reach the end of the stretch. Our home state rises up before us
just across the river.

“I know it’s not actually that far away,” I say to Jamison,
“But damn, it feels like we’ve gone the distance since we left Little Silver.”

“A lot has changed,” he nods, his blue eyes reflecting the
water below, “A lot of shit I could never have predicted.”

The note of sadness in his voice tears at my heart. I lay my
head on his shoulder, bringing my hand to the small of his back.

“I can’t believe how strong you’re being,” I say softly, the
breeze carrying away my words as quickly as I can speak them. “After what’s
happened, I mean. You just lost your parents, and here you are diving into an
entirely new phase of your professional life.”

“You’ve lost a parent too,” he shrugs, “And you’re still
kicking.”

“Yeah, but I lost my mom when I was fourteen,” I remind him.
“You barely had a week to cope. You know, no one would think less of you if you
took some time off.”

He glances down at me, raising an eyebrow just like his dad
used to do.

“Take some time off?” he replies, “And let you become the
next president of King Enterprises while I sit around licking my wounds?”

I blink up at him, taken aback. I
think
he’s kidding.
But there’s an edge to his words that’s giving me pause.

“Admit it,” he presses, grinning rakishly, “You’re just
trying to take me out of the running. Using your feminine whiles wiles to get
ahead.”

Relief sweeps over me as the bit goes on. He
was
joking. Thank god.

“What’re you blushing for?” he laughs, wrapping his arms
around me, “I was just fucking with you, Brody.”

“I know,” I mutter, giving him a playful punch on the arm,
“You’re just a good actor, I guess. If you ever get sick of modeling underwear
you could totally get some soap opera work.”

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment,” he says,
giving me a long, lingering kiss there on the pier.

“We need to get back to work,” I remind him, breaking reluctantly
away.

“I know, I know,” he grumbles, taking my hand as we head
home, “Man, all it is with you is work and sex, work and sex…”

“Is that a bad thing?” I ask sarcastically.

“Fuck no,” he winks, “In fact, I think that makes you my
ideal woman.”

Chapter Nine

Despite Jamison’s pleas for another work-from-home day, I
insist on going into the King Enterprises office that Wednesday.

“How’s it going to look if the two people poised to take
over this company stop showing up to work?” I ask him, zipping up my emerald
green dress.

“It’ll look like we know how to work in comfort and style,”
he grumbles, adjusting his tie. “We got so much done yesterday without ever
leaving the house.”

“You just want to work from home so we can take fuck breaks
any time we please,” I shoot back mischievously.

We certainly took full advantage of that perk yesterday
afternoon. The second we hit a stopping point in our work on
Huntress of
Tomorrow
, Jamison wasted and I wasted no time getting down to our
other
business. Barely two days into our time as roommates and we’re already making
great progress fucking in every room of the brownstone. Let it never be said
that Jamison King and I aren’t industrious individuals.

“We don’t need to be at home to take a fuck break whenever we
please,” Jamison says, helping to zip my dress up the rest of the way. “That’s
what stairwells are for.”

“If you think you’re going to fuck me in a stairwell, you’ve
got another thing coming to you,” I tell him frankly.

“You’d be surprised. It’s a pretty good time,” he laughs,
giving my ass a firm squeeze.

“Just how many times have you tried it?” I ask, feeling the
vast discrepancy in our sexual histories more acutely than usual.

“Oh, who knows,” he says, shrugging into his suit jacket,
“It’s not like I’m keeping score, you know?”

“Right,” I nod, trying to shake off my discomfort, “Of
course.”

“What’s up?” he asks point blank, training his blue-eyed
gaze on me, “You’re being so prim all of a sudden.”

“I guess I’m just still getting used to the idea of being
with a world famous ladies’ man,” I tell him honestly. “It’s a little bit
intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” he asks, brows furrowed, “Why?”

“Why?” I laugh incredulously, “Because you’ve spent the last
twelve years sleeping with super models and movie stars by the dozen. That’s
why.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with us,” Jay says, “And
besides, you’re just as sexy as any woman I’ve ever slept with.”

“That’s not the point,” I tell him, “And it’s not just sex
I’m talking about, here. Our life experiences are just so different. Sometimes
it feels like we’re on exactly the same page, and then other times it’s like
you’re a complete stranger.”

“We’ve known each other our entire lives,” he says, growing
exasperated, “How can we be strangers?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him, “It can be hard to tell where
the Jamison King brand ends and
you
actually begin.”

That
gets under his skin. Jay stares at me from
across the room, his face unreadable. For a moment, I fear that he’s about to
start screaming at me, telling me I don’t know shit. But instead, he just
resumes getting dressed like nothing ever happened.

“Jay?” I say tentatively, taking a step forward.

“We should get going,” he says shortly, pulling out his
cell, “I’ll call our ride.”

Moments later, as we’re sitting side-by-side in the car on
the way to Midtown, it feels like a rift has opened up between us. It’s true,
what I told him. Despite our shared childhood, I know next to nothing about
Jamison King as an adult. I can’t let myself be lured into a false sense of
intimacy just because we grew up next door to each other. There’s a lot that I
don’t know about Jay—his intentions, his tactics, how far he’s willing to go to
get what he wants. I need to be careful to keep my guard up. To protect myself.

And my heart, for that matter.

As we slow to a stop before the King Enterprises building,
Jay turns to me in the backseat of the car. 

“Look. I know that this arrangement isn’t perfect, and that
there’s a lot we still don’t know about each other,” he says, “But let’s just
try to focus on what we
do
know, while we’re making up for lost time.”

“And what do we know, Jay?” I ask, sincerely wanting to hear
his thoughts.

“We know that we work incredibly well together,” he begins,
“We know that we have compatible sensibilities, creatively speaking.” He leans
in close so that the driver can’t hear him as he continues, “And I know that
you turn me on like nobody else ever has.”

“I’m sure,” I laugh softly, feeling my body respond to the
nearness of him.

“It’s the truth,” he insists, his eyes hard on my face, “As
for the rest, well… If I get my way, we’ll have all the time in the world to
figure each other out. But right now, we’ve got work to do.”

And with that, he lets himself out of the car, circling
around to open my door for me.

“What a gentleman,” I tease, accepting his hand as he helps
me out of the car.

“Yeah, well,” he grins, “What can I say? You bring out the
best in me.”

Just as we turn toward the towering office building, a
bright flash of light erupts before my eyes, causing me to stagger backward.
Blinking furiously as I regain my balance, I see a man standing directly in our
path on the sidewalk, holding up his smartphone. The flash on his camera goes
off again and again as he snaps pictures of me and Jamison. For a moment, I’m
too stunned to speak. Jay, however, does not have the same problem.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jay growls,
storming over the slight, sneering man.

“Hey, I’m just trying to get in on the action,” the weaselly
little photographer, “You guys are all the rage on the blogs right now. I can
sell these pictures for a—hey!”

I gasp as Jamison snatches the man’s cell phone out of his
hand, drops it on the sidewalk, and stomps in the screen with his heel. The
rude man lets out an outraged yelp, dropping to his knees to pick up his
precious phone. But it occurs to me as I glance around that he’s not the only
one with a sudden, keen interest in Jamison and me. A handful of other
passersby have whipped out phones of their own, capturing the moment Jay
destroyed our paparazzo’s phone.

“Jay,” I mutter, trying to keep my cool, “We need to get
inside.”

“You asshole!” our harasser shrieks, throwing a tantrum as
Jamison follows my gaze to the other bystanders. “I should sue you for this!”

“Get a fucking grip,” Jay growls, shooting the man a look
that would silence even the most adamant protester. “And a different hobby,
while you’re at it.”

He lays a hand on my back as we hurry through the glass
doors of our building. My head spins in the wake of our encounter. Something
feels seriously wrong, here.

“What did we mean, we’re ‘all the rage’?” I ask Jay, as we
walk toward the elevators.

“Something tells me the jig is up,” he replies through
clenched teeth.

I glance over my shoulder as the elevator doors begin to
close. Every person in the lobby has turned our way, openly gaping. I turn to
Jamison and the doors hiss shut, heart pounding as we begin our ascent.

“OK. Let’s not panic,” I say, trying to convince myself as
much as him, “What information could the press possibly have gotten their hands
on?”

Jamison lets out a sharp laugh, very much at my expense.

“You’re definitely not used to being a public figure, are
you?” he says, as the elevator doors open once more.

We step out of the car together, and I can practically feel
the entire office hold its breath. The staff falls into hushed conversations
across the entire floor, peering over their cubicles and sneaking glances and
Jay and me.

“Come on,” I say to him, making tracks toward my office.

Even Pippa can barely bring herself to look at Jamison and
me as we brush past her. You know something is wrong when even my chatty
assistant is at a loss for words. I let my office door slam shut behind me with
a bang, rushing over to my computer as Jay crosses to the wall of windows
overlooking the river.

“Just remember not to read the comments,” he says gruffly,
grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket as it begins to chirp.

I ignore him, opening up my internet browser and typing “Leah
Brody, Jamison King” into the search bar. As soon as the search results start
to roll in, I have to sit down lest my knees give out beneath me. The number
one search engine hit is an article on a well-known gossip blog that
specializes in outing celebrity secrets:

Sorry, Ladies — Jamison King is Engaged!

Below the headline march a series of paparazzi photos, each
one featuring Jamison and me. There we are in our booth at DeLeonardo’s…on the
Hudson River Park Pier…on the steps of his brownstone. Someone knew to be
keeping an eye on us. But how?

“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice hollow with shock,
“Nobody knows about your dad’s marriage ultimatum but us.”

“Not just us,” Jamison says, his jaw pulsing with rage.

“What, you think one of the lawyers mentioned something?” I
ask.

“Who else was in the room when it first came up?” Jay snaps,
turning to face me.

“Oh, shit…” I mutter, “Cordelia.”

“That’s right,” he says, shaking his head, “My darling big
sister.”