Change in Strategy: An Office Romance (Change of Hearts Book 2)

by Sierra Hill

  My friend is right. I need to get cleaned up and get out of the apartment. It actually did make me feel better about myself as I showered and put in contacts to leave my signature glasses at home. I fixed my make-up, added a deep sheen of raspberry red lipstick, and found a local restaurant just around the corner from my apartment.

  I walk in with my head held high, but it’s a Saturday night and there isn’t a table in sight without a reservation. I ask the hostess if I can be seated at the bar, instead.

  As she escorts me to the bar area, the weight of everyone’s perceived stares on my back feels like a spotlight hovering over me as I walk over. It’s silly, because I’m sure no one has noticed me or even glanced my way. It’s just my own peculiarity that has me cringing over the fact that I’m here alone and I don’t want anyone, even if they are strangers, to think I’m here scoping out a date for the evening.

  The food selection is incredible, and I decide to treat myself with a mouth-watering sea bass entree and pair it with a white-wine spritzer. I’m not a big drinker, for obvious reasons, but I’ve also had to learn not to be so stingy with counting calories. I didn’t drink in high school for that very reason, and while in college, I’ve had to penny pinch so expensive drinks on Saturday nights out with my friends wasn’t in my budget.

  I receive my drink and take the first sip, enjoying the fizz as it slides down my throat. I take a moment to glance around at my surroundings, checking out the details of the swanky bar, the decorative walls and the high-end atmosphere. My hips swing around in the bar stool to look in the other direction and that’s when I see him.

  How cliché it is but also how very true. Our eyes meet over a crowded bar.

  His piercing dark gaze sends a lightning bolt down my spine and the aftershocks ripple through my body. I gulp and flick my head away, turning back toward to stare at the bottle display behind the bar. Mirrors line the wall and I see and feel his presence beside me immediately.

  It’s alarming at first.

  Here I am, new in town and don’t know a soul, and I never go to bars by myself. Brooklyn, Kyler and I have gone out to bars and clubs before, drinking and dancing, and I’ve danced with guys who have asked, but never once have I felt this level of intensity and connection quite so much.

  Did I mention it’s alarming?

  Not in the ‘I think he’s a serial killer’ sense of the word, rather ‘holy shit, this man is going to eat me alive and I’m going to die a happy woman’ kind of alarm.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  His voice is rich and warm and makes me bump the stem of my glass with my hand, spilling some wine over the lip. We both reach for a cocktail napkin in front of us at the same time, fingers colliding like a game of chicken and I pull back sharply.

  I nudge my shoulder cavalierly. “Nope, it’s free.”

  He slides in and the scent of him brushes past my nose. It’s so powerfully masculine and intoxicating that I screw my eyelids closed and have to turn my head the other direction. Any more of that and I might climb right into the man’s lap and purr like a kitten.

  “Are you waiting for someone to arrive or may I buy you a drink?”

  Oh boy. This is the part that scares the shit out of me. I want so much for Brooklyn or Kyler to be here with me to run interference. I don’t know what to do or say or even how to act. If I come off overly flirtatious, he’ll get the wrong idea and think I want to sleep with him. But if I lie and say someone is coming, and then they don’t show up, then I look like a fool.

  Gah. What am I supposed to do?

  And then I hear Kyler’s voice in my head saying, “Just go with the flow and see where it takes you.”

  I return my gaze to the man, tilting my head to the side in what I hope is a sexy move and smile. “I’m good but thanks for the offer. And to answer your other question, no, I’m not waiting for anyone. It’s just me.”

  I wave my hands in a jazz-hand gesture and carefully replace them around the stem of my wine glass.

  “Lucky me, then. I get to sit next to the most beautiful young woman in the restaurant. Dare I say, all of L.A.?”

  “That’s laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

  The corners of his mouth curve into a sexy smile and my focus zones in on his lips. Nice and firm. I bet they’d be perfect for kissing. And biting. And licking.

  Oh dear. Wine goes straight to my head and turns on the spigot of dirty thoughts. The warmth of a blush creeps up my neck and over my face, the flush turning bright red. Similar in shade to the color of my lipstick, from what I can see of my reflection.

  He chuckles and shakes his head, extending a hand to me. “I’m Jensen. And you are very honest. I like that in a woman.”

  This is the point where I freak out and don’t know what to say. How do single people do this thing? My tongue is like a balloon on steroids, swelling up inside my mouth so I can barely squeak out a name.

  “Nice to meet you, Jensen. I’m Brooklyn.”

  So much for honesty. I shake his hand, which is firm, the flesh of his palm caresses me with a warm, tingly sensation. I drop my gaze to my glass, now uncertain what to say from here. I’ve flirted and had some naughty dialogue in the past with boys, but never a man.

  And then it dawns on me, this man is rocking a very expensive suit. It’s definitely not your run of the mill off-the-rack suits, but tailor made. Which says, if I had to venture a guess, he’s an L.A. bigwig. Maybe an agent or manager to one of the Hollywood stars. He looks older than me, but not significantly. Possibly his late twenties. And given my deep-rooted issues stemming from my childhood regarding businessmen in general, I’m a bit in awe that his presence doesn’t curdle my stomach.

  Something about him, be it his good looks, confidence or charm, doesn’t turn me off.

  In fact, it has the opposite effect. My pulse races with excitement and anticipation to get to know him. To learn who he is and what he does. Despite my interest, I take a furtive glance at his ring finger to make sure he’s not married.

  I do not want to end up like my mother in that department.

  “You caught my eye earlier when you came in,” he says, lifting his glass of what looks like whiskey to his lips. “I was having a very dull business meeting with a distributor, and then you walked in. Let’s just say you brightened up my otherwise boring night.”

  Is it possible to melt from the choice of words someone uses? I’ve heard and read about swoony men who can charm the pants off women just through their comments, but I didn’t know it was a real thing.

  I give him a genuine, honest-to-golly-that’s-the-sweetest-thing-anyone-has-ever-said-to-me smile, and blush.

  “Aw, that’s sweet of you to say.”

  I suck my bottom lip between my teeth for lack of anything else to do with my mouth. Because I kind of want to use it to press my lips to his mouth and taste the whiskey on his breath.

  It seems to draw Jensen’s attention and he leans in closer, as if reading my mind.

  “Not as sweet as I think your lips would taste.”

  Good grief, did he read my mind?

  Over the next hour, we flirt. Shamelessly. And it feels amazing. Jensen told me about his dog, and how he loves the outdoors. That he travels a lot for work, even though he was evasive about what he does. And I was just as elusive with my filtered responses, telling him I was just here on business and wouldn’t be here long.

  It had grown later than I expected, and I knew I had to get up early the next morning. I planned to do a drive-by of the office, to map out my directions, find a place to grab a coffee on the route there and identify a place to park. Since I hadn’t been here in person yet, I had no idea if they had an employee parking lot or if it was street parking.

  “Oh my, I think I need to get going,” I say, checking the time on my phone which displays it’s only nine-thirty. I’m sure he thinks I’m an idiot leaving a conversation like we’ve had behind without seeing where the night would lead. “I have
an early morning and an important meeting on Monday.”

  I start to slide off the stool, already having paid my bill, which technically, Jensen did on my behalf while I was in the restroom. We had words exchanged over that, because he had no right to do that, since it wasn’t a date, and he’d just shrugged and said, “Fine, next time we go out, you can pay.”

  And if that didn’t make my tummy flutter, this sure did.

  “Brooklyn, I’ve really liked talking with you tonight. I hate to see you vanish so quickly without getting to know you more. Would you like to join me for a walk?”

  At first, I was sure he was going to ask me to come home with him so he could fuck me. And I would’ve flat out refused. Not because it didn’t appeal to me, but how would I possibly tell this incredibly handsome stranger that he had to go slow because I was a virgin. These are the problems I face with this stupid virginity complication which would require me to sadly turn him down.

  But a walk? A walk I could handle.

  “I’d love to, Jensen. Let me just text my roommate and let her know.”

  Safety precautions. Even though it’s all a lie.

  Chapter 3

  Brody

  It’s the most cliché thing in the world, and something right out of an old Hollywood movie. Our eyes met over a crowded room and I was immediately drawn to this woman.

  After a late business dinner with a manufacturing rep who’d been trying to woo me for the last six months to do business with him, I was too wound up with a thousand thoughts on my mind to just go straight home. I was lucky enough to see this striking young beauty was still sitting at the bar, with eyes that looked like a violet sea, and a wavy mess of sassy platinum blonde hair framing her petite face.

  There was no way I was leaving this bar tonight without first meeting her. Throwing caution to the wind, I grew some balls and just went for it, sounding cheesy and lame as fuck by asking her if the bar seat was already taken. And things seemed to go well from there.

  So well, in fact, I did not want to let the evening end without kissing her.

  It was early on in our conversation that I figured out I wasn’t getting laid tonight. Although incredibly beautiful with a knock-out figure, her innocence was extremely obvious. Some of the innuendos I lobbed over were left unanswered. But it didn’t detract at all from her sex appeal. She was sexy-as-fuck and looked like a French model – slender boned, waif-like-features, and impeccable style.

  Taking her hand in mine, I lead her through the crowded room, diners at every table and people still waiting for their reservations at the front entrance.

  I escort her outside the restaurant, my hand at the small of her back. She looks over her shoulder at me.

  “Which way are we going?”

  I nod to the north of us. “There’s a park up the street about two blocks in walking distance. Is that okay with you?”

  Working in the fashion industry, I know that the dress shoes women wear to match their outfits are never meant to be comfortable or used for walking. I glance down at hers and find she’s wearing fairly sensible wedges. She kicks up a heel.

  “Yep, all good.”

  We cross the street at the crosswalk and head up the road, traffic this time of night much slower than the daytime. My office is just a few blocks from here, as is my condo, so I’m familiar with the area and where we’re heading.

  I entwine our fingers together, enjoying the petite grip she has, the way her fingernails graze over my knuckles.

  “I know you’re here on business, but is this your first time in Los Angeles?”

  “Yes, I literally just drove in this morning and unpacked. I’m exhausted from the drive and the lugging up my boxes up to the floor of my…” She stops abruptly, as if changing her mind on what she wanted to say. She waves her hand with a flourish. “Anyway, that’s why I can’t have a late night. It’s been a busy day.”

  We stop and I gesture for her to sit on the park bench. I take the spot next to her and swing an arm around the back of her neck. My fingers play with the soft strands of her hair, which I noticed in the bar are inked a soft hue of pink. Like someone dipped the ends in candle wax, coating the tips in color.

  I hear an audible inhale and shift closer to her.

  “Do I make you nervous?” I ask, leaning close to her ear, inhaling the soft fragrance of her perfume. A light and crisp pear scent.

  “N-no,” she stammers softly, and I graze my nose in the sensitive crevice at her neck.

  “No? So, your pulse has sped up not because you’re nervous but maybe because you’re turned on right now?”

  My lips are right at the base of her ear and I feel her swallow, her throat constricting and her neck muscles tightening on reflex. As she does, it causes my lips to have firm contact with her skin.

  Parting my mouth, I plant open and wet, hungry kisses along her exposed neck, moving along the curve of her collarbone and then returning to her ear. Her slight frame trembles next to me, and my cock roars to life behind my zipper.

  The sexual energy between us is white hot – sizzling heat sparking like lightning bugs in a summer field. A crackling synergy of lust and passion, building slowly on its way to a thunderous lightning crash.

  With her profile to me, I shift on my hip and place my index finger underneath her chin, turning her to look at me. Her blue eyes flash wildly – a mix of uncertainty and growing hunger.

  “Can I kiss you?” I rasp, surprised by how gruff my voice sounds, the pheromones and testosterone raging inside doing their physiological thing.

  Her eyes volley between my mouth and my eyes landing back at my mouth.

  “Yes.”

  The kiss starts off as a gentle caress, my lips flirting over hers ever-so-gently. Teasing her. Coaxing her to open for me so I can consume her every breath. I let out a hungry groan as my tongue sweeps inside her parted lips, tasting the flavor of her sweetness laced with wine. Her lush lips go pliant against mine, as I suck on her bottom lip with appreciation. The fullness of my now erect cock presses eagerly against the fabric of my pants, the swollen flesh pointing me in the direction in which to go.

  My hands cup her slender neck, guiding her, keeping her within my reach, as my tongue plunges and claims this woman as mine. I rub my thumb along the smooth skin of her collarbone, feeling the goosebumps form under my touch.

  My fingers continue to roam, sliding under the strap of her sundress, tugging it loose so it slips over her shoulder. I draw patterns over the satiny feel of her shoulder and down her arm, as if she were a canvas and I was the painter.

  I lean down to sample her flesh and am rewarded with the sweetest taste I could imagine. Brooklyn grabs onto my biceps – and for a moment I think she’s going to push me away – but instead, her fingernails dig into my taut muscle. And fuck, it has me picturing her naked on my bed, those fingers digging into my back as I slide in and pull out of her hot body.

  My kisses grow wild and undisciplined as they rove over every spot I can reach, licking and sucking so hard I nearly draw blood.

  With a mind of its own, my hand slips from her arm to the swell of her breast, the weight of it so perfect in my grasp. I flick the hard peak that pokes through from the bodice of her dress and her moan reverberates through the charged air.

  Voices interrupt our kisses and the sound of it startles her, as she reels back out of my grasp and seems to realize where she’s at.

  “Oh, my goodness. Wow…I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to get so carried away. I kind of lost myself there.” She exhales sharply, adjusting her dress, smoothing it out on her lap. “You’re a really good kisser.”

  She struggles with the strap of her dress, and I chuckle at her innocent declaration, adding my assistance and tug the strap back in place. If only for the excuse of getting one more touch of her buttery-soft skin.

  “I got pretty lost myself. Would you like to take this elsewhere tonight?”

  The question dangles out in the space between us, now dampe
ned by the cool air and interruption.

  She wears an expression of indecision that turns to disappointment. “I’m sorry, Jensen. I would love to, but I need to go.”

  “I figured you might say that. A guy can at least try.”

  She lifts her sultry sweet eyes to me and frowns. “I really do like you. I just have to leave.”

  I nod and stand up, offering her my hand to assist.

  “Can I get your number? I’d like to take you out if you have time while you’re in town.”

  “I’d like that a lot. Give me your phone.”

  I reach into my front pocket, furtively adjusting my still-hard as nails cock – and hand her my phone. She types fast and furious into my contacts and hands it back. She’s about to walk away, but I grab her gently by the arms as she looks up at me with a dazed and satisfied look in her eyes.

  “One more kiss goodnight?” I beg. I freaking beg, for Christ’s sake. Who the hell am I?

  Certainly not the womanizing playboy, titan of industry that I’ve been named by the newspapers and gossip columns. I sound more like an inexperienced chump out on his first date hoping for a kiss from his Cinderella than an experienced CEO.

  She smiles, her eyes shining in the night sky. “Okay.”

  And I give her one final kiss. One that I hope she remembers all night through until I see her again.

  Because I will see her again.

  And I won’t just let things end with a goodnight kiss the next time.

  Chapter 4

  Brody

  “Sheila, can you please call Dow and request that he send over the latest numbers model on that ad campaign we plan to run next week?”

  I let go of the intercom button on my phone and rub the back of my neck, trying to ease away the tension that’s been building since I cracked open my eyes this morning. The marketing report and P&L statement I received for the month are not projecting in the right direction and my frustrations are at an all-time high.