“Is that a PacMan maze on that rooftop, or am I nuts?” I whisper to Amanda, who stifles a giggle.
“Big video-game development company next door. Their IPO just happened. I hear one of the perks of working there is that they deworm your dog or cat on site while you work.”
I open my mouth to say something back, when the three men turn and stand, facing us.
My mouth remains open.
One of the men is Declan McCormick.
His eyes meet mine and five different emotions roil through that chiseled jaw, those sharp eyes, that sun-kissed skin. Most of them are scandalous. All of them make my toes curl.
And then his face spreads with the hottest, warmest, most mischievous smile I have ever seen on a man who has taken over my damn senses, and he says:
“Toilet Girl!”
Chapter Seven
There are so many ways the next few seconds can unfold. I can pretend I don’t know what he is talking about and remain professional, giving him nonverbal cues and hoping he is decent enough to play along.
I can turn around and run screaming from the building.
I can laugh nonchalantly and step forward with grace, offering my hand and telling the story with self-deprecating sophistication and wit so overwhelming that I clinch the deal right here.
Instead, Amanda blurts out, “That’s Hot Guy?”
Declan’s face goes from joyfully amused to ridiculously gorgeous as he tucks his chin in one hand and tries not to laugh. The gray-haired man looks from Declan to me with an annoyed expression, the kind you only see on men who don’t like to be left out of knowing the score, and who are accustomed to having everyone make them the center of attention.
The other brown-haired man takes a step forward and offers his hand to Amanda, who is standing a step closer to them than I am. “Hello. I’m Andrew McCormick, and you are…?”
“Amanda Warrick,” she says with a clipped, professional cadence. The lingering handshake is mutual, though.
He seems to drop her hand with great reluctance, then turns to me. “My brother calls you Toilet Girl, but I’m going to assume that’s a stage name?”
Amanda snickers. Greg looks like I just drop-kicked his Christmas morning puppy out the twenty-second-story window. Declan watches me with deeply curious eyes and a flame of interest that makes the room feel like we’ve moved to the equator, and the gray-haired man clears his throat.
“You look a bit...flushed,” he says to me with a confused smile, but impish eyes. I can see what Declan will look like in thirty years.
The room descends into chaotic laughter.
“Shannon Jacoby,” I say, ignoring the howling monkeys and reaching out to shake what I assume is James McCormick’s hand. The CEO of Anterdec, I’ve researched him thoroughly, but never in a million years put the McCormick name together with Declan. Amanda does the personal background research, and I mentally kick myself for not reading her brief. Then again, I didn’t exactly plan to have Meghan drop nine shops on me in the wee hours of this morning.
“I take it you two have met?” Andrew says to me and Declan, his hard stare at his brother making it clear he expects the full story later.
“Careful, Dad—you don’t want to know where that hand’s been,” Declan says dryly as the elder McCormick and I grasp hands for a quick shake.
“May I speak with you for a moment?” I ask Declan through a gritted-teeth smile. Anger blazes bright in me, turning a heat that had been uncomfortably sultry into a fiery mix of professional offense and uncontrollable lust.
Declan comes over next to me and places his hand on the small of my back as if to guide me to a quiet corner of the room so I can hiss at him while the others introduce themselves.
We both freeze. The touch of his palm, polite but firm, makes my entire body pulse with electricity and groundedness. His hand represents some core I didn’t know I lack. Our breath becomes one, and I will myself not to look at him, because if I do, what will I see in his eyes?
Anything but the same feelings I have right now will destroy me. And the not knowing is easier to live with than certain rejection.
He leans down, hot breath tickling my ear, blowing lightly on the strands of hair that escape my up-do.
“I’ve been thinking about you all morning,” he rasps. A million snappy comebacks flood my mind, but I hold them in check. Deflecting this—this supernova of attraction—can only happen for so long.
Declan and I are at the vanguard of a monumental paradigm shift, all right.
And all the business jargon in the world can’t stop me from what fate has in store.
“Toilet water has that effect on men. They ought to bottle it and sell it at the perfume counter of Neiman Marcus.”
He doesn’t react. At all. No snort of laughter, no eye roll of derision. Just a heat that radiates off him and makes me simmer.
“What were you really doing in that bathroom?” he finally asks, the hand on my back moving in slow circles. It’s the briefest hint of touch, but it makes me lean in to him, and I smell him, a mix of musk, cloves, and sophistication. “You clearly weren’t a student on her way to class.”
“PlentyofFish.com wasn’t doing it for me, so…”
“You’re on the market?” Declan asks. “No boyfriend? What about Mark J.? All that sex in the cooler, next to the salad bins.”
I am going to scream. “You called me Toilet Girl at a business meeting,” I say, remembering my anger. All I want to do is to become a puddle of Shannon at his feet and evaporate magically to reconstitute in his bed. Especially if the sheets smell like him. But I am standing here in professional dress, having added a blazer to the outfit my mom coordinated for me, and Greg is staring at us like two giant dollar signs are popping out of his eyes.
“And I’m Hot Guy?” His voice has a touch of steel behind the amusement.
He’s got me there.
“How about Hot Guy and Toilet Girl get a cup of coffee after this meeting and see what happens?” he asks, pointedly ignoring everyone else in the room.
“You’re asking me out at a client pitch meeting?” I ask, incredulous. My career rests on this account. If Greg doesn’t get this deal, I’m stuck mystery shopping podiatrists and insurance agents forever.
“Would it help if I confess you’re my first?”
“You’re a virgin?” I sputter, just as the senior McCormick clears his throat and Declan and I look up, startled. From the Mr. Bill looks of shock on everyone’s face, they’ve heard my last question.