Page 18 of Sweet Surrender

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Because I like your answer.

Because it feels good to be seen.

“Because let’s face it, if I’m going to become a stalker, I need to start somewhere.”

CHAPTER SIX

Hendrix

To say my insides didn’t do a little flip when I walked into the upscale offices in downtown Los Angeles knowing I was about to come face-to-face with Jase again would be a lie.

They did.

And then I felt like an idiot, holding a box of decorated cookies as I walked into the conference room to find a non-disclosure agreement sitting squarely in front of the seat the receptionist directed me toward.

You don’t bring a knife to a gunfight. And you sure as shit don’t bring custom-decorated cookies to an NDA-led meeting. True class, Hendrix.

I read the NDA with its clauses, its parameters, and its warnings, and hopefully understand enough of the legal jargon to get the gist of it. Just as I sign it, the door at my back opens.

I turn to find Jase standing there in his faded black T-shirt, which is snug in all the right places, and his trademark dimples deepening. “Cookie Cutter. You showed.”

Uncertain what I should do, I rise from my seat and hold a hand out to shake his, but it’s ignored as he pulls me in for a quick hug. I’m thrown by the action—by the firmness of his chest and biceps as they close around me, by the scent of his cologne, and the murmured, “Good to see you, Hendrix,” before he lets me go.

I stand there, a little shell-shocked that he really is this normal, this warm. I’ve spent the better part of my night and morning becoming fascinated with the drummer Gizmo from BENT, but this is just Jase from the coffee shop.

“Hey.” I smile and it feels inadequate as we hold each other’s stares for a beat.

The throat clearing at our sides has me snapping my attention away from Jase and to the man standing beside him in an expensive, tailored suit. He holds his hand out. “Nathaniel Gizmodo, nice to meet you.”

The similarities hit the minute he says his name. They have the same facial structure, the same build and coloring, even the same dimples, but they’re most definitely polar opposites in style.

I take his hand and shake it. “Hendrix Wright. The pleasure is mine.”

His smile is as polite as his handshake, but curiosity owns his eyes. He studies me as he moves around the table to the other side from where I was seated. Jase follows him.

“I see you’ve signed the NDA,” Nathaniel says as he pulls the papers toward him. “Any questions?”

“Not that I know of. It seems pretty standard.”

“Oh.” He lifts his eyebrows. “You’ve signed NDAs before? Know much about them?”

No. Yes. Only the ones in romance books where the alpha hero makes the sweet, innocent heroine sign them to protect her from telling the world about his taboo and deviant desires.

But I don’t think divulging that little nugget will make me look too intelligent or sane at this point in our conversation.

“No. I meant I didn’t have any questions. It all seemed pretty straight—”

“Did you bring me cookies?” Jase asks as his eyes grow wide to match the same enthusiasm in his expression. Before I can answer, he’s opening the box and grabbing one. His eyes lift to mine. “You did these? The design? The decorating?”

“I did.” I nod as I glance down at the various cookies I designed around things I read were important to him—music notes, drum sets, album covers, and the band’s name. “Just to prove that you do, in fact, want my cookies.” I quirk a brow as Jase laughs.

A glance at Nathaniel has him angling his head to the side studying me, but I can’t quite figure out what he’s thinking. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

“When I can’t sleep, I bake.” I shrug.