Glass [James Bucky Barnes]

Chapter XXI

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A waiter left the room, a fragrant scent of fresh pastries filling the air. “Who are we meeting?” Ivy asked, going to uncover the tray with the breakfast.
James’ voice arrived from the bedroom, he was still getting dressed. “A client.”
“I thought Zacharie was buying the jewels,” She replied, studying the rich tray.
Fresh fruit and enough sugar to raise someone’s blood pressure within a few minutes.
“He is. I’m meeting a client of the company.”
James walked out of the bedroom, spotting Ivy on the couch. “God, I sometimes forget you’re not a full-time criminal.” Her witty remark caught him off guard.
He scoffed, shaking his head. “I believe we are in this together, in case you forgot.”
Ivy raised a brow. “Touché”
His eyes wandered on her face, stopping on her lips for a second. “You got something on your face.”
“What?”
He brushed her chin with his thumb, then brought it to his mouth. A sweet flavor revealed it was cream.
“Oh, I ate a pastry.” Ivy rubbed her chin with the back of her hand. A vacancy appeared in her stomach as he did so.
He smirked. “Yeah, half of it is on your face.”
She stood up, James taking a step back to make more room for her, still noticing how close they were.
“Will I play your wife again?” She asked, her voice husky.
The immediacy of his face to hers made her throat tight.
James looked down at her, licking his lips. “If you don’t mind it,” He grinned.
Ivy shook his head, a coy stare making his heart beat a bit faster. "I used to be a theatre kid, you know?"
James chuckled. "Really? What's your favorite role you played?"
She shrugged. "I don't have one."
His lips twitched, repressing a smile. "Well, maybe you haven't played it yet."

The hotel offered different spaces for work purposes, and James decided to use one of the conference rooms to greet his client.
He didn't have to bring Ivy along. She could have spent a few hours by herself, maybe going to the park. But he wanted her close.
He kept telling himself it was just a safety measure.
"Is he late?" Ivy whispered, looking at the glass doors.
James was slowly spinning in his chair with his hands clasped over his stomach. "Italians, they are always late," He scoffed.
"What's that?" Ivy frowned, pointing at a button at the center of the table.
"I don't know."
Her curiosity took over, and she pressed it. The lights got very low, and a projector came down from the ceiling.
Ivy quickly pressed the button over and over, trying to stop it, and making James laugh.
A beam of light hit the wall, projecting images.
James walked over to the table, turning it off.
"They should put a label or instructions," Ivy mumbled, sitting in one of the chairs around the table.
His eyes followed her.
He stepped closer to her chair, leaning against the table. "Or maybe you shouldn't press random buttons." He teased.
Ivy's left brow rises in disbelief. "You never know what can happen," James added.
"I like surprises."
He squinted, surprised. "Do you?"
Her shoulders moved up and down quickly. "Sometimes."

He didn't even notice he had gotten closer to her face, but her perfume pointed it out.
Sweet but fresh at the same time, like peaches and mint.
Her gaze was fixed on his lips, her brain trying to recall their taste.
The sliding door opened with a whoosh, and a man walked in.
James immediately pulled back, darting his gaze toward the door.
He was in his fifties, his temples were mostly white. "Mr. Barnes! What a pleasure to finally meet you." The accent was thick, almost as thick as the golden ring on his pinky.
The man was well dressed, in a deep blue jacket and white shirt.
He shook James' hand vigorously, a broad, wry smile stamped on his face.
His attention moved to Ivy. "Ma'am," He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips.
Ivy sported her faux bimbo expression that she was learning to master. It was incredible how careless most men became the moment her lips curled and her head was slightly tilted to the side.
They didn’t see her as a threat, so they wouldn’t care whether she was there or not.