Cross Check (Marriage Contract #1) (4 page)

Chapter Two

Pushing open the door to DeLeonardo’s—Loudon’s favorite
Italian restaurant in the city—I nearly swoon at the delicious aromas of
freshly baked bread and roasted garlic. I was so excited by my sudden promotion
at work that I completely forgot to eat lunch, quite the rare occurrence for
me. Only now do I realize just how hungry I really am. But I can’t think of
anywhere I’d rather bring a hearty appetite than DeLeonardo’s. This place has
been a staple in my life since I came to work for King Enterprises. I’m willing
to bet that this kitchen feeds me more often than my own does.

“Leah!” croons Franco, the handsome maî
tre d
’,
as I step into the restaurant, “Lovely to see you. You look fantastic, as
ever.”

“Why thank you,” I smile, glancing down at my outfit of
choice.

I had just enough time after work to run home for a quick
change. My studio apartment on Riverside Drive has become little more than a
closet and crash pad as my hours at work have gotten more insane. My only
roommate is a longhaired calico cat named Galadriel—Gigi for short. I’ve had
her since I first moved to the city six years ago. She was a housewarming gift
from my dad, who thought I could use an expert mouse-catcher on hand. I don’t
know if Gigi’s ever actually caught a mouse, but she’s been a great pal through
the years. She's none too pleased with my long hours lately, which she makes
perfectly clear with her long, skeptical stares.

“Don't look at me like that,” I cooed to her as I slipped
into a flattering black cocktail dress back at home, “I’ll be home before
midnight, I promise.”

Putting my cat-imposed curfew out of mind, I follow Franco
through the dining room of DeLeonardo’s. I can feel the eyes of the other
patrons swivel to follow me as I walk along. My dark red hair is pulled into an
informal up do, and my little black dress emphasizes the dip of my waist and
full curves alike. Honestly, if I look half as good as I feel after today’s
promotion, then I can understand the wandering eyes of the other diners. I
guess confidence really is the best accessory, huh?

“I have to say, it is such a pleasure to have you and Mr.
King here together,” Franco says warmly, beaming over his shoulder at me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, cocking my head, “We’re here
together all the time.”

“Hmm,” Franco murmurs, leading me toward Loudon’s preferred
corner of the dining room, “That’s not my recollection."

“Franco,” I laugh, stilettos clicking on the hardwood floor
as I follow him, “Loudon and I were here just last week!”

“Loudon?” Franco exclaims, raising his thick eyebrows. “Oh!
My mistake, Ms. Brody. I was speaking of the
younger
Mr. King.”

“The younger…?” I breathe, stopping dead in my tracks out of
sheer surprise. “What are you—Do you mean—”

“Jamison, of course!” Franco says excitedly, lightly
touching my elbow to usher me along, “He’s waiting at the table for you.”

The ornate oak-paneled dining room seems to waver on its
axis as this news hits me like a punch to the gut. Jamison King is here. At
DeLeonardo’s. Waiting for me. Loudon didn’t mention anything about Jamison
being here tonight. Not a word. Why the hell would he spring something like
this on me? And since when are the two Mr. Kings chummy enough to be breaking
bread again?

Though a veritable whirlwind of questions is running through
my mind, every single one of them flies out of my head as Franco guides me
around the corner. My eyes land hard on Loudon’s usual secluded corner
table—but it isn’t Loudon I find there. A pang of recognition twists my core as
I set eyes on Jamison King, in the flesh. I’m so accustomed to seeing his
airbrushed form in advertisements these days that I almost forgot how beautiful
he is in person. No photograph could ever capture the exact color of his cobalt
eyes, the set of his jaw, his resting expression of sharp, knowing confidence.

For a brief moment, I wonder if I should turn on my heel and
book it out of here before he sees me. I’m not ready to be in his presence
again. I need to prepare. And strategize. And figure out how to defend myself
against the magnetic effect he has on me. But just as I start shifting my
weight to run like hell in the other direction, I feel his gaze lock onto my face.
Our eyes meet across the grand dining room, and for a second that connection we
forged as kids hangs between us in its pure, original form.

That is, until his crackling gaze rakes down along the
length of my body, leaving searing tendrils of heat in its wake. There’s
nothing childish about
that
look.

“Well fuck me,” Jamison grins, rising to his feet, “Leah
Brody.”

“Hi Jamison,” I say, feeling my spine straighten like a
steel rod as I hold out my hand for him to shake. “Good to see you.”

But he ignores my outstretched hand completely. Instead, he
closes the space between us with one sure step. Wrapping his arm lightly around
my waist, he pulls me in and brushes his lips against my cheek. It’s all I can
do not to turn my mouth toward his as it approaches, as every cell in my body
begs me to do.

“I think we’re a little beyond a hand shake, don’t you
think?” Jamison murmurs in my ear, before he pulls away.

It’s as though the mere sight of him has reduced me to a
naive girl of eighteen once again. The overpowering sexual energy that was
finally let loose on his last night in our hometown is roiling just under the
surface of this very moment. But Jamison is no eighteen-year-old boy anymore.
Time has been very kind to my old friend and rival. He’s at least four inches
taller, for one thing, and broader in the shoulders to boot. His well-formed
teenage muscles have clarified and hardened, but somehow he’s even more
balanced and assured than he was back then. Even his facial features have grown
more striking in their definition. His cunning blue eyes, aquiline nose, and
sharp jaw have been enhanced by a smattering of stubble, just a shade darker
than his sandy blonde hair.

“Leah?” Franco prompts, dragging me out of my gob smacked
reverie.

I glance over at him and see that he’s been holding me chair
out for me while I’ve been standing here gaping like a moron. I hurry to take
my seat before Jamison can tell just how much of a loop his presence has thrown
me for. As Franco disappears from our company, I draw in a deep, calming
breath. So I happen to be sitting here with Jamison King, after twelve years of
radio silence. So what? He may be a famous athlete and media personality to the
rest of the world, but to me he’s still just Jay—my literal boy next door.

Or so I try to tell myself.

“So. What's good here?” Jamison asks, glancing down at
DeLeonardo’s extensive menu.

“Really? That’s what you open with?” I ask wryly.

“What other sort of opening did you have in mind?” he
challenges, lifting a perfect eyebrow—a gesture he shares with his dad.

“How about you explain what you’re doing here, to start
with?” I suggest bluntly. “Shouldn’t you be off getting your picture taken
somewhere?”

“Why so hostile, Brody?” he smiles, “Aren’t you happy to see
me?”

“Just surprised is all,” I shrug, not wanting him to know
just how flustered I feel, “It
has
been twelve years, after all.”

“And somehow you’ve only gotten sexier,” he replies, leaning
back in his charcoal sports coat. “I wouldn’t have guessed that was possible.”

“Oh, cut the shit,” I tell him, though a thrill sparks along
my spine at his words. “Just tell me what you’re doing here, Jamison.
Seriously.”

“I’m having dinner with my father and an old friend,” he
replies, not giving an inch, “Plain and simple.”

“I don’t buy that for a second,” I inform him, plucking up
my drink menu as the waiter approaches, “But then, I guess I should be used to
you bullshitting me.”

Jay’s blue eyes flash angrily. “When did I—?”

“Something to drink?” the waiter interrupts, smiling down at
our glowering faces.

“Two scotches. Neat,” Jay snaps, not even looking up at the
man.

“Very well," the waiter replies, hurrying away.

I stare at Jamison across the table, utterly astounded. “Did
you just order for me? Who do you think you—”

“What, scotch isn’t your drink anymore?” he shoots back, a
knowing smirk twisting his perfect lips.

Goddammit. He’s got me there. Scotch
is
my drink of
choice. But that doesn’t mean I want Mr. Man putting words in my mouth, thanks
very much.

“Same old Jamison,” I say, shaking my head, “Everything
always has to be on your terms, even now.”

“You bet your ass,” he winks back at me, sending conflicting
waves of anger and elation sweeping through me.

Before I can wrangle my runaway thoughts, Loudon King
finally arrives at our table. Sinking down into his chair, he acts for the
world like this get-together is perfectly routine.

“Sorry I’m late,” he offers, as a waiter sets our scotches
down and automatically furnishes Loudon with a martini. “You two have a minute
to catch up?"

“We sure did,” Jamison smiles across the table, lifting his
glass to me before bringing it to his perfect lips.

“I didn't know Jay would be joining us tonight,” I say to
Loudon, smiling tightly back, “What a… nice surprise. It’s been ages.”

“Don’t I know it,” Loudon says brusquely. “But after all
this time, it seems that Jamison here is finally read to join the fold. Isn’t
that right, Jay?”

“That’s right Dad,” Jay replies, somewhat begrudgingly, I
notice.

These two have never had the sunniest of relationships before.
While Jay was growing up, Loudon barely humored his passion for hockey. Loudon
was always pressing Jay to take up a “serious” interest, something he could
make a living out of. Even when Jay found success in the NHL and beyond, Loudon
spoke of his son’s career like some kind of lark. Just a phase he was going
through. But now, Loudon seems downright pleased to have Jay here. And
something tells me I’m not going to like the reason why.

“What does that mean, join the fold?” I ask Loudon, trying
not to sound alarmed.

“Oh, didn’t Jay tell you yet?” Loudon says, “At long last,
he’s ready to get in on the family business. And about damn time.”

I stare at Loudon for a long moment, waiting for him to
deliver the punchline. Surely, this is some kind of joke. What could Jamison
possibly have to offer King Enterprises? He doesn’t have a scrap of relevant
experience.

“In, uh, what capacity are you coming on board?” I ask Jay,
all but gritting my teeth.

“What did we say, Dad?” Jay asks his father, “Creative Executive
to start?”

“That’s right,” Loudon replies, sipping his martini.

It’s all I can do not to stand up and walk away that very
second. Creative executive is the position
I
currently hold. After years
of busting my ass, working my way up the ladder. Now Prince Jamison shows up
and gets handed the keys to the kingdom, just like that? I know I shouldn’t be
surprised. This is exactly how privilege and nepotism work. But honestly, I
thought Loudon was more principled than this.

“Wow,” I manage to utter. “That’s... That’s really
something.”

“It sure is,” Loudon replies, completely oblivious to my
distress.

“It’s crazy isn’t it, Brody?” Jay smiles, casually taking a
sip of scotch, “We’re gonna be coworkers. Who woulda thought?”

“Not me,” I smile tightly, taking a long swallow of scotch
myself.

Though Loudon may not know or care how upset I am with this
turn of events, Jamison can read me like an open book. He knows exactly how
displeased I am with his sudden reappearance, and he’s getting quite the kick
out of it, too. Well, two can play at that game. I’ve been in this business
long enough to know that playing nice with people you can’t stand is just part
of the job. With that in mind, I meet Jay’s smug sneer with a placid smirk of
my own.

Getting Daddy to give him a job at King Enterprises may have
been a piece of cake for Jamison, but that doesn’t mean
I
have to go
easy on him. Someone has to put the new guy through the paces, after all. And
who better to take on that task than me? No one else at work will have the guts
to stand up to the heir apparent. It’s up to me to keep the crown prince in
line. I don’t expect it to be easy, handling an arrogant sonofabitch like
Jamison, but hey—I’ve always been a girl who’s liked a good challenge.

“So, when do you start?” I ask Jay, civil as can be.

“Monday morning. Bright and early,” he replies, eyes
gleaming as he stares at me across the table. “Get ready.”

His interest has been noticeably piqued by my response to
the news of his joining the family business. Surely, he didn’t really expect me
to throw some kind of temper tantrum at the dinner table? If he did, he’s
vastly underestimated me, that’s for sure. But though he looks surprised by my
reaction, he doesn’t seem put off by it. If anything, he seems intrigued.
Excited to have a worthy opponent. I guess not much has changed since we were
little kids, competing over every little thing we could think of. Only now, the
stakes are much higher. The company I’ve devoted the last six years of my life
to hangs in the balance. And I’m not going to give it up without a fight.

“Priscilla and I will be spending the weekend on Martha’s
Vineyard,” Loudon says, interrupting my impassioned train of thought, “Next
week, we’ll start integrating Jamison into the goings-on at King Enterprises.
Maybe he’ll have some ideas for the YA series you just brought in for us,
Leah?”

“Yeah, maybe he will,” I reply aloud (while screaming
OVER
MY DEAD BODY
on the inside, of course).

By the time I arrive home again from the most draining
dinner in recent memory, I’m brimming with suppressed frustration and outrage.
Not bothering to take off my sleek cocktail dress, I flop onto my bed with a
heavy sigh. Galadriel pads across the tiny studio, puzzled by my despondent
behavior.