The Joke’s on You
Poppy
Nine days.
It’s been nine painful days since the big blowout at my mother’s party, and time is proving to be a fickle bitch because she sure as hell isn’t healing this wound.
I drag myself out of bed, shower, dress, and head down to Santa Monica where the office of Kleese and Sloane Designs resides—a new up-and-coming design firm where I’m hopeful to do more this go around than deliver a perfect cup of coffee. I’m all for working my way up in any firm, but after five years of private university, I was hoping for something a little less sub-entry level.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I’m quick to fish it out. As soon as I turn the flashing screen toward me, I’m rather disappointed to see it’s just another email to my inbox. In truth, I was hoping it was another text from Jax. The deluge of electronic shoulder-taps began almost as soon as I left the party, but in typical Jax robotic texting fashion, they didn’t say more thanEight Ball? Call me. Don’t leave me hanging. I’m here. Let’s talk.That last one was a personal fave. I’m pretty sure Jax and I should talk again one day. It’s just not going to happen for another millennium or so. I’m pretty staunch on not going back to Oak Grove. I’ve already managed to convince my father that celebrating next Christmas here in Los Angeles would be fantastic. Mack said she would love to take the kids to Disneyland, and Conner said he’d love to hang ten at the beach. So there’s that. It all seems to be falling into place nicely for me, with the one exception that I happen to miss Oak Grove like never before. Who knew I would miss a white winter? I’m pretty sure I only miss the winter boots that accompanied said white winter—and sweaters, and scarves, and sipping hot cocoa by the fire. In L.A., every other week brings a heat wave, and don’t even get me started on the demon winds known as the Santa Anas.
Santa Monica is posh, littered with beautiful people, blue skies, and a ribbon of ocean view no matter where you seem to go.
Kleese and Sloane Designs is located in a white brick building near the Third Street Promenade—a stellar shopping, eating, people-watching venue where I will undoubtedly try my best to forget my troubles via my American Express card.
I step in and spot the secretary, a petite blonde with her hair up in a messy bun and large, dark-framed glasses that leave me questioning if they’re just for show. Nevertheless, she’s too distracted on her phone to notice me. She has a pair of earbuds buried in her skull, and her head is bopping to the invisible beat. I wave a hand over her paperwork, and she startles to life.
“Oh, sorry! You must be the new girl.” She averts her eyes, a smile tugging on her lips.
“Um—yes, I’m Poppy Montgomery, the new design assistant.”
“Go on in.” She plucks an earbud out of her ear and frowns over at me a moment. “I have another gig, so you don’t need to feel sorry for me. But one day I really hope things work out for me like they did you.” She gives a quick shrug before getting back to her phone, and I’m not quite sure what the hell she just said. Something about a new gig? I’m not the new secretary, am I? Oh hell, I know my place. I probably am.
I enter through the oversized blue door and find myself in a rather large office with an equally large desk made of what resembles reclaimed wood and an enormous leather chair turned toward the wall.
“Hello?” I call out to the rocking leather chair. “It’s me, Poppy Montgomery. I’m your new design assistant. The secretary said I could come right in?”
“I’m glad you’re here,” a warm deep voice calls from the other side of the leather barrier.
“If you’re on the phone, I can come back. I can run down to Starbucks and pick something up for you if you like? Just let me know what you want.”
“What I want? How about a steaming cup of eating crow because I’m about to issue one venti-sized apology?” The chair turns slowly, and everything in me seizes. That face, those dimples, those ocean blue bedroom eyes—he’s here.
“Jax?”
In less than a second, he closes the distance between us, and his strong arms wrap themselves around me. His cologne permeates my senses, and I can’t stop myself from poking my finger into his dimple and laughing as happy tears come to the party.
“You’re real!”
“Yes, I’m real.” His chest expands in girth with his next breath, and his dress shirt stretches taut in that sexy way that drives me wild. Jaxson gazes down at me with a loving expression, and it makes me feel safe and wanted. “I couldn’t stay away, Eight Ball.” He offers up a sad smile. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I swear on everything that’s good, I would never want to do that. I take back all of those nasty words. I didn’t mean them.”
“Wow, you really go all out when you want to apologize to a girl. Can I ask what you did with my boss? If you tell me that he’s tied up under the desk, we might want to make our escape now before the cops get here.”
“I promise you, he’s not under the desk. In fact, it’s not even his desk anymore. I believe he said something about retiring to Florida as he was leaving.”
“What?” I shout so loud my voice reverberates off the walls. “He can’t retire. I need this job. This job equals food and shelter.”
“You have your job.” His dark brows narrow into a V, and I can’t help but run my finger over one. This has to be a dream. “In fact, you have a promotion. You’re the new top designer. I sent everyone else packing.”
I inch back, amused. “Jaxson, you can’t just stroll into someone else’s business and start firing people.”
“I can if it’s my new business. I bought out Kleese and Sloane Designs yesterday. I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse. It’s already in legal. So you see, I have a dilemma I’m hoping you’ll help me with. I have a new design firm, and I need someone who knows a thing or two about decorating to take over.”
“That would be me.” A part of me demands to be affronted by my billionaire buddy swooping in and scooping up the design firm I hadn’t even started at to add to his portfolio—but this is Jaxson, and he did it for me. It’s so incredibly romantic that I can no longer keep the tears at bay. “I may have to relocate the company to Denver so I can be near a very good friend who does outrageous things for me, all in the name of an apology.”
That left dimple of his digs in deep and takes my ovaries with it.
“I’m all for that. But I have a confession to make.” He pulls me in closer, and his soft minty breath warms me. “I did come here to apologize, but I was hoping for something more. As much as I enjoy being your good friend, I was thinking we could explore other titles.”
