The built-in answering machine clinked on after the fourth ring, and Jamie cleared her throat. Too bad she didn’t actually drink coffee. She could go into the kitchen, pour a cup, and pretend not to listen to Jack’s personal call. He may not have any ethics or scruples and could lie about his apartment without guilt or compunction, but she was an honest person.
Which didn’t explain why she was rooted to the rug like a stubborn weed.
A man’s voice spoke. “Jonathon, it’s Steve. Why the frick is your cell turned off? Listen, I’ve got to talk to you about that whole Beechwood business. I talked to legal and you can’t sit back on this, you have to call in the feds. So instead of following Caro’s roommate like the bored millionaire loser that you are, you need to tell her what we found. Call me back so I know you’re on this. Ciao.”
Jamie didn’t know who Steve was, or what Beechwood and the feds had to do with each other, but she did strongly suspect that the gist of that message was that Jack had known she was Jamie Peters, Caroline’s roommate.
And geez Louise, did that hurt. It was also humiliating.
Beckwith’s words rang in her ears, loud and clear. A dishonest act will bring you the man of your dreams. She had slept with a complete and total liar. She had allowed herself to be sweet-talked right out of her pants like some dumb girl straight off the farm.
Embarrassment sent her into the bedroom to retrieve her discarded jeans and pull them on, retreating to the living room without looking at Jack. Jamie was shocked at her own behavior in hindsight.
Dinner. She’d invited him for dinner, and here she was struggling back into her jeans and bra twenty-four hours later. Knowing her tank top was ruined, she pulled Jack’s black T-shirt back on over her bra and knotted the corner of it so it wasn’t as huge and baggy.
Her pants were wrinkled to hell and back, and she could only see one sandal. Crawling around frantically on her knees looking for it, Jamie cursed her own stupidity. Coming home with Jack had been one of her less brilliant ideas, and she was just mortified. She had fallen for all of it—the connection, the interest, the caring in his eyes. Maybe Allison was right. She was too trusting. Naïve.
Dating fixer-upper men had always been her specialty. She had thought Jack was different. And yet here she was searching for discarded clothing and praying he wouldn’t wake up before she got the hell out of there. She didn’t think she could face him. Not after the way she had shared a part of herself, her thoughts, her heart, her soul, with him, and he’d just been looking to get lucky.
Her sandal was jammed under the couch, and she tugged it out. A quick peek in her wallet confirmed she had forty bucks, which meant she could grab a cab instead of the subway, thank goodness for small favors. Remembering the boiling water, she went into the kitchen and turned it off. Hesitated. Then found herself pouring it into the French press and pushing the plunger down.
This was what her problem was. She was taking the time to make coffee for a man who had lied to her. God, she needed counseling. Pressing the pot back farther on the counter, she wiped her hands and retreated out of the kitchen.
On tiptoes, she went back down the hall and took a last peek at Jack.
Maybe she was overreacting. Yes, there was reason to feel uncomfortable. He had seen her naked. He was now in a fairly exclusive club of Men Who Had Done Her. But that wasn’t a reason to panic. They were adults. She had known what she was doing both the night before and that morning.
Which didn’t make it any less stupid now.
But she was a fair person. Maybe he had a good reason for withholding his identity from her. Besides being a jerk, that is.
Maybe she should wake him up, and they could have a rational discussion about what had happened, who he was, and what his concerns over the funding at Beechwood were.
Jack rolled over in bed, his mouth closed, breathing silently. He was tangled up in the sheet, and he looked absolutely gorgeous. Sweet.
The lying rat. Who had such a talented tongue in more ways than one.
She had to remind herself to hold on to her anger. It wouldn’t be a good thing to start feeling sympathy for him. To start remembering what it had felt like with his you-know-what buried deep inside her…
Shit, she was caving. Which was not a good thing.
Wiping her hands on her jeans, she crept into the bedroom and stood in front of Jack’s closet.
No.
Jonathon Davidson’s closet.
Clenching her teeth, she opened it slowly so it wouldn’t creak.
Casual clothes hung in front of her. Jeans, sweaters, button-up shirts. Relief assailed her. Then she turned a little and peered toward the back of the closet.
There they were. At least a dozen suits were hanging. Expensive. She checked the label. It meant nothing to her, but it sounded Italian and pretentious.
Shiny black and brown shoes lined up underneath them, and a tie rack contained an array of silk ties.
She stumbled back, covering her mouth with her hand, tears stinging her eyes.
Her worst nightmare.
She had slept with a Suit.
And had enjoyed every single luscious minute of it.
Chapter 9
Jamie rushed past the doorman as fast as she could in the stupid platform sandals, unable to look the man in the eye. She felt like a bad morning-after cliché—rumpled and regretful.
She had thought Jack was the kind of man she could spend the rest of her life with. Had wanted to believe so much that he found her sexy and appealing and wanted the same thing.
It really sucked that she could have been so wrong. That she could have felt that hopeful, that desperate, that ridiculous, when Jack couldn’t possibly be that man. The Jack she had talked to all night and had slept with wasn’t even real. She didn’t know the secrets of Jack’s heart and mind.
Yet she still very much wanted him to be The One.
Which wasn’t at all cool.
Patting her hair down, she dialed on her cell phone and tried not to panic.
After four rings, Allison said, “Jamie?”
“Help!” she wailed into the phone.
So much for not panicking.
“Are you okay? Where the hell have you been all freaking night? I was about ready to call the cops. I told you it was a bad idea to go out with a total stranger.”
Knowing Allison was right didn’t make her feel any better. “I’m fine. Don’t call the cops. I’m on my way home.”
Jamie was walking unnecessarily fast, which was ridiculous because Jack wasn’t going to come flying out of his building and chase down the street after her. She forced herself to slow down. “I need some advice. Things are…complicated.”