by Sierra Rose
Chapter 11
She cursed herself for being careless, for picking up a stranger who turned out to be her new boss’s son and the newest addition the company. This was a mistake that would bite her in the ass every Monday through Friday forever, she groaned inwardly. She left the party early, claiming that she had work to complete. Back in the peace of her cubicle she made good on that statement and zipped through a stack of receipts that had to be recorded. Finished in plenty of time, she straightened her desk and looked at the clock. When she turned back to her monitor, Jack was there, filling the door of her cubicle.
“I brought you my W-2. I’m only part time so don’t bother with the benefits.”
“Do you want direct deposit?”
“Did you listen to Dad’s speech?” he grinned. “He and I are working for a dollar. Each. We don’t need the money and our salaries can help with operating capital for the expansion. So a check will be fine. I’ll be in and out. I’ve got a software project going.”
“Is this just a hobby for you?”
“Sort of,” he said with a shrug.
“Do you really play guitar?”
“Hell yes. I do all kinds of shit. I did the graphics for my friend’s software. I do some marketing for my dad,” he said. “Look, there’s not going to be any hard feelings just because you weren’t interested and I was. I’m not going to harass you. I’m not going to make things difficult for you. So you can relax.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re pretty tightly wound. I can see the vein in your forehead.”
“Thanks,” she said dryly.
“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable around me. I won’t even be here that much.”
“Good to know.”
“Have I offended you?”
“Besides talking about my forehead vein and assuming, egotistically may I add, that I was trembling in my pumps because big manly you walked into my place of work? Excuse me if I’m not overcome by desire and regret. I have a new W-2 to enter,” she said shortly, face blazing with embarrassment as he left.
Why had she defaulted to being rude, she wondered. Was she really that intimidated? Really that attracted that she had to be so aggressive and mad? He hadn’t done anything except be a hot guy who showed up in a place she’d rather not see him. Dropping her head onto her desk, she groaned aloud.
“What’s the groaning about?” Marj teased.
“I was a total bitch to the boss’s son. He brought in his W-2 and—”
“Were you straightening your desk? You’re always pissy when I interrupt your little OCD ritual.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“He’ll learn when to knock. We all do,” Marj said. “Except for hook up guy, of course. If he ever shows up here, I think you’d stop tidying up to meet with him.”
“Don’t bet on it,” Britt said ruefully.
No matter how much she tried not to think about him, there he was. She saw him get into the elevator as she went down the hall. Instead of pressing the button to make it wait, she took the stairs. If she got in that elevator with him, especially if he was alone, the sexual tension would be too much, and she’d forget who she was and what she wanted. She’d only want him.
Britt went to the gym and tried to flirt with guys who worked out. She reasoned that she’d enjoyed licking Jack’s abs so much because he was in great shape, so all she needed to complete her rebound transition was to bang another guy with fantastic abs.
She put on her most flattering tank top and a pair of shorts. She climbed on a stair stepper and adjusted it to the easiest setting. Britt figured it would be easier to look approachable and sexy if she wasn’t gasping for air and sweating buckets. She took to putting a little switch in her climb, trying for a cute butt angle in case any of the gym rats walked by. Ten minutes in she was ready for a bottle of water....or a bottle of wine. She stepped off and wiped her face with a towel in annoyance. All that work and she hadn’t pulled a single guy. She’d hoped for the blond guy on the elliptical. He looked about 22 and ripped. She could really go for 22 and ripped. He might be able to take her mind off Jack...not Jack, her breakup, her broken heart, not her one night stand.
Britt walked by him deliberately on the way to get a drink at the juice bar. She dropped her towel with what she hoped was the subtle flair of a Victorian lady dropping her handkerchief. She glanced at him sideways while she picked up the towel. His muscular calves were pumping along uninterrupted on the elliptical trainer, not leaping off the machine to come to her aid. She got a carrot guava juice to be virtuous but it tasted like dirt, so she changed clothes and debated getting a Starbucks. On her way out of the locker room, she crashed into Hot Elliptical Guy.
“I just wanted to check on you. Are you okay?” he asked.
He was tall and broad and gorgeous in the sandy-haired Ken doll way. Smiling as dazzlingly as she could, she laid a hand on his bicep lightly.
“I’m fine now. It’s so sweet of you to be concerned.” About little ol’ me, she wanted to add with an eye-roll. But sarcasm wouldn’t get her in his pants, and she needed a new fling to erase the old one that was haunting her.
“You seemed a little-disoriented back there. I thought maybe you didn’t feel well or you were on heavy cold medicine or something. You were blinking a lot,” he said sheepishly.
Britt shut her eyes for a moment in mortification. All that eye-batting had just made him think she had allergies.
“I tried Mucinex once, and I was so out of it. I nearly got stuck in one of the weight machines,” he went on.
“I’m okay. But thanks,” she said.
“You look familiar. I’m Wade Hanson. Gilda’s boy.”
“What?”
“I guess you’re not...I thought you were one of my mom’s friends. Some of them come here, and you just looked familiar.”
“Wow, Wade. That totally made my day. Have a good one,” she stalked off, gritting her teeth. His mom’s friend? At least he didn’t think she was his grandma’s age, she thought ruefully.
“Hey, Marj, I tried to pick up a guy at the gym, and he thought I was his mom’s age. Call me,” she said to her friend’s voicemail.
They met for coffee to talk it over. It was a post-mortem that demanded immediate attention.
“Girl, are you trying to pick up kids again?” Marj teased.
“Ew, no. He was at least 21.”
“And you are...”
“Twenty-EIGHT. Don’t I look twenty-eight? I bet I need eye cream.” Britt groaned, sinking into a chair.
“Fine, I’ll buy the coffee. Unless you want to use your senior discount,” Marj teased.
“I need a muffin. A big one with chunks of chocolate all over it.”
“Sounds healthy.”
“Hey, I went to the gym, and I didn’t get laid.”
“You obviously need to join a different gym. Not mine, mine only has yoga, not gigolos.”
“I don’t want a gigolo. I want to get it for free and get over my breakup.”
“You mean your hook up. Because you haven’t been boohooing about Kevin. I mean you bitched about missing out on the roof garden more than you said you missed him. I think you’re stuck on Mr. Margarita.”
“That’s not his name,” Britt huffed.
“Fine. What IS his name?’
“Mr. Margarita it is,” she sighed. “I think I rebounded too fast. It was a mistake. Then he tried emailing me and—”
“Wait, Mr. Margarita came back for more? Do tell!”
“Get the coffee.”
Britt waited for Marj to get back and then she dove into the muffin face first. Marj sat impatiently while her friend chewed.
“Have you had enough carb therapy? Can you talk yet?”
“Sure. He emailed, but I didn’t want to pursue it. I don’t think I’m in the right head space for a relationship right now. I just got out of one that was pretty serious and I can’t deal with more drama. My emotions are too raw.”
“That’s because you’re in a better head space than I am.”
“Stop saying head space or I am eating that muffin. Right now,” Marj said.
“How’s it going with Luke?”
“It’s not. I like him; he likes himself. We work together, so it’s probably a crap idea anyway. But, good news is, I’m low carb again. You will envy my abs.”
“Okay. I will. I promise. Why are you low-carb again? You get so mean.”
“It’s just the healthiest way, I mean, sugar kills. That muffin is killing you. It’s why you look so old.”
“Don’t make me force-feed you bread. Did Luke put you up to this?”
“Luke? Are you kidding? Anything that involves giving up wine would be right out with him.”
“Not all alcohol, though, right?”
“All alcohol.”
“You are going to be so much fun. The men will beat down your door to get at you.”
“Snark if you will but I’m going to be super-hot.”
“Marj, you’re gorgeous. I don’t know why you would—you know what, do what works for you. If giving up carbs makes you happy, do it. Live and let live.”
“Is that muffin putting you in a better head space? Because live and let live is so not the Britt I know.”
“Must be the muffin. I don’t want to judge.”
“You should eat more of those.”
“You’re low carb. Shame on you!”
“I’m not a low carb priestess or anything. You can ruin your health if it makes you nicer.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Chapter 12
Britt managed to avoid him for days. She calmly completed her work tasks to only slightly less than her usual standard of efficiency. At her standing Thursday coffee date with Marj, she managed to deflect the hook up teasing with a minimum of flustering and at night, she watched the house-remodeling channel until she couldn’t stay awake. Her dreams were comfortably peopled with carpenters and decorators as a result.
That Friday was Luke’s birthday, and they met at Tito’s for a drink or three to celebrate. There were seven or eight people from the firm there, passing around guacamole and draining pitchers of margaritas. Britt should’ve known better than to relax. Just as she was biting a slice of lime from the bottom of her second drink, Jack breezed in, sleeves rolled up and hair shaggy, his dimple showing as he greeted the bartender, raised his hand in a wave to his coworkers and approached. She slunk down in her chair and muttered to herself about margaritas and shitty luck.
He was black hair and intense dark eyes, an emo fantasy with more muscle. He was an incredible lover. She still panted for him, waking at night wanting the taste of him on her tongue. There he was in the flesh, and all she could do was bite a piece of citrus fruit and wish he’d go away. She couldn’t have him. His dad was the boss. There would be gossip, and she’d be the one who was called an opportunistic slut. He’d just be the rich playboy who toyed with her. Gosh, she wanted him to toy with her.
Jack clapped Luke on the back and wished him a happy birthday. Britt mentally cursed Marj for going off to dance with the birthday boy, leaving her at the table with Jack and that one guy from PR who always played on his phone. She played with the lime wedge and tried to ignore him.
“Dance with me, Britt,” he said, his hand covering hers. She dropped the lime onto the table and shook her head.
“Come on. I’m standing up. It’s obvious I asked you to dance...don’t make me look like a total loser in front of phone guy over there.”
“His name’s Thomas.”
“Right. He’s totally going to shame me for striking out.”
“He doesn’t even know we’re here, Jack. He’s playing some game.”
“Maybe he’s buying baseball cards on eBay,” Jack speculated.
“I don’t want to dance. Especially not with you,” she said. “I’m sorry that sounded meaner than I meant it to. It’s not that I don’t like you...”
“Then what is it?”
“I don’t want to be reminded of my indiscretion, okay? It wasn’t like me to do that, and it upsets me to think of it. Seeing you is a reminder that—”
“You’re not perfect? Surprise. None of us are. Now get up and dance. You can feel sorry for yourself later, I promise,” he said, tugging on her hand until she stood to avoid a scuffle.
Jack took her to the dance floor, not very crowded yet, and hooked an arm around her hips. Slowly she loosened up and followed his lead, felt the music and stopped trying so hard not to look like an idiot. He was an incredible dancer. The way he moved made it so obvious he’d be great in bed, which he was, she knew. It annoyed her that she knew that, that she couldn’t enjoy flirting with him because of it. He gazed deeply into her eyes and she smiled. She couldn’t deny they had this amazing chemistry, this fantastic connection. As the song ended, the lead singer of the amazing bar band took the mike and held up his hand.
“Could I get a little crowd encouragement for my friend here? Jack’s been a buddy of mine for a lot of years, and if it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have the contract we just landed. So I’d like you to welcome him onstage and help me convince him to do a couple of songs with us.”
The crowd cheered as he climbed onto the stage.
“Thanks, guys, but you got that deal on your own merit. All I did was introduce you. If you want to do one together, let’s go,” he said.
The frontman leaned down and handed his phone to someone in the crowd so they could video. The drummer started the intro, and Jack took a guitar. Within seconds, he’d brought everyone in the place to their feet with a low sexy riff that sounded vaguely Spanish and sultry. He murmured lyrics low into the mike, his voice raspy and intimate. Britt felt herself swaying back and forth to the music, transfixed by him. It wasn’t until she heard people singing along that she realized she knew the song, that he was doing some slow burn sexy version of Rocket Man. Laughing, she joined in, clapping in time and singing.
“Is he for real?” Marj hissed in her ear. “Because my panties just hit the floor. For real.”
“I have no idea,” she lied easily.
“I mean, I haven’t been this turned on by anything since I saw a forbidden donut in the copy room this morning. This low carb diet is killing me. He doesn’t have carbs though. Do you think there would be, like, repercussions if I screwed the boss’s son?”
“He’s a coworker. Isn’t it in our contract that we’re not supposed to fornicate with our colleagues?”
“We’re not doing it in the office or anything. I just mean that he brings out the sorority girl in me. I always went for lead singers in college.”
“Time to relive the old days?”
“Could be. Looking at him I think I want to break out my tank tops and body glitter.”
“I thought you and Luke were hot and heavy.”
“We flirt.”
“Flirty isn’t the word I’d pick to describe your dancing, but it does rhyme.”
“How can you look at him up there and not want to go for it?”
“Not my type,” Britt said tightly, holding back the urge to wave her hands in her friend’s face and tell her to back off of him.
“Your type is boring. This’ll be a story I can tell for years to come, even if I only tell it to myself.”
“Have fun,” Britt said and went back to the table.
Chapter 13
Jack left the stage but was caught up in an audience of admirers. The music started back up, and when Britt looked over, he was dancing with some woman in a halter top. She picked miserably at chips, trying to engage Thomas in a conversation just to appear busy and not like she was pouting.
“What did you think of my musical debut?” Jack asked, leaning over
the booth behind her.
“You were great. Impressive.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic.”
“No, really. You did a good job.”
“That’s so irresistibly lukewarm,” he said.
“I was hoping you’d notice.”
“I take it you don’t fantasize about the boys in the band.”
“Never. It looks like you have plenty of fans though. Have a good time,” she said dismissively, thinking with a pang of the girl he’d danced with.
Jack walked back to the bar to get a drink and Britt bolted to the ladies room. It wasn’t lovely, but it was a place to hide. Instead of loosening her up, the margaritas had dialed up her misery level, and she wanted to go home and be lonely there in more comfortable clothes. When she came out, their table was vacant, so she returned to it and resumed sulking.
Marj came back and pounded another drink.
“He’s so going home with that skanky halter top girl.”
Britt didn’t reply.
“I wish he was going home with skanky me instead,” Marj snorted. “Ready to go? There’s nothing here I want to wake up to.”
Britt threw money on the table for her part of the tab and stood. She saw Jack with his arm looped around the girl with the halter top. She had a tattoo of an angel on her shoulder. Britt thought of licking the tattoo on Jack’s wrist and shuddered at the memory and the way it stung now. It made her sick to watch him leave with someone else.
Chapter 14
Monday morning, she got an email from Phillip Fitzsimmons. His son Jack was going on a business trip in a few days, and he wanted Britt to go over the details of the expense account and receipt procedure with him. Phillip’s secretary had left a voicemail that the meeting would be at three that afternoon. Britt took a long breath. It was part of her job. She’d explained the business expense reimbursement system so many times she could practically condense it to bullet points. Still, she’d never tried to rattle off the essential procedures with Jack Fitzsimmons glaring down at her.
She took out a sticky pad and made herself some notes. She posted them on her desk in a neat row and returned to her work. She worked straight through lunch and when Jack appeared in her cubicle she was startled.