And even if it were acceptable to bring a man, I wouldn’t. It would give everyone the wrong idea. I wasn’t into men. No need to open up a can of worms just because I wanted to fuck the guy again.
I had spent the first two hours of the flight working. My assistant had filled my inbox with questions that needed answers.
But while I worked, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jett. About how good he looked but also how uncertain he seemed about his job prospects in the city.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, and I walked to the back of the plane.
Jett was sitting in a window seat next to a heavyset gentleman and a young mom with a sleeping baby strapped to her chest.
“Excuse me,” I said softly, nodding toward Jett, whose eyes were closed and whose ears were covered by large headphones. “I need to ask my friend a question.”
The guy elbowed Jett, whose eyes widened in surprise. They widened even more when they landed on me.
“Hi. I wanted to give you this.” I handed him a business card I’d written my cell number on the back of. “Text me when you get settled, and I’ll help you find work. We always have positions for someone willing to work hard.”
He tookthe card and looked at it. I wondered if he recognized the name and finally realized who I was. Most people had heard of Maris, whether they realized it or not. It was stamped on half the shipping containers in the world and seen on tractor trailers up and down America’s highways.
“Er, thanks.” He pressed his lips together before meeting my eyes. His sparked with something hot and provoking. “But that’s not the kind of work I’m interested in.”
Why was he so fucking pretty?
Sex radiated off him like… like some kind of cataclysmic vibration. It reminded me of the time I’d been deep in the bowels of a cargo ship when a container had dropped on the metal deck above. Percussive impact that seemed to rearrange every fucking cell in my brain.
Couldn’t everyone around us see it? Feel it?
My chest rose and fell as I battled the graphic images in my head. “Okay,” I said. “Well, keep my card in case…” I cleared my throat. “In case you ever need anything.”
I nodded like an asshole and moved back up to my seat.
Where I spent the entire rest of the flight fantasizing about giving Jett Davis the kind of work he truly wanted.
9
JETT
Locke Maris was incrediblyfun to flirt with. It clearly made him uncomfortable, but just as clearly intrigued him. He was a conundrum. One I knew better than to provoke, but one I couldn’t seem to stop provoking anyway.
The woman sitting in my row leaned forward and blinked, absently patting her baby’s back to keep them asleep. “That’s Locke Maris.”
I smiled politely and nodded, distracted by the memory of the way his suit vest had accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow waist or the way his rolled-up sleeves had revealed the ink on his forearm.
Her voice sounded awed. “He was interviewed on WSB yesterday. I saw it on TV when I was waiting for a doctor’s appointment. Something about an expansion that creates new jobs in Atlanta and Savannah. Are you friends with him?”
“I’ve met him a couple of times. I wouldn’t say we’re friends.”
The man between us chimed in. “If I had someone offering me a job at a company like that, I’d take it in a heartbeat. I’ve heard they pay great. Buddy of mine did an IT consulting gig there and said it was sweet.”
“Shipping’s not really my thing,” I said with a shrug before sliding his business card into my pocket.
But Locke himself? Fucking Christ, was he my thing. My mouth had filled with saliva when I’d realized his was the body I’d fallen onto. Every cell had begged to stay right there in his lap. Thankfully, reality had come screaming in very quickly, and I’d snapped back into my Jethro Davis persona after a few moments of feeling suddenly tongue-tied around him.
Locke Maris had taken on superhuman qualities in my memory. For three years, he’d become my secret crush. My hidden obsession. Yes,Brenda, I had seen the interview he’d done on the Atlanta television station yesterday, not because I’d been in Atlanta, but because I had a fucking Google alert set on the man. I’d watched it on my phone this morning while boarding my flight from Biloxi, Mississippi, where I’d finished up my most recent assignment.
I’d also seen theNew York Timesop-ed last month about the “positive global impact” of the “exciting new face of leadership” at Maris Holdings now that Locke’s grandfather was gone.
I should have told him I was sorry about his grandfather’s death. The news had hit global media outlets when I’d been home last Christmas with my family. We’d come in from spending one of those magically warm winter days out on the beach to discover Reynolds Maris dead of a sudden heart attack.
My heart had gone out to Locke. He’d spoken reverently about his grandfather, and I had to assume the loss would have hit him hard. In addition to losing someone he loved, the death of Reynolds Maris had suddenly thrust Locke into a position of leadership for a global monolith with multiple billions of dollars in revenue and the expectations of high-level financial stakeholders around the world.
