I Wish You Were Mine
Page 23
Before he could change his mind, Jackson pushed back from his desk and strode to his office door, hesitating only briefly before entering the hallway and making the short trip to the office next to his.
Lincoln Mathis’s door was closed, but judging from the raucous laughter, Jackson had a good idea that Lincoln’s closed door had more to do with trying to muffle the noise than it did with keeping people out.
Jackson raised his hand to knock, then dropped his fist back to his side.
What if they didn’t answer? What if it got all awkward the moment he stepped into the room? Jackson felt a bit like the nerdy kid on the playground who was about to ask the cool kids if he could play.
He, Jackson Burke, the man who’d once been voted sexiest guy in America, the man who had six Super Bowl rings, the man whose stunning wife had spent three seasons on Housewives, was scared shitless of rejection.
He lifted his hand once more and gave the door a firm rap before he could regret it.
Nothing.
He knocked again, louder, and this time the laughter inside faded to a trickle before stopping altogether.
“Yeah? Come in.”
Jackson’s hand found the doorknob, opening it just enough to stick his head in. It was noncommittal enough that he could back out if things got awkward.
There were a handful of people in the room, but Jackson sought and found Lincoln first, since Jackson knew him best.
“Burke, man, sorry,” Lincoln said from behind his desk, where his feet were propped up just inches from his keyboard. “We’ll keep it down.”
Jackson frowned. “What?”
Lincoln tilted his head in the direction of Jackson’s own office. “I was assuming this was a standard-issue noise complaint. The walls aren’t exactly soundproof, and Cole here laughs like a hyena.”
Cole shot Lincoln the finger, but Jackson barely noticed. He was too busy trying to come to grips with the fact that Lincoln thought Jackson was coming by to complain about the noise. Hell, this was worse than he thought. He really was the grumpy old man.
Fuck it. Might as well play along.
Jackson pushed the door open all the way, then raised his fist and shook it. “Damn it, you kids, git off my lawn!”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Penelope Pope let out a delighted giggle.
“Um, guys,” Lincoln said, glancing around the room, “did Jackson Burke just make a joke?”
“At least he’s talking to us,” Cole said as he pushed away from the filing cabinet.
“Jesus, Cole,” Lincoln said. “Don’t do that weird sporty-hero-worship thing now. You’ll send him scurrying back to his cave.”
“It’s Jackson Burke,” Cole said.
A dark-haired man whose name Jackson couldn’t remember spoke up. “Shit, no way, Sharpe. Is that his name? I had no idea. I mean, it’s not like we’ve been having staff meetings with him for weeks or anything. I’m pretty sure we all know each other’s names.”
There was a moment of awkward silence as Jackson stared at the man who was not Cole, not Lincoln, whose name was…
Fuck. He had no idea.
Cole gave him a friendly smile. “Do you know anyone’s name, Burke?”
Jackson cleared his throat and ordered himself not to shuffle his feet like a kid in the principal’s office. “I mean…I know Lincoln—”
“Bow down, peons,” Lincoln said. “I’m a king among men.”
“Where are you coming up with this?” Cole asked him.
Lincoln pointed at Jackson. “Um, hello—Jackson Burke knows my name.”
“And you barely know what sport he plays,” Cole shot back.
Jackson raised an eyebrow at Lincoln. “You don’t know what sport I played?”
If anyone noticed his subtle emphasis on the past tense, they didn’t show it.
Lincoln gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair once more. “So sue me. I don’t watch ESPN.”
“Or turn on the news, or watch the Super Bowl…,” Penelope muttered.
“Hey, I watched the Super Bowl,” Lincoln said. “Nearly cried at the Bud commercial with the horse.”
“Is this how you get so many women?” Cole asked, sounding appalled.
Penelope grinned. “Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, baby?”
Cole winked. “Nope. I’ve got all the woman I need packed into a tiny, sexy little—”
The man to Jackson’s right mimed a gagging motion before he strode forward to shake Jackson’s hand. “I’m Jake Malone, travel editor.”
“Hey,” Jackson said, feeling like a tool as he shook Jake’s hand, knowing that he’d probably already done it at least once in the past.
His first day, there’d been a whole welcome-the-newbie thing, but Jackson had been so busy wishing he could untie his tie that he’d barely remembered his own name, much less anyone else’s. But mostly he’d just sort of…kept to himself.
As he glanced around Lincoln’s office, taking in his coworkers’ compatibility with one another, he felt a pang of regret that he’d been such an uptight ass. Maybe if he’d made a little effort, he wouldn’t have spent so many Friday nights alone.
“So what can we do you for, Burke?” Lincoln asked.
“Uh…” Hell. He hadn’t thought this one out. What should he say? He didn’t think I want to be friends because my boss said I should was the best approach.
Lincoln Mathis’s door was closed, but judging from the raucous laughter, Jackson had a good idea that Lincoln’s closed door had more to do with trying to muffle the noise than it did with keeping people out.
Jackson raised his hand to knock, then dropped his fist back to his side.
What if they didn’t answer? What if it got all awkward the moment he stepped into the room? Jackson felt a bit like the nerdy kid on the playground who was about to ask the cool kids if he could play.
He, Jackson Burke, the man who’d once been voted sexiest guy in America, the man who had six Super Bowl rings, the man whose stunning wife had spent three seasons on Housewives, was scared shitless of rejection.
He lifted his hand once more and gave the door a firm rap before he could regret it.
Nothing.
He knocked again, louder, and this time the laughter inside faded to a trickle before stopping altogether.
“Yeah? Come in.”
Jackson’s hand found the doorknob, opening it just enough to stick his head in. It was noncommittal enough that he could back out if things got awkward.
There were a handful of people in the room, but Jackson sought and found Lincoln first, since Jackson knew him best.
“Burke, man, sorry,” Lincoln said from behind his desk, where his feet were propped up just inches from his keyboard. “We’ll keep it down.”
Jackson frowned. “What?”
Lincoln tilted his head in the direction of Jackson’s own office. “I was assuming this was a standard-issue noise complaint. The walls aren’t exactly soundproof, and Cole here laughs like a hyena.”
Cole shot Lincoln the finger, but Jackson barely noticed. He was too busy trying to come to grips with the fact that Lincoln thought Jackson was coming by to complain about the noise. Hell, this was worse than he thought. He really was the grumpy old man.
Fuck it. Might as well play along.
Jackson pushed the door open all the way, then raised his fist and shook it. “Damn it, you kids, git off my lawn!”
There was a moment of stunned silence before Penelope Pope let out a delighted giggle.
“Um, guys,” Lincoln said, glancing around the room, “did Jackson Burke just make a joke?”
“At least he’s talking to us,” Cole said as he pushed away from the filing cabinet.
“Jesus, Cole,” Lincoln said. “Don’t do that weird sporty-hero-worship thing now. You’ll send him scurrying back to his cave.”
“It’s Jackson Burke,” Cole said.
A dark-haired man whose name Jackson couldn’t remember spoke up. “Shit, no way, Sharpe. Is that his name? I had no idea. I mean, it’s not like we’ve been having staff meetings with him for weeks or anything. I’m pretty sure we all know each other’s names.”
There was a moment of awkward silence as Jackson stared at the man who was not Cole, not Lincoln, whose name was…
Fuck. He had no idea.
Cole gave him a friendly smile. “Do you know anyone’s name, Burke?”
Jackson cleared his throat and ordered himself not to shuffle his feet like a kid in the principal’s office. “I mean…I know Lincoln—”
“Bow down, peons,” Lincoln said. “I’m a king among men.”
“Where are you coming up with this?” Cole asked him.
Lincoln pointed at Jackson. “Um, hello—Jackson Burke knows my name.”
“And you barely know what sport he plays,” Cole shot back.
Jackson raised an eyebrow at Lincoln. “You don’t know what sport I played?”
If anyone noticed his subtle emphasis on the past tense, they didn’t show it.
Lincoln gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair once more. “So sue me. I don’t watch ESPN.”
“Or turn on the news, or watch the Super Bowl…,” Penelope muttered.
“Hey, I watched the Super Bowl,” Lincoln said. “Nearly cried at the Bud commercial with the horse.”
“Is this how you get so many women?” Cole asked, sounding appalled.
Penelope grinned. “Is that jealousy I hear in your tone, baby?”
Cole winked. “Nope. I’ve got all the woman I need packed into a tiny, sexy little—”
The man to Jackson’s right mimed a gagging motion before he strode forward to shake Jackson’s hand. “I’m Jake Malone, travel editor.”
“Hey,” Jackson said, feeling like a tool as he shook Jake’s hand, knowing that he’d probably already done it at least once in the past.
His first day, there’d been a whole welcome-the-newbie thing, but Jackson had been so busy wishing he could untie his tie that he’d barely remembered his own name, much less anyone else’s. But mostly he’d just sort of…kept to himself.
As he glanced around Lincoln’s office, taking in his coworkers’ compatibility with one another, he felt a pang of regret that he’d been such an uptight ass. Maybe if he’d made a little effort, he wouldn’t have spent so many Friday nights alone.
“So what can we do you for, Burke?” Lincoln asked.
“Uh…” Hell. He hadn’t thought this one out. What should he say? He didn’t think I want to be friends because my boss said I should was the best approach.
