Seduced In San Diego. Reese Ryan
way there’d be no question of impropriety when they tumbled into his bed.
“Thank you for your vote of confidence.” Jordan put a piece of the warm, flaky pastry oozing with cheese on each of their plates and handed her one. “But I know bloody well you didn’t come to that conclusion from speaking to my parents.”
Her gaze dropped to her plate for a moment. When it returned to his there was an unmistakable pity that made his cheeks burn.
“Your mother wouldn’t have invested in my services if she didn’t think your work worthy.” Sasha skillfully avoided mention of Jonathan Jace’s feelings about his art.
Add kindness and compassion to the woman’s growing list of virtues.
“And as to my conclusions about you...well, I always make a point of arriving at those on my own. And what sealed it for me wasn’t Jordan Jace, the artist. It was Jordan Jace, the man.”
Jordan paused, a forkful of cheesy deliciousness inches from his lips, and cocked an eyebrow. “How do you mean?”
“I mean I’m impressed with your commitment to the environment and to helping disadvantaged young artists.” She shrugged, breaking and spearing a piece of the pastry with her fork. “I’ve always been a sucker for a man with a cause.” She nearly said the words under her breath.
Jordan chuckled. “Ahh...you were that girl. The one who wears her heart on her sleeve and has a ‘Save The’ sticker for every cause known to man.”
“Am I that transparent?” Sasha laughed, then took a bite of the pastry. Her murmur of appreciation went straight below his belt.
Jordan groaned internally, painfully aware of the need to adjust his trousers.
“I admit I’m a proud, card-carrying member of several organizations. Organizations and causes I care deeply about. The environment and funding arts education in public schools happen to be two of the causes I hold dear.” She smiled. “So this isn’t just a routine client job for me. It’s important that I help you succeed.”
There was something about the warmth of her words and the sincerity with which she uttered them that tugged at a string in his chest. The unexpected feeling temporarily rendered him speechless.
“All right, Sasha Charles. You win. I’d be a fool to turn down an offer like that.” Jordan smiled. “So where exactly do we begin?”
“Two areas.” Sasha opened the folder. “First, we make your social media accounts more dynamic and engaging. More reflective of you and your art.”
“Sounds good.” He nodded. “I’m sure Lydia will be glad to have that off her plate. Call my office during the week and she’ll give you the log-in information for all of the accounts.”
“My team will generate the posts, but I’ll run everything past you. Get your approval first. Especially in the beginning while we’re learning each other.”
“Learning each other,” he repeated her words, fondly. If that would require more evenings spent in the company of this gorgeous, compassionate woman, Jordan was all in. “I like the sound of that even better. Only I’m at quite the disadvantage. Aside from what you do for a living, I know very little about you.”
“There’s not much to tell.” Sasha shrugged. “I’m an average girl from an average, working-class family. I grew up in a neighborhood where nothing was given, and everything was earned. I’ve been driven by that motto my entire life.” She took another bite of the pastry. “End of story.”
“That’s a good start.” Jordan couldn’t help the admiration that rose in his chest as he surveyed the woman. “But somehow I feel you’re being extremely modest. That there’s a lot more than you’re letting on.”
“Can’t give up all of my secrets right away.” Sasha pulled another piece of the pastry off, creating a long, gooey string of cheese.
Jordan was enthralled with watching her place a morsel in her mouth and chew. He gulped water from his glass and set it on the table again. “So, what does an average girl from an average, working-class family like to do for fun?”
Her brown eyes danced with amusement. “When I’m not working or volunteering for a youth mentoring organization run by a friend, I’m usually hanging out with friends or visiting my family. Though, there haven’t been many girls’ nights out since my best friend, Miranda, married Vaughn Ellicott—a friend of yours, I believe.”
Jordan’s jaw tightened as he recalled his most recent encounter with Vaughn when he’d suspected him of being a vandal and thief.
“He’s the treasurer of our local Prescott George chapter.” There was no need to say more than that.
“You don’t like him.” Sasha tilted her head as she assessed him. It wasn’t a question. “I wasn’t sure I did either, at first. But when I realized he really, truly loved Miranda...well, then I gave him a fair chance. The better I know him, the more I like him.”
“Perhaps I don’t know him well enough yet.” Jordan smiled politely, eager to move on from discussing Vaughn Ellicott. “My fault entirely, I’m sure. I’m not the most social member of the club.”
“Being a member of Prescott George is quite an investment. And your membership there offers you the opportunity to make incredible connections locally and abroad. So as your brand strategist, I’d recommend that you become a more social member.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled as the server brought their meals and set them on the table. After they’d both had a chance to dig in to their meals, he returned his attention to her. “So, it’s a Friday night. You aren’t working or volunteering and your best friend is spending time with her new husband. What would be your ideal way to spend the evening?”
“I’m a jeans and flip-flops kind of girl at heart.” She looked up from her coq au vin for a moment. “So while I do like to dress up on occasion, I’m just as content to sit on my sofa and watch TV while drinking a light beer and eating takeout from a really good chicken shack. The kind you find in only the sketchiest of neighborhoods.”
Jordan couldn’t help the genuine laughter her statement evoked. “You’re simply full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“I could say the same of you.” She smiled. “You’re not just the rebellious wild child everyone thinks you are. You’re a brilliant artist, well versed in your craft. You have a huge heart and a soft spot for kids who want to be artists, too. Kids who remind you of yourself.”
When he didn’t respond, she continued. “You pretend to be this perennial bad boy. And perhaps at some point you were. But that isn’t the person I see.”
Jordan shifted in his seat beneath her warm brown eyes. There was something about those eyes. They had the uncanny ability to peer beyond the surface. To bore a hole in the hardened exterior he was willing to show the world. To dig into the soft, vulnerable center he worked so hard to conceal.
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