Crossing the Line. Megan Hart
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a little cocky, aren’t you?” Jamison said with a gleam in his dark eyes that had Caite sitting up a little straighter to meet his gaze head-on.
“Pot, have you met kettle?”
To her relief, because it could’ve gone either way, he laughed. Then tipped his empty bottle at her before tossing it into the recycling bin next to the conference room door. “You’re in for a helluva lot of work. It’s not just setting up a media plan for them, you know. They’re all already on all the sites—”
“I know,” Caite cut in smoothly, thinking of the after-hours work she’d already put in pulling together a media management plan for the three new clients. “It’s not just monitoring their activity but doing damage control, as well as coordinating coverage when they’re booked for gigs and managing that, too. Getting them sponsorships. Stuff like that. I’m not a total newbie. Before I came to work here, I had three years in social media experience.”
Jamison snorted laughter. “You probably don’t remember a time when social media didn’t exist.”
“I’m almost thirty years old, Jamison. I can assure you, I remember a life before Connex.”
He looked thoughtful. “It’s not going to be easy. These kids are hard to handle.”
“Which is why we got them to pay us the big bucks. Nobody else wants them, not even for the notoriety.”
For a moment, she wished she hadn’t said that, even though it was the truth. Wolfe and Baron were not notorious, and there was a reason for that. Jamison had started this business with an eye for clients who traveled in influential circles but didn’t make a scene. Businessmen, politicians, the occasional socialite. Once Elise had come on board, Wolfe and Baron had begun to expand into the celebrity arena but still handled mostly theater actors, artists, classical musicians, not rock stars. Handling these three reality TV stars was totally new ground for them, but Elise had been adamant about taking them on.
Nellie Bower, Paxton France and Tommy Sanders were going to put Wolfe and Baron on the map.
And Caite intended to be part of that. She eyed Jamison now. “I can handle them.”
Jamison narrowed his eyes. “What makes you think so?”
“Because I’m good at what I do. I told you. Because I think outside the box. Because I’m young and hip.” She paused with a smile. “Because I’ve actually watched Treasure House, unlike you.”
“Piece-of-shit show.”
“Oh, it’s a shit show, all right, which is why it gets the ratings, and why those three are so popular right now.” Caite shrugged. “Look, it’s no Doctor Who, but there’ve been some decent episodes.”
“You watch Doctor Who?”
Should she be offended at his surprise? “Um, duh. Yes.”
“I used to love that show as a kid.”
“Well, here’s some news for you, Gramps—it’s been updated since then.”
He looked startled at first, then gave her a grudging laugh that sent a thrill all through her. A laugh from her curmudgeonly boss was as rare as icicles in a Texas July. “Some people have lives, Ms. Fox. Like we do things other than watch television.”
Somehow she doubted that he had much of a life. It was all work with him. Hours in the office, hours outside the office. She didn’t know much about his personal life, other than that he had no wife, no kids and seemingly no family. Maybe he’d sprung full-grown from a trumpet, like in that old Greek myth she could never remember—and that would make sense, because he sure had the body of a Greek god.
Hold it in, girl, she counseled herself. He’s your boss and a little too bossy for you even if he didn’t sign your paycheck.
“I have a life,” she said instead, like a challenge.
He took it. She’d known he would. It was in the glint of his eyes and lift of his chin and something in the way his breath shifted. She’d watched him go head-to-head with too many people not to know what sorts of things got him going, but had she deliberately chosen this tone of voice, those words? Caite thought that maybe she had.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah,” she said in a lower voice, meeting his eyes without looking away. “A rich, full life that includes time for television, along with lots of other...things.”
Jamison pinned her with his gaze, his teeth bared a little in a predatory smile. “And you think I don’t have a rich, full life? Why? Because I don’t rot my brain with shitty reality television shows?”
“No,” she said on a low breath. “Because you don’t make time for those other things.”
For a moment, she thought he’d reach across the table and take her by the chin. Or, oh, God, fist his fingers in her hair. But of course he didn’t, and wouldn’t, even if he was suddenly looking at her as though she were Little Red Riding Hood and he a different sort of wolf. Still, the look made Caite shift in her seat, squeezing her thighs together, watching him look her over.
“Like what other things?” Jamison asked.
“When’s the last time you went dancing, for example?”
He frowned. “I don’t like to dance.”
She laughed. “I’m not surprised.”
For a moment, it was his turn to look offended. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re not patient enough to be a good dancer.”
“The hell does that mean?” His frown didn’t break his face the way it would’ve on another man. It only emphasized his intense good looks. “Not patient enough?”
Caite shrugged. “It means that even though you’re athletic and in good shape, you don’t have the patience to learn any sort of coordinated dancing. And freestyle would annoy you, trying to keep up with someone who wasn’t zigging left when you wanted to go right. You’d need a partner who understood you better than you know yourself in order to keep up with you.”
His mouth opened as though he meant to speak, but Caite kept up before he could.
“You don’t like crowds with loud music, and though you like to drink, you don’t like being around people who are out-of-control drunk. That’s why you don’t like the new clients, isn’t it? At least part of it?”
“They’re disgusting,” Jamison muttered, cutting his gaze from hers. He wiped at his mouth with his fingertips before looking back at her. “You seem to think you know an awful lot about me.”
“Sorry if I overstepped,” she said, not sorry at all.
Jamison wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. “You really think you can handle those three?”
“Yes. I really do.” Confidence was everything; Caite had learned that a long time ago. She smiled at him, hoping to get at least the hint of a grin in return, but Jamison only stared at her steadily. For a long time.
He broke first, finally. “Fine. You’re on it.”
“Hooray!” Caite cried.
He looked taken aback, then shook his head and sighed. “Hooray.”
“C’mon. Say it like you mean it,” Caite said, standing and leaning over the table to put her hands flat on it so she could look him in the eyes. She only meant to tease him—Jamison Wolfe had long impressed her as the sort of man who needed to be teased now and then. But at the way his eyes narrowed and mouth thinned, Caite worried she’d gone a little too far.
Then, watching him watch her, she began to hope she had.
* * *
“I’ll be able to call in every day.” Elise, looking