by Cat Johnson
He liked her.
Liking her stopped at friendship. He’d never pursue another man’s woman, even if Andrew was halfway around the world. That relationship would never be compromised. Decency was ingrained in his DNA.
He was soon seated behind his desk. No computer. No laptop. No connection to the outside world. He withdrew a legal yellow pad from his top desk drawer. Located his favorite Parker ink pen, a gift from his mother. It weighed nicely in his hand. He started outlining a schedule.
Riley flipped through the binder pages, the sound mildly distracting. Daniel worked best quiet and alone. Ten minutes passed, and he sensed her gaze. He glanced up. She sat in the middle club chair and faced him squarely. She openly stared. Direct, intense, thoughtful.
He set down his ink pen, steepled his fingers, asked, “What’s on your mind, Riley?” Better to know now than later.
“I was wondering what your favorite color is.”
“Why?”
“For your wardrobe color wheel.”
“Explain.”
“Choose a color and I’ll build your closet around it.”
“Black.” That would keep his suits dark and conventional.
“Limiting, but workable.” She rose off her chair slightly and reached across his desk, stealing his pen. His favorite pen. She began taking her own notes. Then afterward went on to say, “I have a few more clothes questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Aren’t your questions answered in the binder?”
“All notations by Judith,” she returned. “I want to start with a clean slate. You telling me your preferences.”
His preferences. Difficult to say. He’d always depended on his personal shopper. That’s why he had one. “Perhaps a bit later,” he stalled.
“I have all day.” Her gaze pinned him once again.
She would stare at him until he responded, he was sure of it. It was as amusing as it was annoying. He’d talk to her, if talking got his pen back. He nodded. “Let’s do it now. You have five minutes.”
“Might take ten.”
“Seven, max.”
Her grin told him longer. Much longer. However much time she needed to dress him. A part of him liked the fact she was paying so much attention to him. Even though their discussion made him uncomfortable. He had no personal style.
“Run with it.”
She did. “My Qs are relevant to you, the man.”
“I’m listening.”
“Let’s start at the top and work down. The collars on your dress shirts: point, spread, or button-down?”
He touched his collar. “Point.”
She made a notation in the binder, then tapped his pen against her chin. A rather stubborn chin, he realized, and one she lifted to get her way. It was up now. “You have a wide chest.” Her gaze touched on his shoulders, skimmed his torso. “We’ll go regular over slim fit.” She jotted it down. “Until I order tailor-made. Fabric, Daniel. Royal oxford cloth, poplin, herringbone twill, white pique cotton?”
He hadn’t a clue. Royal sounded good. “Oxford cloth.”
She nodded approvingly. “Nice choice. Shirt cuffs: French, barrel, or button?”
He vaguely recalled Judith mentioning that French cuffs added a touch of masculine elegance. A richness to his wardrobe. “Button.” He didn’t want any memories of her in his closet.
“Ties. Striped, checked, paisley, retro swirls.”
“Solid.” He expected her to say “boring.” She surprisingly did not.
“Belt or beltless pants?”
He’d always worn a belt. “Belt.”
She moved to winter trousers. “Wool or heavy cotton?”
“Wool,” sounded logical.
“Do you chafe?”
What kind of question was that?
She caught his confusion, and explained, “A silky lining works best if your thighs rub. Even if they don’t—”
“They don’t,” he felt compelled to say.
“—the silk helps retain the shape of the slacks, and upholds the integrity of the fabric.”
“Fine.”
“You’re fit and won’t need an expandable waistband.”
He had a home gym. Worked out.
“Flat front or pleat?”
“Flat.”
More writing. He was about to tell her enough was enough. She was a major distraction. Not only to his workday, but in the way her soft brow creased in concentration. How she bit down on her bottom lip. Then flicked the tip of her tongue to the corner of her mouth. She unconsciously pressed his pen against her lips. He half-expected her to suck the end. His reaction to the idea left him hard. He shifted on his chair.
“Socks next. I’ll deal with your shoes later.”
They were winding down. He breathed easier.
“Mid-calf or knee-length?”
“Calf.”
“Cashmere or silk?”
“Cashmere.”
“Socks that stay up on their own or sock garters?”
His father wore sock garters; he never had. “Stay ups,” he said, adding, “Socks should match my trousers,” or so Judith had said.
“For formal occasions, yes. More casual, perhaps argyle. Traditional, professional, yet adds flare.”
She finished her notes, looked up. Her expression was serious. “Why do you need a personal shopper?”
He had a logical explanation. “My father had one, and since I don’t have a great sense of style, he advised me to hire one, too. Business runs my day. It’s time-consuming to shop. Left to my own devices, I’d wear the same suit month to month.”
“I doubt that.” She glanced down at her notes. “You know what you like. A good tailor could easily outfit you. Rotate your suits, shirts, ties by season.”
Truth be told, he’d debated a tailor after Judith’s tirade. He hadn’t been certain he could deal with another woman’s emotions. Georgia insisted he try again. Then came the interviews. And Riley. He hadn’t been sure about her then. Still wasn’t certain now. But the personal contact between them appealed to him. He liked their interaction.
He cleared his throat, asked, “Are you talking yourself out of a job?”
“I want to be sure you truly need me, that’s all.”
Her concern touched him. “I require your assistance for more than my clothes. A tailor wouldn’t shop for my groceries, decorate for Christmas, or babysit a potential corporate partner’s son.” He surprised himself by adding, “I want you here, Riley.”
“Here to stay.”
Good to hear. “You will be, once the blizzard passes and you settle into a routine.”
“Routines are dull. Mind-numbing.”
He liked order. “You can create your own schedule,” he relented.
“I’ll keep you apprised of any and all fittings. You’ll need to try on the clothes I buy before you leave for London. No point in boarding the plane with a suitcase full of shoulder-sagging suits or baggy trousers. Too tight shoes.” She finalized, “I’ll also help you pick out ties.”
Ties. An unexpected image flashed before his eyes, and held. One he couldn’t control. One that affected his groin. Intense and magnified. He pictured her naked with designer ties about her neck. The ends barely concealing her nipples. The point of one extra-long tie arrowed low. Sexy. He scooted his chair fully beneath his desk. Before she saw he’d posted a boner.
He returned to work, without his favorite pen. The day progressed, and he didn’t get nearly as much accomplished as he’d planned. Not with Riley sitting across from him. Not with her casting him looks from beneath her lashes. Picturing his palette.
Color him hot and bothered.
CHAPTER 5
Riley found herself staring at Daniel time and again over the next week, as she gathered his travel attire. It had taken the Twin Cities several days to dig out from the blizzard. Once the electricity was reinstated, she made dozens of calls. She found voice contact far more efficient than e-mails or texts. She liked the pers
onal touch, talking to an actual individual on the other end of the line, and not just reading messages on her iPhone or computer screen. She was pleased with all of Daniel’s purchases. She hoped he would be, too.
The highlight of her week came when his suits were delivered, and he tried on each one. There were five total. The man was born to wear a suit. Tall, lean, solid, he looked spectacular.
He gravitated to black and deep navy. Her favorite was Cambridge gray. Lighter than charcoal, and darker than a dove’s wing. The most versatile, in her opinion. She’d paired the suit with a blue-and-white-striped shirt and dark blue tie with flecks of nickel.
She’d purchased and positioned a standing floor mirror in one corner of his bedroom, so he could check his appearance and get the full effect. His dresser mirror cut him in half.
His administrative assistant, Roxanne, had brought him paperwork to sign as he stood in his new gray suit beside his desk. She’d gaped, then closed her mouth so fast, she bit her tongue. She’d set the papers on his desk and admired, “Nice change from black.”
“I like black,” he’d returned.
“Gray likes you more.” Roxanne disappeared.
Riley kept him comfortable with her selections. Minimal color. He hadn’t complained once. Not even over the Santa Claus tie she thought might add to the spirit of the season once he’d returned to the office.
Late Friday afternoon she packed for him. He would be traveling abroad on the corporate jet, a Citation CJ3+, she’d learned, with three other executives early Saturday morning. She laid out his leather duffel and garment bag on the bed in his office apartment. New masculine luggage she’d chosen after hearing Judith had poked holes in his previous Tumi Alpha.
Daniel joined her after his meeting on safeguarding the integrity of principal-agent relationships and supervisory functions. She couldn’t discuss the subject. She was lucky to have remembered the topic. For that alone, she was proud of herself.
He now stood in the doorway to the bedroom, a shoulder to the jamb, and watched her. “I received the schedule you drew up of your projects while I’m away. You’ll be busy.”
Purposely so. “Lots to accomplish.” She would force herself to complete a number of tasks. Otherwise she’d think of him. He’d be away for four days, returning on Wednesday. She would miss him. More than she wanted to admit. He’d helped her adjust to a new work environment, and made sure she was comfortable in her office. Her own space at the end of the hallway. She had plenty of room, high-end furniture, and more technology than she’d use in a lifetime. Her favorite chair was an overstuffed swivel. She spun for fun. Daniel caught her, and had lifted his wicked-sexy eyebrow. The arch that stopped her heart. Tingled her tummy. And left her knees weak.
“Last suit,” she told him, stretching over the garment bag and attempting to hang the rotating hook over a short bar. She pinched her finger, pulled her hand back.
He crossed to her. “Let me help,” he offered.
He bent behind her, leaned down, just as she flattened her palms on the mattress and pushed up. She planted her bottom in his groin. Startled, she shifted her hips, driving her deeper into him. He grabbed her waist, stilled her, but didn’t let her go.
Sex presented itself. The air grew heavy.
She gasped.
He groaned.
Neither moved.
She heard her heartbeat in her ears. Felt it in her throat.
He inhaled sharply. Raw. Sexual.
She quivered.
He thickened. His dick pressed the crease of her ass.
A compromising position. One of carnal intent.
He recovered first. Jerked back. “Damn,” he muttered. His expression was as hard as his erection. “Sorry, Riley,” he said, shouldering the blame.
She straightened, managed to say, “Takes two.” Turning to the side, she motioned him to finish hooking the hanger. He did so. Without her being in the way.
“Shaving kit,” he said, his voice rough. He cut through the closet to the bathroom, walking stiffly.
She zipped the garment bag. Awaited him to fill the duffel with personal items. Her heart, still beating crazy-fast, had yet to settle from their encounter.
Daniel returned, his shaving and dental needs and cologne in hand. A muscle in his jaw worked as he stowed each item in its own compartment. He soon finished. He looked at her then. A banked heat darkened his eyes.
She stared back. She couldn’t help herself. She was drawn to the man. Warmth spread, from her chest to her sex. Temptation thickened the air. The walls closed in on them with the suggestion they step closer. Until they were mere inches apart. Her breasts brushed his chest. Their hip bones touched. He was about to kiss her. She wanted him to.
“Riley . . .” His voice was deep, rough. Wanting her.
“Daniel . . .” No more than a whisper.
He curved his hands about her shoulders, unhurried, patient. Giving her time to embrace their intimacy. To accept their need.
She was ready for this man. Until her iPhone vibrated in her cable sweater pocket. An insistent buzz in the silence. The sound couldn’t be ignored. She went to shut it off, but the caller’s name on the screen stopped her cold. “Andrew . . .” A scheduled call from the Build-A-Boyfriend app. Ill-timed? Or saving grace? Had she kissed Daniel, she would’ve cheated on her doctor. Andrew Reynolds had gotten her this job.
She read his text, a loving message that was to serve a purpose. Proof she had a significant other, however imaginary.
Hello, sweetheart, flashed, and Daniel immediately released her. He stepped back, frowning, while eyeing the text. Working long days. So much sickness. Headed into surgery. Miss you. Love you.
The app awaited her return text. Her fingers shook as she typed, You are always on my mind. Be safe. XOXO. She shut off the phone.
She heard Daniel swallow. “We nearly made a mistake.” He sounded hoarse. Sad. For once, his face revealed exposed emotion. Deep and impassioned.
“Nearly . . .” She’d lost herself in him. Now desire left her defenseless.
“Never again.”
She watched him leave the bedroom, her heart heavy. What might have been, might never come around again. What had she gotten herself into with her pretend boyfriend? She had lost a real man. She cared about Daniel. Yet she needed Andrew to stay employed. A catch-22.
His back was to her when she passed through his living room. He stood at the sink, head bent. She needed to clear the air. To say something that would bring them back on an even footing, so she wouldn’t have to tiptoe around him. “Have a safe trip. You won’t recognize the thirtieth floor when you return. We’ll be holly-jolly.”
“Don’t go to extremes.”
“You know me, Daniel. When do I ever do anything in moderation?”
“Practice a little restraint.”
She already had. With him. She wanted nothing more than to fall into bed with him, but she’d held back. Her job depended on it.
* * *
Christmas was Riley’s favorite holiday. She consulted with Roxanne and Georgia before she made her purchases, but in no time decking the halls took on a life of its own. She’d gone all out, and when countless boxes of decorations were delivered and stacked in the middle of the wide hall, she realized she might have gone overboard. They filled the space. A maze of cardboard bracketed by two tall evergreens in tree stands that flanked the bank of elevators.
The boxes and trees drew stares from the executives. The curious stopped and checked them out. The decorations became conversation starters with the staff. Riley knew most by name, but hadn’t said more than a few words to any of them. Hoping to know them better, she proposed Ho-Ho Tuesday to get everyone involved in the decorating process.
“Daniel would never approve of staff stopping work to decorate,” Roxanne had said, worried, earlier that morning when Riley suggested the entire floor participate in the festivities.
“How about shifts?”
“How about you
, Georgia, and me?” Roxanne countered.
“How about sending an e-mail invitation and we’ll see who shows up. It could be one person or the entire floor.”
“Daniel would kill me.”
“He won’t be back until tomorrow. He’ll never know. The offices will look amazing. We’ll win the building decorating contest and have a catered deli lunch.”
“You’d risk Daniel’s disapproval for a pastrami sandwich?”
“For the big dill pickle.”
Roxanne grinned. “You’re a sneaky personal shopper.”
“Today I am a decorator, filled with Christmas spirit.”
Riley stood over Roxanne’s desk chair, and, together, they composed a jovial e-mail.
Ho-Ho Tuesday! Let’s get jolly! It’s time to deck the halls, trim the trees, and draw for the Secret Santa exchange (twenty-dollar limit). The office party won’t plan itself. We’re open to suggestions. Meet us in the hallway! The more the merrier. Bring your Christmas spirit. Fa-la-la-la-la! Signed, The Elves
Roxanne sighed when she hit Send. “This is far and above anything we’ve ever done before. Previous years, the only decoration in the hall was a wreath on Georgia’s door.”
It was time to expand from the wreath.
Roxanne straightened her desk and set her voice-mail message. The two women walked together to the center hallway. Riley’s eyes went wide. Daniel’s executives and staff were fifty strong. From what she could count, over half were already gathered, opening and peering in boxes. One woman shook out the branches on the trees. The scent of pine drifted in the air.
Roxanne leaned close, kept her voice low. “Can’t believe Eric from Strategies and Martin from Technology came to play. Two somber, solemn men. Unbelievable.”
“Christmas brings out the kid in all of us.” Riley’s thoughts turned to Daniel. She wanted the boy in the man to enjoy the holidays. A week of merriment never hurt anyone. She wanted his heart to beat with happiness. Wanted him to smile. His serious side would wait for him in the New Year.