by Alex Wolf
I hear the backdoor shut. Molly, my housekeeper, is here. Over the next several minutes I finish getting dressed in something a little more casual than the usual suit and tie I wear for work. I go with a pair of dark jeans and a grey fitted v-neck. I pocket my wallet and head to the kitchen to greet Molly.
She’s been with me for years and does an excellent job keeping my household running efficiently. Her dark hair is swept back in a tight bun that rests neatly on her head. There are streaks of gray around her temples. She’s already busying herself with dinner though I won’t be around to eat it until later.
“Good evening, Miss Molly. Something smells good.”
“I’m making chicken parm, a garden salad, and cheesy garlic bread.” The woman can cook anything. Her Italian is to die for. No one can top her in the kitchen.
“Sounds perfect. I have to go out, but I’ll be back no later than nine.”
“No worries. Take your time. I’ll hold down the fort.”
Molly is truly a godsend, and I don’t know what I’d do without her. She’s like family. I grab my keys off the hook and go into the garage and hop in the Audi.
Ten minutes late, I find Tate waiting for me in the lounge at The Violet Hour. I couldn’t be the first one here, looking all desperate. The Violet Hour is known for its speakeasy vibe and their house bourbon. I’ve only been here a couple of times and forget about their no cell phone in the lounge rule and switch my phone to vibrate. I slip it back into my pocket when I see the sign. I grab a chair and slide it next to Tate’s so we can talk privately away from the chatter at the bar.
I let the server know I’ll have whatever Tate is having. She’s dressed to kill in her black and white dress. Fuck me, she’s even hotter than she was the previous two times we met. Her heels have sexy black leather straps that wrap around her ankles in an erotic fashion, and suddenly I feel way underdressed.
“Two Midnight Stingers,” she says.
The bartender scurries off and a moment later returns with the drinks. The whole time he was away, I had to will myself not to stare at Tate in her goddamn dress.
Once the bartender is gone, I break the ice. “Enjoying the city?”
She regards me for a few long seconds, like she’s plotting, trying to figure out my motivations for this little get together. “Undecided, but I do love the view from my office.”
That’s something I’ve noticed about her. She’s always watching, observing, her mind always working, taking in information. When she mentions the view, I can’t help but think how much I’m enjoying the view in front of me. “Is our office different from Dallas?”
“Not much.” She takes a sip from her tumbler, eyeing me over the brim of her glass looking like an angel sent here to torture me. The glow of the candle illuminates her hair. “Remind me. How do you know Weston?”
I smile. “We went to law school together. After I gave up baseball to pursue law that is.”
“You played for Illinois. I read about you.”
“You did your homework. Only heard good things I hope.” I’m impressed she went to the trouble. I can imagine the shit she came across on the gossip sites that call me a playboy.
“Maybe,” she says as we both take a drink. “What was that like? The baseball?”
“Loved it. I lived for the game, but it was exhausting and a lot of hard work.”
“If you could go back and do things differently… would you have pursued baseball instead of law?”
It’s not the question I expect, and it catches me off guard for a second. I right the ship before she can tell something is off. “No. Part of me wonders what if, but things turned out good. I got to play ball for a while and things worked out.” I made my peace with the choice I made a long time ago. I wouldn’t trade the life I have today for anything in the world.
“You miss the recognition that came with it?” Her tongue darts out as she beams at me, tapping her nails on her glass in need of another drink.
“No. I didn’t like the attention.” I signal for a refill.
“Trying to get me drunk? Thought this was business.” She wraps her red painted nails around her bourbon-filled glass.
Talking to Tate comes naturally. She’s great at conversation and a good listener. I need to change the subject, though. She always just dives straight into the uncomfortable. Ignoring her comment, I say, “Enough about me. Tell me about you. You grew up in Texas?”
“I did. I have two older brothers who didn’t mind me tagging along on their fishing and hunting trips.”
“You fish and hunt?”
“I’m a southern girl. I can drink like a fish and swim like one too.” She laughs, a real, genuine laugh this time.
“I see that. Bet you put the men in Dallas to shame.”
She brings her rocks glass up toward her lips but lets it rest against her chin. “I do my best.”
“Kicking ass and taking names?”
“Something like that. I keep them in line and crack the whip when I need to.” There’s a naughty sparkle in her eyes, but maybe it’s the flame from the candle.
“You really as tough as Weston says? Or is he just talking shit?”
The corners of her lips curl up into a grin. “Oh, I imagine you’ll find out soon enough, counselor.”
I can’t help but smile. Fuck, this woman is perfect.
She glances around the bar. “You bring all your colleagues here?”
I stroke my jaw. We’re both playing with fire. “This is only my third time here. So, to answer your question, no.”
“Just me, huh? Does that make me special?”
She’s special all right. A damn temptress.
Her Cupid’s bow lips curve upward forming a delicious smirk.
“You’re something… I just haven’t figured out what yet.” Knocking back my drink, I place the empty tumbler on the table between us.
She finishes hers. Her fingers linger on the table, her red nails on display. I imagine them scratching down my back after I’ve peeled that dress from her.
I shake myself out of these thoughts. I should get going, but I can’t seem to pull myself away from her. The low lights, the proximity of our chairs, her cinnamon vanilla scent—it all mingles together, and I inch closer. I think the bourbon has gone straight to my dick and my brain is no longer able to function.
Tate licks her tempting red lips. Lips I want to kiss but know I shouldn’t. Those gorgeous honey-brown eyes meet mine full of playfulness. I lean forward, determined to see if her mouth tastes as sweet as I imagine. This is it, the moment of truth. There’s no coming back, but I’m determined to feel her lips on mine.
Her eyelashes flutter and she doesn’t stop me. I lean in farther, our mouths just inches apart, close enough I can feel her breath play across my chin.
Fuck it.
I go for it. The one thing that could tank this deal, and one of the dumbest decisions I could possibly make.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
I pull away and glance at my watch; I see it’s already after nine. I lost track of the time. It’s not hard to do with the gorgeous Tate Reynolds sitting next to me at the bar. Her eyes remain locked on mine the entire time, probably wondering what the fuck I’m doing. She lets out a small flustered sigh, but, other than that, her poker face remains.
When I pull my phone from my pocket and read the message, my heart damn near beats out of my chest. “Fuck. I gotta go.”
Tate frowns, but tries to hide it almost immediately.
“Sorry.” I slip money to the server for our drinks and head out of the bar.
We accomplished no work whatsoever. We didn’t even discuss the merger.
I did learn one thing about myself, though.
I want Tate Reynolds—bad.
Tate
Things are weird the next day when I walk into the office. Quinn strolls by and says hello, nothing new there. I catch the other three Collins brothers brooding at me from their desks. They’re not har
d to miss. The whole office is made out of glass walls, so a ton of natural sunlight filters through the building.
I spot Decker at the end of the hall, so I start in his direction. I can’t stop thinking about how close he was to my mouth last night, and how badly I wanted him to kiss me. It would’ve been a mistake, so I’d breathed easy when his phone rang.
The last thing I want is for things to be weird, but I’m drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He has a way about him that pulls me in like a tractor beam and turns me into a mindless buffoon. As soon as he spots me, he takes off in the other direction.
Just like all the men in your life, scared.
I suppose it’s not a bad thing. I’m here to do one thing and one thing only—my job. I head to my office and pull out my highlighter. It’s not hard to get lost in my work, and that’s exactly what I plan to do. I need to go through the client lists of both firms and make sure there are no conflicts of interest, clients suing each other, etc. Anything I find must be resolved and signed off on by Weston. It’s a shitload of work, but that’s what Weston pays me for. I make it through a few lines of a contract before the words all jumble together and nothing makes sense. My brain can’t process anything, and it’s all because of the memory of Decker Collins’ mouth inches from mine, hanging there, lingering.
I can’t help but think about what it’d be like in my ear, whispering all kinds of dirty words about what he wanted to do to me. How he’d order me to get on my knees, with his hand gripping the back of my neck and pushing me down.
Goosebumps pebble all over my body and I shiver a little in the best kind of way at the thought. How am I supposed to get any work done knowing he’s in the same proximity as me? He could barge into my office at any moment and I’d be helpless, a slave to him.
I have to get out of here for a bit.
It’s almost lunch time so I gather up my paperwork and decide I can get more done in my hotel room for an hour with no distractions. I stop by Quinn’s desk on my way and let her know I’m going to lunch.
As I head toward the elevator, Decker walks out of his office and we nearly collide again. This time, he doesn’t barrel over me with his shoulder. His eyes widen when he sees me, and the look on his face says he’s warring with himself.
He starts to say something, but no words come out, and then he just walks past me.
“You’re really gonna ghost me? Just like that?”
He freezes in his tracks, his Salvatore Ferragamo dress shoes squeaking on the tile as he stops. His hands ball into fists at his sides, then he slowly releases the tension from his body and turns around.
“Everything going okay?” He nods to the folder tucked under my arm.
“Yeah. Gonna head to the hotel and work during lunch. I can’t get anything done in my office for some reason.” I take a few steps toward him.
He looks like he wants to retreat, but quickly remembers his name is on the wall, and stands his ground.
I take another step closer. “We should talk about what happened last night.”
“Funny, I was thinking we should do the exact opposite.”
“Typical man,” I say, before realizing I said it out loud.
Decker smirks at my response. “Now’s not the time, Tate.”
Why does he have to use my first name and keep things unprofessional? I’m trying to do the exact opposite. All I want to tell him is it’s a good thing his phone rang before we made a mistake we both regretted. That way we can put last night behind us. “It’s Ms. Reynolds.” My words come out harsher than intended.
“Well, Ms. Reynolds.” He takes a step closer to me. “Now is not the time. I’m busy and this is hardly the setting to have such a conversation.” Sarcasm oozes from his tone as he mocks me in his most professional voice possible. I want to grab his tie and give it a yank, just to choke him a little bit, nothing serious.
“Well then, Mr. Collins. I guess I’ll be on my way. I’ll have work for you and Weston to review by tomorrow morning.” I turn toward the elevator.
“Ms. Reynolds?”
I whip around. “Yes?”
He glances around to make sure the coast is clear, then lowers his voice. “Try not to think about me too much while you’re reading those documents.” The asshole winks and walks off.
Ugh! Fuck you, Decker Collins.
Back at the hotel, I can’t think of anything but Decker in his damn suit. It pisses me off even more because he told me not to think about him and it’s all I can do. I have forty-five minutes to get some work done without the possibility of interruption and all I want to do is run my hand between my legs and pretend it’s Decker’s tongue.
I turn the TV on and crank up the volume, trying anything to create some white noise in the background to pull my thoughts back to work. Finally, I manage to get about ten pages highlighted with notes.
Only forty to go. No problem at all, Tate.
Even the voice in my head gives me shit.
It’ll have to do. Usually, I would’ve had this work moved off my plate in the first hour I was at work. I don’t know what I’m going to do about this whole Decker situation, but I need to fix it in a hurry. That’s how I live my life, figuring out the problem and solving it.
Riding Decker like a bull is out of the question, so what can I possibly do? I tap my chin, trying to find a solution. Being efficient in my work is vital to my success. Maybe I can run everything through Weston, then he can discuss it with Decker, and cut the gorgeous, blue-eyed man out of the equation. Any face-to-face stuff I can punt to Quinn, have her run interference.
Then, I’ll never have to see him, won’t have to correspond with him, and I can finally focus. I solidify the plan in my brain. Now, I just need to execute it.
It’ll be easier said than done, but all I can do is hope.
Decker
I sit at my desk, poring over my emails for the day. I prefer to knock them out as they come in, so nothing lingers that I can forget about. Fucking Tate and her smart mouth. I know I should go easier on her, try and smooth things over. She’s just so—Tate. I’m used to confrontation, but she takes it to a whole other level. What the hell? Like I was just going to discuss almost kissing her right there in the hallway of the firm?
Having drinks with her in the bar was a bad idea. God, that fuck-me dress, and those hot-as-hell heels. I couldn’t help myself. I’m only human.
Thank God my phone went off, and I had an excuse to get out of there. I sat up all night dealing with that message and now I’m sleep deprived and crankier than usual.
I pull up a Word doc and type out anything that could go wrong by pursuing Tate. Making lists helps me compartmentalize and think things through.
Could ruin merger.
You can’t date anyone right now.
Don’t shit where you eat.
She has to leave for Dallas when this is over.
Typing it out helps me reason through the situation and get my thoughts organized. I was so close to kissing her I could practically taste the booze on her lips. The funny thing was, she didn’t pull back, or lean into it. She just sat there, expecting it to happen. Wanting it to happen?
Fuck Weston for sending her here. She’s driving me insane.
I hop up from the desk, feeling better about the situation after making my list. Now, all I have to do is keep my dick in check. About the time I walk through the door, the elevator dings and out steps the temptress from hell. My immediate reaction is to retreat back into my office until the coast is clear, but she catches me hesitating out of the corner of her eye. I can’t look like some pussy and run away from her. There’s no way in hell that will ever happen.
Shit.
She turns on her heel and heads right at me while glancing around to make sure the coast is clear. “Now seems like a good time to talk.” She doesn’t slow down as she barrels right past me with her color-coded files.
I appreciate how organized she is and at the same time I want to smack her as
s and send her right back out the door. Who the hell does she think she is barging into my office? Like she can’t read my fucking name plastered everywhere.
I turn and glance at the door, debating if I should leave it open. I decide on open, that way if she starts in on me, I won’t be tempted to grab her by the hair and kiss the breath from her lungs.
She stops in front of my desk and plops down on one of the chairs.
“Make yourself comfortable.” Sarcasm oozes from my voice, hopefully some contempt too as I stroll around and sit down behind the desk, steepling my fingers.
“Nothing about our situation is comfortable. We need to remedy that right now.”
“What’d you have in mind?” I can’t help but smirk. I’m not used to someone else taking charge and steamrolling me in a conversation, but something about Tate doing it amuses me. I give her my best I don’t give a shit look to let her know she’s wasting my time.
She keeps on like she doesn’t notice the way I’m speaking to her. “I’ve been thinking, maybe I just send everything to Weston and relay messages through Quinn. It’ll put some distance between us.”
I pretend to think it over, but really, I know the wait is killing her. I should agree to it. It’s a reasonable plan, but I can’t help myself. Torturing Tate Reynolds has apparently become my new favorite thing to do. I find myself wanting to disagree with her one-hundred percent of the time, just to see how she reacts.
“I don’t think that’s necessary. We’re both professionals.”
“It’s not working, Decker.”
“It’s Mr. Collins. Let’s keep things professional, shall we?”
Her jaw clenches and her face turns slightly pink. Not an embarrassed pink. It’s a pissed-off pink, and it’s perfect.
“Mr. Collins, it’s not working.”