Sleepless In Manhattan. Sarah Morgan
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living in the equivalent of a shoe box. But living somewhere else would have meant more parental anxiety so she’d accepted his generosity and vowed to pay him back.
At this rate, that moment was going to be a long way off.
She flopped down on a cushion opposite Jake.
Claws purred and stretched out on Matt’s lap.
“The chosen one,” Frankie murmured. “That cat has serious issues.”
“That’s what makes her interesting.” Matt’s fingers brushed lightly over the cat’s fur. “I know you’re all feeling bruised right now, but you’ll find other jobs.” His shirt was rolled back to his elbows and Paige noticed the scratches on his skin.
“Did Claws do that?”
“A bad-tempered holly bush. It wasn’t supposed to be my job but one of my staff was sick.”
And Matt would have done the work himself rather than let a client down. That was the sort of person he was and the reason his company was growing fast. He was in demand for his creative vision, but he’d never lost the ability to do the work.
“There’s nothing out there, Matt.”
Claws was purring, eyes closed, lost in the gentle slide and stroke of Matt’s fingers.
“You can’t expect to find a job in a few hours. You have to give it time.”
“We don’t have time. Eva and Frankie were given a measly severance package.” And she knew that even if she could swallow her pride for long enough to accept financial support from her brother or her parents, that wasn’t going to help her friends. Misery descended, chilling her skin. “And Eva is right. Even if we do find another job, we won’t be together. We made such a great team. I don’t know what to do.” A solid lump blocked her throat. She hated herself for being so pathetic. She’d been through far worse than this. What the hell had happened to her backbone?
Jake’s gaze locked on hers and she had a nasty suspicion he knew exactly how close she was to breaking down.
She hated that she couldn’t hide her feelings from him as easily as she did with other people.
“I’ll tell you what you should do.” He reached for the champagne, his shirt molding to strong shoulders. He had the body of a fighter, powerful and thickly muscled. “You should celebrate. And two minutes after you’ve drunk that bottle of champagne, you should start your own company. You want control over what your boss does? Make yourself the boss.”
If at first you don’t succeed, change the plan.
—Paige
Make herself the boss?
“What sort of insensitive joke is that?”
Matt gestured to the glasses. “Pour the drink and shut up, Jake. Only serious suggestions are welcome.”
“That was a serious suggestion. Paige was doing all the work in that damn company anyway, why not do it for herself?”
Matt’s hand stilled and Claws nudged him. “Because starting your own business isn’t something you do on a whim. It’s a risk.”
“Life is a risk.” Jake added salad to his plate. “Paige has lost her job, so it’s not as if playing it safe has turned out so great. She’s always talked about starting her own company one day. Maybe this is the day. That way she can choose her own staff and carry on working with Eva and Frankie. Problem solved.”
Paige felt her heart kick against her ribs. It was a crazy idea. Stupid.
Or was it?
Matt winced as Claws sprang off his lap. “What you’re suggesting is a really big step. Now isn’t the time to make a decision like that.”
“It’s the perfect time.” Jake dug his fork into his food and turned to Paige. “Unless you’d rather wallow for a while, in which case go right ahead. Celebration or pity party—I’m in. Pour the bubbles and let’s get started.”
The one point in Jake’s favor, Paige mused, was that he didn’t protect her. He never had.
Of course that didn’t mean he didn’t drive her insane. “I don’t want pity.” She used to love the fact that he knew her so well. Now she wished he didn’t. It was hard to hide from someone who knew all your secrets. It felt like an invasion of privacy, as if she’d given him a key that he’d refused to return. “It’s true that I want to have my own company one day, but I need experience. I need to learn as much as I can and plan carefully. I’m not ready.”
“You mean you’re scared.” With a deft movement of his wrist, Jake opened the champagne and Claws jumped as the cork shot across the terrace.
“I’m not scared.” Paige wondered how he always knew how she was feeling. “That isn’t the reason.”
“Are you good at your job or not?”
“I’m great at my job. That’s why I thought I’d get this promotion, and—”
“Do you need a lot of guidance and support from above?”
Paige thought about the amount of time Cynthia spent hidden in her office. “No.”
“Do you need someone else to bring you the business or are you confident going out there and fronting it? Can you win business?”
“I do that all the time! I’ve brought in nine new clients in the last six months and increased revenue by—”
“We don’t need to talk numbers—we need to talk principles. We’ve established you’re great at your job and that you don’t need support, so the only reason holding you back is the fact that you’re scared of the unknown. It’s easier to play it safe and do what you’ve always done, but you worked for the bitch from hell, Paige, who took all the credit for your hard work. Why would you want to carry on like that?”
“The next person I work for might be different.”
“The only way you’ll be sure of that is if that person is you. Think about it. Cynthia was a sociopath. You don’t have to work with her again. Seems like an opportunity from where I’m sitting.” His voice was rough and sexy, as if he’d had a long night of kissing and hot sex.
Which, knowing Jake, he probably had.
The thought bothered her more than it should have done, as did the hot, restless feeling she got whenever she looked at him. Eva would have said that made her human because Jake Romano was just about the sexiest man on the planet, but she would have preferred to be immune.
There was something humiliating about being attracted to someone who’d made it clear he wasn’t attracted to you. She wanted her body to have more sense.
“You’re accusing me of being a coward.”
“Being scared doesn’t make you a coward. It makes you human.” Calm, Jake put the champagne down. “Pick up a glass. It’s time for plan B, honey.”
“I don’t have a plan B. And don’t call me honey.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not your honey.” But she’d wanted to be. Once, she’d desperately wanted to be.
“I meant,” he said slowly, “why don’t you have a plan B?”
“Oh.” Embarrassment burned through her like acid on metal. Being around him made her feel like a gawky, clumsy teenager, all hormones and no finesse. “I’ve told you. I didn’t think I needed one. I was focused on promotion. Do you have a plan B?”
“Always.”