classes at Premier Fitness was great fun, and she loved seeing her students’ progress each week, but the paycheck just wasn’t cutting it. Her bills were piling up, and Jariah feared if she didn’t land a full-time position soon she’d have to dip into her emergency fund.
And what will I do once that runs out? Jariah told herself not to imagine the worst possible scenario—the one with her losing her home and crawling back to her ex-fiancé. It didn’t matter what Wesley said. She would make it without him, and when she did, she’d finally be able to give her daughter, Ava, the life she’d always dreamed of. And she didn’t need Wesley or anyone else to help make it happen.
Turning her face toward the window, she closed her eyes and allowed the sunshine raining down from the morning sky to calm her fears. Jariah felt herself relax, felt the tension radiating through her cold, chilled body recede. Hearing her cell phone vibrate from inside her purse, Jariah slid a hand into the side pocket and took out her BlackBerry. Jariah had three new text messages from Wesley, and each one was more annoying than the last. He was furious that she had refused to get back together with him. So he’d been blowing up her phone for weeks, his cruel taunts only proved how immature he was.
Switching off her cell phone, she dropped it inside her purse, and sat back comfortably in her leather wingback chair. Jariah was sick of Wesley’s superior, know-it-all attitude and she refused to take any of his calls.
Wesley Covington, the twenty-nine-year-old chief administrative deputy making waves from Orange County to Capitol Hill, was not only the father of her daughter, but an overgrown child himself. The Ivy League graduate had the power to ruin a perfectly good day, and as Jariah thought about the messages he’d sent her, she wondered for the umpteenth time what she’d ever seen in the privileged mama’s boy.
Why can’t I meet a nice guy? Jariah wondered, releasing a troubled sigh. Someone sweet, chivalrous and romantic, who was good with kids. Hoping the man upstairs was listening, she stared up at the ceiling pitifully, as if that would seal the deal. A little chemistry would be nice, too, she thought with a fervent nod of her head. Since calling it quits with Wesley eight months ago, Jariah had been on dozens of dates but none of the guys she met excited her.
A picture of a tall, gorgeous guy with intense eyes and curly hair sprang in her mind. As Jariah sat there, thinking about the hottie who’d approached her at Javalicious on Friday, she inwardly chastised herself for not giving him her phone number. Why? her inner voice questioned. He’s a player who’s probably bedded more women than Hugh Hefner!
Hearing a sharp knock on the door, she shot to her feet and adjusted her Donna Karen dress. The door opened, and Jariah stood there, dumbfounded. Her lips parted, but nothing came out. What the hell? What is he doing here? It was the guy from Javalicious. The one who’d hit on her, and probably every other woman in the popular café. On Friday, he’d looked handsome in his casual T-shirt and khaki pants, but today he looked like a Hugo Boss model fresh off the runway. Clean-cut, with thick eyebrows, and sideburns, his ebony-black hair a mass of short, tight curls, he carried himself like a man who was used to getting his way in the boardroom and in the bedroom. All arms and legs, he was the height of a basketball player, and had the strong, muscled physique to match.
Her eyes slid greedily down his chiseled body. His shoulders filled out every inch of his lightweight suit jacket, his sky-blue shirt showed off the powerful definition of his upper chest, and his tailored pants hung just so. The man knew how to rock a suit, and smelled as debonair as he looked. He was cool, suave and hot—just like she remembered. He wasn’t the kind of man a woman forgot, and as he crossed the room toward her, Jariah felt a rush of panic. Her palms grew slick with sweat, and if her knees shook any harder her legs would give way.
“We meet again,” the stranger said in a velvety smooth voice. “Jariah, right?”
Taken by his smile and his dreamy scent, all Jariah could do was nod her head. Is this really happening? she wondered. Am I actually standing face-to-face with the guy I blew off two days ago? He was too close, but Jariah didn’t move. Couldn’t, not when he was openly staring at her. The Italian hunk was the sexiest thing on two legs, but something about him still rubbed her the wrong way. Jariah didn’t know anything about the attractive stranger, but she could spot a player a mile away, and this guy was definitely that. His cocksure stance said it all: I’m handsome and charming and I can have any woman I want.
Not me Casanova, so back off!
“I thought that was you. I glanced into the conference room, and there you were.” He slid a hand casually into his pocket, stood there as if he had all the time in the world to shoot the breeze. “Shouldn’t you be at the gym teaching the morning Bootie Camp class?”
“Are you stalking me?”
His eyes gleamed with mischief. “No. Would you like me to?”
Jariah couldn’t think of a witty comeback to put him in his place, so she said nothing.
“I’m just kidding,” he said, holding his hands up in the air, as if he was surrendering to Miami’s finest. “I work here. What’s your story?”
“If you must know, I’m here for a job interview.”
“That’s really great news.”
Baffled by his statement and his enthusiasm, she said, “It is?”
“Absolutely. This place is filled with a bunch of boring, stuffy suits, and it’ll be a nice to have a woman like you around for a change.”
“A woman like me?” she repeated, raising an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve got moxie, and I find your honesty refreshing.”
“You don’t know me.”
“Not yet,” he shot back. “But I’m working on it.”
He smelled of expensive cologne, and when he raked a hand through his hair, Jariah wondered what it would be like to play in his dark, thick curls.
“How’s your daughter? Did everything go okay at the dentist on Friday?”
Stunned by the question, Jariah eyed him closely, trying to recall their previous conversation. What is this guy up to? Is it possible that he is stalking me? He didn’t give off that creepy, peeping-tom vibe, but he made her nervous. His questions put her on edge, made her uncomfortable. Before she could put him in his place, the door opened and a skinny brunette wearing designer eyeglasses and a stylish gray pantsuit marched briskly inside.
Stopping abruptly, she said, “Good morning, Mr. Morretti. Is there a problem?”
Jariah didn’t hear the gasp that escaped her lips, but it must have shot out of her mouth in surround-sound because the brunette gave her a funny look.
Touching a hand to her scalding-hot cheeks, Jariah choked down the lump in the back of her throat. This young, ridiculously hot guy owns Morretti Incorporated? Hell, no. No way. It couldn’t be, she argued, refusing to believe it. He was the boss’s son. Had to be. Remembering their conversation on Friday made Jariah wince. I am so screwed. There’s no way I’m getting this job. Not after the way I spoke to him at the coffee shop.
“Please, Mrs. Reddick, call me Nicco.” His eyes were narrowed, as if he was pissed off, but his mouth held a teasing grin. “Save the formalities for Rafael and my father. I’m far more laid-back. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
Jariah
