Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  He took another step back, his hands grabbing mine. “True. But you of all people know I’m not known for my patience.”

  I shook my head at him, feeling some of my spine return. “Did you get it out of your system?”

  He always responded differently than I thought he would. For instance, I expected hurt or anger, or even mild irritation at the very least after a snarky comment like that. Instead, that one side of his mouth lifted in an affectionate half-smile and he said, “Not even a little bit.”

  I gulped making a straight-up audible sound that reminded me of a cartoon. “I have work to do.”

  “Get to it then,” he ordered. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  Not sure what to think of him or that kiss, I disentangled my hands from his and said, “Okay.” That was my genius response. After one of the best meals of my life, one of the most interesting conversations of my life and by far the best kiss of my life, I ended the night with a dorky, “Okay.”

  Ugh.

  This was Ezra’s fault somehow. I blamed the sexy restaurateur that had effectively turned my mind and my resolve to hate him to mush.

  I left Ezra and practically ran to my car in an attempt to escape. Keeping my fingers pressed to my lips the entire drive home, I tried to hold on to the feeling of him kissing me for as long as possible. Just in case it never happened again, just in case Ezra came to his senses and wanted nothing to do with me ever again.

  When I got home, I didn’t paint all night like I wanted to. I didn’t even dwell on Ezra’s kiss and relive every single second of it like I really wanted to.

  No, I worked.

  And I hated every second of it.

  It was only when I went to bed three hours later that I let myself check my email and finally, finally gave into the butterflies and gooey feelings, and the uncertainty of what all of this meant.

  To: mollythemaverick@gmail.com

  From: ezra.baptiste@yahoo.com

  Date: April 3, 2017 23:18:45 EST

  Subject: Thanks for dinner.

  And that kiss.

  Looking forward to Saturday.

  ~Ezra

  Eighteen

  The week passed like a snail—slow and slimy. Even the Black Soul meeting had been a waste of my time anticlimactic. I had been looking forward to representing edgy artists with our branding push, excited about all the possibilities our marketing team had to offer. Instead, I’d gotten stuffy suits that were more interested in dollar signs than original content.

  Considering the client, Henry was perfect as acting creative director. He pitched to their level, offering overused, dated tactics that wouldn’t do anything for their image, reach or business. Even Ethan’s super cool new logos were debated over, deciding at long last that they would take the logo options to a focus group and see how they tested.

  My social media package went about as well as you can imagine—in that it was a train wreck didn’t go well at all. There were vague compliments regarding my graphics, but the majority of the meeting was spent debating the ROI of social media ads and trying to explain that seventy-one percent of digital minutes were spent on smartphones—not desktops. Clearly making it pointless, or at least less relevant, to target desktops alone.

  And yet all of my golden nuggets fell on deaf ears.

  When we got back to the office, Henry had made us congregate in the conference room for a brand-new strategy meeting. He wanted to start from scratch. We wouldn’t have to throw out all of our graphics, just one hundred percent of our innovative ideas.

  The Black Soul project, the project that was supposed to launch me into office-wide notoriety, had been about as successful as my previous projects for the Baptist church and the mowing company. It had done nothing to further my career or cement my standing at STS. I was stuck on the same rung of the corporate ladder I’d started on.

  And I hated it. I was no longer satisfied with anonymous background jobs and being the sucker Henry got to sexually harass.

  However, there was still work to be done for Black Soul, and maybe not all was lost. We had been told at the meeting that two of their marketing experts were in California for the week. The rumor was that the missing execs were better in tune with what was on trend.

  I had to keep trying, right? It wasn’t in me to quit anyway. If my mother had taught me anything in this life it was that you never, ever, no matter how awful or wretched or dangerous, you never quit anything. Or so help me, God.

  Other arguments included: Do you want to end up like your father? Where would the world be today if everyone just gave up and quit? Oh my god, you’re turning into your father. And my personal favorite: Quitters quit, Molly. Do you want to be a quitter? Well, do you?

  Ahem. Needless to say, I couldn’t actually imagine a scenario in which I walked away from this project. I didn’t want to be a quitter after all. And I really didn’t want to end up like my dad. Or my mom for that matter.

  I would continue to come up with original ideas that would blow their socks off and make them jump feet first into this wonderful new technical age. I would continue to pour myself into this project even though it had lost all its luster and made me feel sad for the bands that signed with such a backward-thinking studio. And I would continue to put up with Henry and his silent staring and not so silent accidental touching. Although if his hand landed anywhere near my boob again, my knee was definitely going to find its way to his balls. Chuck Norris style.

  It all seemed pointless. I realized it was too late to pass the account off to someone else, but I dreamed about doing that every single day. I had been so looking forward to this account. I’d placed so many hopes and dreams and future shopping purchases on it, but when it had come down to it, this was the account that would end up ruining the façade that I loved what I was doing.

  Because I didn’t.

  This was nothing like painting. I couldn’t lie to myself for a second longer. Graphic design was the antithesis of having the freedom to create. Because there was no choice in this. There was no open-minded thinking or wide space to invent and process and make. It was all rigid lines and somebody else’s visions. It was people pleasing, mindless yes sirs, and the corporate world disguised in a cool office with a loose dress code. I couldn’t for the life of me remember why I’d wanted to move up in the company so badly. There was no end game to this madness. Only the constant crazy cycle of pleasing stubborn clients and perverted bosses.

  When I finally walked into Bianca Saturday morning to work on the mural, I took a deep breath and it felt like the first one all week. Ezra had met me at the front door all easy smiles and sleepy eyes. It wasn’t fair how attracted I was to him. Not even a little bit.

  “Molly,” he’d greeted instead of a regular good morning.

  “Ezra,” I’d returned, wondering if he was going to kiss me again.

  He’d taken my awkward canvas tote that contained all the paint and supplies I’d brought with me. The bag was overpacked with brushes and more brushes— every kind, size and shape in my arsenal. I’d brought them all. Even though I was pretty loyal to my pouncing brush and it was the best choice for what I had in mind. But the truth was I’d never painted an entire mural before so I didn’t really know what I needed. Better safe than sorry.

  After he’d placed my things on a cloth-covered table set aside just for me, he started digging around in my tote. “There are so many brushes.” He looked up at me. “I had no idea there were so many to choose from.”

  I shrugged, basking in the excitement I felt because he was interested. “They all serve different purposes.”

  He looked doubtful. “If you say so.”

  “How many different kinds of forks are there? Or spoons? How many serving spoons or spatulas, different kinds of whisks, pans, dishes? Knives?” I pointed at my brushes. “Same concept.”

  His smile stretched wide. “You’ve explained this before.”

  “Once or twice. I can provide the same comparison using bike g
ears, aerodynamic wheels, and tools if you’d like.”

  Taking a step toward me, his hand slipped around my waist. “No need.”

  I looked up at him, amazed that he had initiated physical contact. We’d exchanged work emails and fun texts during the week, but there was nothing said that indicated whether our kiss was a blooper or a prologue.

  I’d tried to focus on work instead of obsess think about what this was with Ezra, but let’s be real. Obviously, I was only human. And obviously, Ezra was more than human. Although I couldn’t tell you exactly what he was yet, I was positive it was along the lines of a Greek god or superhero, or maybe even a sparkly vampire. It didn’t really matter, because I was none of those things and it was hard to believe that our kiss had meant anything to him.

  He probably had epic kisses all the time. Like he was so sick of being kissed until the point of orgasm that he was like, Yuck, stop kissing me all you beautiful women!

  Me on the other hand? The last time I had been kissed so thoroughly that my eyes crossed and my toes tingled was… well… Okay, fine, I couldn’t remember ever being kissed like that. And now I had to live with the very real possibility that I might never be kissed like that again. Ever. Which was a giant, ugly, bitter tasting pill to swallow.

  Just when I’d decided I couldn’t stand being this psychotic over one minor makeout, his expression flattened abruptly and he asked, “When you said bike gears, was that in reference to Vera’s brother?”

  “Mmmhmmm. Vann.”

  He rocked back on his heels, but his hand didn’t leave my hip. “Should I have made sure you were single before I kissed you?”

  “Do you mean Vann?” I couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “No, no, no. No. I’m sorry, but no. We’re just friends. He’s like my big brother. I’ve known him all my life.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “There’s nothing between you?”

  “Would you date Dillon?”

  His face scrunched up reflexively. “No. Never. But she really is my sister. Half. By blood.”

  “Maybe Vann and I don’t share DNA, but he’s my brother in every sense of the word. He’s overprotective and annoying and wonderful all at once. There will never, ever, ever be anything between us. Ever.”

  He thought over my answer and then upped the ante. “What about Wyatt? Is there something going on between you two?”

  My pulse pounded at my wrists, nervous and uneasy. “Maybe you should just ask what you want to ask.”

  “Are you seeing anyone, Molly? Interested in anyone?”

  My heart kicked and my thoughts jumbled together all at once. He wanted to know if I was interested in anyone? I suddenly felt like we were back in fifth grade and I was being forced to face my crush during a tragic game of spin the bottle.

  “You,” I said tentatively, with my heart in my throat and my contingency plan to move to Mexico in place in my head in case he shot me down. Head’s up, step one of the plan is me crashing through one of Bianca’s windows and stealing Ezra’s Alfa a car. “Ezra there’s no one else.”

  His entire body relaxed, melting into me as he swooped down to capture my mouth in an immediate kiss. I sucked in a sharp breath of surprise, giving him all the incentive he needed to tangle my tongue fully with his. His lips pressed against mine, not gently, not tenderly, but with hunger, purpose and wicked heat.

  We picked up right where we’d left off. Our mouths moved together with familiarity, learning each other’s curves and tastes and needs. I clutched his polo with two fists, desperate to have more of this man that had driven me crazy for months and was currently driving me crazy in an entirely better new way.

  But all good things must stupidly come to an end. Our kiss was sensual and sexy, and way too short. When a chef walked out of the kitchen, spotted us and then walked right back into the kitchen, Ezra pulled back, ending the bliss we’d only just begun to explore. Although, he didn’t go too far.

  “Sorry,” he murmured with an annoyed glance over his shoulder. When he turned back to me, he said, “I’ve been wanting to do that all week.”

  That made me grin like an idiot. I rested my cheek on his chest to hide my red cheeks and silly smile, listening to his sprinting heart and feeling satisfaction at how quickly it beat. Because I was the reason it pounded so frantically. “So there’s no one else for you either? Girlfriends? Friends with benefits? Escorts you need to settle your bill with?”

  His chuckle vibrated through his entire body, rumbling against my cheek. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation.

  “There’s no one else, Molly. Not even a casual hookup. I’ve been single for over a year. Maybe longer. You’ve had a string of bad dates, but I’ve had a very long string of very bad relationships. I haven’t been interested in getting involved with a woman since… after Sarita opened.”

  I needed to see the truth in his eyes, so I tipped my head back and let my gaze meet his. “Really?”

  “What can I say? It took a feisty graphic designer biting my head off in my own, very successful restaurant to catch my eye.”

  “You’re lying,” I accused him because I was terrified that he wasn’t. “You have not been interested in me for that long.”

  “Intrigued,” he amended. “Absolutely. From the second I met you, I was intrigued. Although I kept my distance out of respect for Killian and Vera. I wasn’t interested in anything serious and I didn’t know you well enough to feel you out. I couldn’t hurt you and then expect everything to stay chill with Killian. I’ve been attracted to you since the second I met you, but it wasn’t till later that I was willing to risk pissing him off to chase you.”

  Chase me. Had he been chasing me? I closed my eyes briefly and imagined his car rides and emails and hiring me for every possible thing in his life. Oh, my god, Ezra Baptiste had been chasing me! And I had been completely dense totally oblivious! Could I get a life do-over to go back and savor that time??? “When did that change?”

  He lifted one shoulder and stepped closer. “I don’t know. I can’t pinpoint one exact moment, only that my interest marinated slowly until I saw you in the kitchen with Wyatt before the engagement party. I hated myself for letting other people’s potential opinions get in the way. I hated Wyatt for making you smile and laugh, and for inviting you into my space. I hated you for not seeming to notice me or be able to tolerate me. From that moment, it was my mission to get your attention, to get you to notice me.” He smiled that gentle, unassuming smile again, the one that made me all melty inside. “Although I’m not sure how well it worked. I used Meg to try to impress you, but you had the party handled without her. I tried to wow you with my wine cellar. You weren’t interested. I showed you my car. Again, you didn’t care. I’ve about exhausted my resources, Maverick. And I think you’ve given me a complex.”

  Well, I just died. I was dead. This had to be death. Because Ezra could not have said what he just did. “I was already impressed by you! That’s why I didn’t react to anything else. Did you not notice I was a basket case around you? And I assumed you were just showing off to be a douche!”

  The high planes of his cheeks heated and his smile was both embarrassed and adorable. “That does not bode well for my reputation.”

  I laughed, and maybe it was a little hysterical, but he was talking crazy and my rational mind could not wrap around the words that he was speaking. “It worked,” I promised him. “Whatever you did, worked.”

  Something clattered in the kitchen, jolting us with the violence of it. He groaned and dropped his forehead to mine. “That sounded expensive. I should probably go check on it.”

  Holding back a smile, I told him, “Go. But don’t terrorize them too much.”

  Standing up to his full height he asked, “Do you have everything you need? Can I get you something?”

  A curling fear of dread interrupted the most exciting forty-five minutes of my dating life and I nearly winced from the sharpness of it. “Was hiring me to do this mural part of your seduc
tion?”

  He shook his head—it looked like he was trying to recover from my conversational whiplash. “What?”

  “Did you only hire me to do this job because you want to get in my pants?”

  A slow, promising smirk lifted one corner of his mouth. If I hadn’t been so panicked, I would have spontaneously combusted from it.

  “Is getting in your pants an option?” he asked.

  “That absolutely depends on your answer,” I countered. “And I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying.” He raised one eyebrow. “You’re very transparent,” I explained. Which wasn’t at all true, but it was better to let him think I had the upper hand. Maybe then he would believe it.

  “The mural had nothing to do with us,” he answered sincerely. “And everything to do with your talent. I’m definitely interested in you, Molly, but I’m also a businessman. I wouldn’t have hired you to change the entire interior of my struggling restaurant if I didn’t think you would be able to make a seriously positive change.”

  My fears abated and I sucked in a steadying breath. “Sorry, I freaked out at you. I just didn’t want this to be a pity painting.”

  His lips twitched at my description. “It’s anything but. I’m anxious to see what you come up with.”

  “What about the marketing account?” I demanded, half hoping he would tell me that was just a ploy to spend more time with me and that I sucked at design. Because then I would have a reason to quit STS and start over. I could pursue painting or basket weaving or beekeeping. Anything would be better than working with Henry at this point.

  My argument was foolproof. Foolproof-ish.

  “Again, Molly, I’m worried you don’t see how talented you are. Since I’ve hired you, I’ve learned more about the ins and outs of advertising than the last firm taught me in the entire three years I employed them. You know your stuff. I’m truly lucky to have you working for the restaurants.”

  That was not the answer I was looking for, because it was leagues better. Those weren’t the kind of criticisms that ended careers, those were the kinds of compliments that reignited the deep and abiding love for my job.