“Last night I was a being a jealous f**k, and I had to stake my claim. I don’t date, but I will with you. You’re the exception.” He bounces me a little in his lap, and I giggle.

“Then I agree to your proposal, Jason,” I announce, holding out my hand to him. We shake on it.

He squeezes my h*ps and pulls me astride him. “Yeah, ya do.”

We kiss, and it’s real slow, his tongue sliding along mine, making me think wholly inappropriate thoughts for the hour of the day. I practically leap from his lap and to the other side of the room when I hear Dad come out of his home office and walk toward the staircase. I end up over by a shelf housing Jay’s music collection as Dad calls “hello” to him and continues his way downstairs, none the wiser about his daughter hiding within and her slatternly ways. Yeah, I’m bringing back the word “slattern.” Deal with it.

“Not ready to tell your old man about me yet, huh?” Jay asks, smirking.

Blushing, I shake my head and turn my attention to his CDs to try to distract myself from that kiss and how it sent my hormones into overdrive. I smile, noticing that he practically owns Eminem’s entire back catalogue. We have something in common. Jay must have gone through a rap phase, too.

“You like Eminem,” I say as he comes over and sits behind me, pulling me between his legs.

“I was an angry young man in the year 2000. Of course I liked Eminem,” he says. “Still do. The man’s a genius.”

“I agree. I used to buy his albums and listen to them in secret because Dad never let me buy anything with a parental warning sticker. What’s your favourite song?”

He makes a little humming sound in the back of his throat as he thinks about it, his hand brushing my inner thigh. His breath whispers across my nape, giving me tingles, and then he starts to sing the chorus to “Hailie’s Song” in a gorgeously low, husky voice.

Oh, God.

If I thought that kiss sent my hormones into overdrive, it has nothing on what Jay’s singing is doing to me. There’s something so incredibly appealing about his tone. My heart practically stops beating.

He sings about feeling like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and it steals a little piece of my heart. When he’s done, he kisses my neck, and I let out a heavy breath.

“That’s the one about his daughter, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It’s my favourite. Kind of reminds me of you, actually.”

“It does?” I ask. He has paternal feelings towards me? “That’s, um, okay.”

“The sentiment, Matilda, the sentiment. When I look at you, my head clears. Most times there’s a storm up in this brain of mine, but then you walk into a room and I can focus.”

“Jay,” I breathe.

“What?”

“Make love to me again.”

He chuckles. “Your dad’s right downstairs.”

“I know, but…God, you can’t say stuff like that to me when Dad’s home. Please make a note for future reference.”

He salutes me. “Noted.”

“I should go.”

“Why?”

“Because I still want you to make love to me. And Dad’s downstairs.”

He growls and pinches my bottom when I move to stand up. “Go on, then, Watson. Leave before you ravish me like the sexy bitch that I am. Are we still on for our sewing date tonight?”

“You mean are we on for you lounging on your chaise longue and watching me while I make dresses? Very weird, might I add, but sure. We’re on.”

His laughter follows me out the door.

***

That night in bed, I toss and turn. After spending two sexually frustrated hours in Jay’s company while I worked on my dress designs and he gave me heated looks, I’m not exactly feeling ready for sleep. I’m ready for other things that involve a bed, though. And that’s the problem.

I agreed with him to take things slow. Does that mean no more sex?

A floorboard creaks outside my room and the door opens, revealing Jay in a T-shirt and sleep pants. Without a word he crawls into bed beside me, grabbing me by the h*ps and pulling me into him, my back flush with his front.

“Couldn’t sleep?” I ask softly as he presses a kiss to my neck.

“Nope. I will now, though,” he replies, and snuggles into me. It takes a couple of minutes for his breathing to even out and for him to fall asleep. I follow soon after.

***

The next day at the office, upon Dad’s request, I’m working on transcribing his notes from his interviews with Jay. I’m finding it all very intriguing, but something niggles at me. It looks fine on paper, but I have this weird feeling that there are blank spots, pieces of the story that have been intentionally left out.

My suspicions are instantly forgotten when I get an unexpected visitor. We don’t have any appointments until after lunch, so I glance up to see who just entered the reception area. My anxiety elevates when I recognise who it is.

Una Harris saunters in wearing fire-engine-red high heels, matching lipstick, and a tight grey shift dress, a designer handbag dangling from her arm. If I didn’t dislike her so much, I might give her a compliment for looking so hot for a woman who must be well past her prime. It’s kind of difficult to determine her true age, due to the amount of Botox she’s sporting.

I clear my throat. “Can I help you?”

She pulls off her Gucci sunglasses and levels her green eyes on me, studying me for a long time. Then quite randomly she gestures to my neck, the side that’s scarred. “I know an excellent doctor who could fix that right up. Would you like his number?” she asks casually, eyes moving to scan the room.

I rub my neck self-consciously. “Um, thanks, but that’s okay. Do you have an appointment?” I know she doesn’t have an appointment. Of course she doesn’t. I just can’t think of anything else to say.

“I don’t. This is just a flying visit. I was rather upset to arrive at work this morning and be told by my boss that we’re being sued because of a few articles I wrote. I wanted to come and check out what we’re up against. Now that I’m here, it’s laughable, really. I mean, does Jay Fields actually think he can win this thing with representation from a shoddy two-bit firm like this one?”

I stare at her, open-mouthed.

“I was actually worried for a second. Now I see this is all just a pathetic joke.”

Getting up from my seat, I put a hand on my hip. “Are you for real?”

She purses her lips and moves her catty eyes back to me. “I’m always for real, my dear. Don’t take offence. I’m sure this is hardly your dream job.” She laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.

“This is my dad’s practice,” I tell her, jaw tight.

Her eyes widen, and a little smirk forms. “Oops. In that case, no offence.”

“Too late for that. If you only came here to look down your nose at us, then you should leave.”

“That’s not why I came here. I wanted to speak to, well, to your father. Ask him if he knows what kind of man he’s representing.”

“A better man than whatever kind of woman you are, I’m sure.”

Her tittering laugh makes me clench my fist, and I’ve never been a fist-clencher. I’ve hardly got a violent bone in my body. It’s funny, the things Una Harris’ mocking laughter can bring out of people.

“Oh, dear, do you have a little crush on him? I get it, really, I do. Jay Fields is sex on a stick, but he’s also a dangerous man with a God complex. Have you ever read any of his fan websites? They all think what he does is real or some other such nonsense, and that’s not a good thing for someone with as big a following as he has. Don’t you remember the People’s Temple and Jim Jones? Oh, you’re so young, so probably not.”

“I know who Jim Jones is.”

She glances at her well-manicured nails. “Well, then, you’ll also know how precarious Jay’s influence is on all those young people who follow him. I’m sure that if he told them to jump off a cliff, they’d all do it.”

Jesus, this woman is deluded. “He’s a performer. He’s not trying to start up his own religion.”

“Yeah, and the only one who’s been drinking Kool-Aid around here is you, Una. Your own. What in the f**k do you think you’re doing?” asks Jay, stalking angrily into the office. There’s something in his gait that puts me in mind of a panther that’s about to attack.

“Why, Mr Fields, what a pleasant surprise,” she purrs, and struts over to him, running a long, sharp fingernail down the front of his shirt. His eyes are stormy when he takes a measured step back, recoiling from her touch.

“Get. Out,” he fumes. “You have no business being here.”

“I was just having a little chitchat with the lovely receptionist. You know how it is with us girls — we love to gossip.” Her emerging smile denotes how pleased she is with Jay’s anger. He needs to calm down and not allow her to get to him. I make an effort to defuse the situation with humour.

“Yeah, Miss Harris offered to give me the number of her plastic surgeon. I’m thinking of going up a few cup sizes. You know, get myself a nice pair of beach ball boobs.”

Jay’s mouth twitches, his eyes gleaming with affection when they land on me for a second. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last long.

“You don’t need a boob job,” says Una, her disinterested gaze on my chest before moving to my neck. “It’s that god-awful scar that’s the problem.” She says it like she’s telling me she enjoys sugar in her tea, the barb barely registering on her radar, but Jay’s reaction to her words is the exact opposite.

He takes two strides toward her. “Oh, you really need to get going, Una. I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch.”

Her pouty mouth falls open as a huff of outrage escapes her. “Is that a threat?”

Jay rolls his eyes. “Just get the f**k out.”

“Fine,” she hisses. “I’m leaving, but just know that this little case of yours is never going to get to trial. Mr Scott will offer you a sum of money during mediation, and you, Mr Fields, will take it.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

She slams the office door shut behind her, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. Jay’s eyes connect with mine, and I can’t help it — I burst out laughing.

“Did you just use the phrase, I’ll never hit a lady, but I’ll slap a bitch? Oh, my God, Jason, that was classic! You are officially my new hero.”

He rubs at his neck and walks over to sit on the edge of my desk, grabbing my hand and placing it on his chest. He rubs my palm over the fabric of his shirt. “Sorry. I need your touch to erase the fact that she had her demon claws on me. And I was only trying to piss her off by saying that. I don’t hit women, not even thoroughbred bitches like Una Harris. And don’t listen to her, by the way. There’s nothing about you that needs changing.”

The sincerity in his eyes makes me catch my breath, but I can’t address the compliment. It makes me feel too much. “I can’t believe she came here. What is she on?”

“A whole medley of uppers and downers, if my detective work is anything to go by,” Jay deadpans. “Anyway, let’s forget about her. I came to take you to lunch in the park. This day is a sight for sore eyes.” He goes out to the hallway, and retrieves a brown bag with sandwiches and two takeaway coffee cups.

“Oh, you really do know the way to a woman’s heart. The double-C: caffeine and carbs.”

“Yes, yes, I do. Now get your cute ass out of that chair and come with me.”

“Is this…what do you call those things that you don’t do, but for me you’ll make an exception? Oh, yes, a date. Is this a date, Jason?” I love teasing him.

His mouth curves in an almost smile as he brings his hand to my neck and gently squeezes. “It might be.”

He offers his arm, and I take it. Instead of driving, we walk to the park, finding a clean picnic table to sit down and eat at.

“Who’s Mr Scott?” I ask as I sip on my coffee.

Jay gives me a sideways glance. “Say again?”

“Una Harris said that Mr. Scott will offer you a sum of money to drop the case. Who is that?”

“Right, yeah. Brian Scott. He owns the newspaper.”

“I’ve heard that name before. He’s like Ireland’s answer to Rupert Murdoch or something, isn’t he?”

“Or something.”

“Is there any amount of money they could offer you that you’d take? Just out of curiosity.”

His mouth draws into a thin line, his answer immediate and final. “Nope.”

“There’s probably no point in bothering with mediation, then.”

“Probably not. But we’ve got to go through the entire process, Watson. Let them think they can take us. You know, like in a freak fight when some little rangy guy gets into the ring with a big hunk of muscle. Everyone thinks the muscle will win, but then the little guy turns into a f**king tornado and surprises the shit out of everyone.”

I smile at his analogy. “So, are you the little guy?”

His arm slides around my shoulder, tucking me into the side of his body. “In comparison to The Daily Post, yes, I am.”

I melt at his closeness and take a slow bite out of my sandwich before glancing up at him. “You know what, Jay, I can’t wait to see you turn into a tornado. I think you might have it in you to surprise us all.”