Page 4 of Work It Out
“Practically ancient, according to your grandfather.”
“You don’t look a day over thirty, Ms. Jean,” the big guy drawled.
Jake frowned at the suck up. “Apparently, you aren’t paying Blaine enough, Granny. Looks like he can’t afford a shirt.”
She let loose a tinkling laugh. “Oh, honey, I pay him plenty. Including a little extra to forget he can afford shirts.”
“Kill me now,” Jake muttered.
“I keep telling Ruth and Georgia to pay their boys extra, too, but they shake their heads and call me shameless.”
“Ruth and—” He looked past her and saw his grandmother’s favorite cronies with their own man candy. “Are those martinis?”
“Of course, dear. Georgia makes the most delightful—”
“It’s nine thirty in the morning!”
“Don’t you take that tone with me. We used to drink mimosas, but Samuel—that’s Ruth’s young man—pointed out how much sugar those have. Vodka is much healthier.”
He scowled at Pierce. “What the hell kind of place is this?”
“Right now,” replied a husky voice behind him, “I’d say it’s the entertaining kind.”
Jake turned and looked down—way, way down—into big, sparkling brown eyes and promptly forgot what he was so cheesed off about.
The woman strode past him with the grace of a dancer to place a stack of papers on the reception desk, and he damn near swallowed his tongue. He’d always had a thing for short women, and this one looked like she was a couple fellow Keeblers shy of running a cookie empire out of a tree. Her lemony scent made his mouth water almost as much as her superbly round ass and those thighs that looked strong enough to hold on to him for hours.
No. Bad brain.
Work. He was here to work.
Also, he was wearing basketball shorts. If he didn’t drag his mind out of the gutter, he’d make a terrible first impression.
Tofu. Kale salads. Boiled chicken breast, he thought, staring just beyond her shoulder.
A sharp elbow caught him in the side. “Dude, roll your tongue in,” Pierce hissed. “That’s Rayah.”
Ah, hell. Of course it was.
Blaine took her arrival as a cue. “Come along, Ms. Jean. We should stretch you out before your muscles get cold.”
“I’m going to vomit,” Jake muttered, not entirely exaggerating.
Granny put a hand on each side of his face and drew him down for a lipstick-laden kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you at six for dinner.” She pinned Pierce with a stare. “Both of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied in stereo, because really, what else could they do?
She patted his cheeks a smidge harder than was called for, slipped her arm into the giant’s elbow, and allowed him to lead her back to her friends.
“Pierce?” Rayah shot a pointed glance at Jake.
Pierce’s I-am-the-shit grin plastered itself all over his face, but Grace beat him to the punch with a cackle. “This is Jake. He’s heardsooomuch about you.”
Not about to let Grace steal his thunder, Pierce added, “But you can call him the answer to your prayers.”
With one last eye roll, Grace returned to her post at the reception desk and her attack on the magazine.
Jake ignored them both and extended his hand to Rayah. “Jake Newman.” She slipped her slender fingers into his and his protective instincts went crazy. She was so small, so feminine. He wanted to put her in his pocket where he could keep her safe. Yet, according to Pierce, she’d likely castrate him if he tried.
