“Fine. Shouldn’t you be doing something useful?” Greg said in a calm tone that irked me.
“I’m going to start drafting some articles for the blog posts. I don’t need to be here for that, but I think I’ll bring my laptop into the conference room so we can get to know each other.” I grinned as he said nothing.
For the rest of the day, I tried to be as annoying as possible. I constantly cleared my throat, interrupting his interviews, and played music from my laptop. But nothing was annoying him.
* * *
Over the next week, I wanted to break him. So I got to work early and rearranged his office furniture. I threw away or ate his food and flirted with all his coworkers to make him jealous. I wore girlie perfumes that overwhelmed the room. I was unbelievably irritating—yet he wouldn’t break.
It was like trying to crack a code.
“Can you believe that guy?” I asked Jackie as we sat in our usual booth at the bar.
“‘Reveal Her Sex Appeal with a Palm Reading,’” I read the title from my phone. It was an article Greg had written for Avant-Garde last month. “Is he for real? Who reads this crap?”
“Um, men,” Jackie added.
“See what I have to work with? He knows nothing about women. This magazine is going to tank, and it’ll have my name attached to it,” I said, deflated.
“You think making his life difficult will make things easier for you?”
Jackie is such a killjoy.
“Sure, but it makes no difference anyway. He just takes everything I throw at him without a second thought. He’s so damn agreeable. Like, yesterday, I brought thirty mylar balloons into the conference room, and he acted like they weren’t there. I sent him spam e-mails, I talked on the phone to my sister like a teenager,” I scoffed.
“Are you trying to get rid of him or get fired?” Her eyebrows went up.
“Fired? No. I’m an asset to Nast Publishing. Mr. McAdams Senior would never … would he?”
“You said it yourself. One day, Greg will run the show.”
Jackie had a point. Maybe I was overdoing it.
What was wrong with me? I was not usually like this. Why did Greg bring out the worst in me?
“What?” I asked.
Jackie blankly stared at me. “All I asked was if you were going to order another drink,” she said softly.
“Oh. No, thanks,” I said. “And another thing—”
“Okay, I get it!” she yelped, throwing her hands up. “You’ve been talking about Greg nonstop since we got here. Greg is this and that. Greg did something annoying. I hate Greg. I get it! As much as I adore the guy, we never talked about him this much before. I’ve had enough.” She downed a shot of tequila, slamming the glass on the table.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ll stop. Wait, I have one last thing to say!”
“Don’t.” She scowled. “No more talking. It’s my turn. You’re going to listen to me talk about my kids and their father. Got it?”
I nodded. Jeez, what was her problem?
I’d never seen Jackie get so upset. Have I been talking too much about Greg?
That was because I hated him, right? But, when a woman talked too much about a man, it could only mean one thing. I had suspected the line that had me loathing him was thinning out every time I spent time with Greg.
No, it can’t be.
I was too mortified to speak for the rest of the night. Not because I was afraid of Jackie—though she could be scary, like I’d just learned—but I was petrified of something I never imagined I would ever do.
Fall for Greg McAdams.
Does she have daggers in her eyes every time she sees you? Chances are, she probably hates your guts, but there’s still a chance you could turn things around, that Is, if you play your cards right.
Step one: figure out why she wishes you’d disappeared from the face of the earth. Did you do something that made her upset? Chances are the answer is yes.
Step two: talk to her and find common ground. Getting her to open up and talk about herself will only trigger her curiosity to know more about you, and hopefully get her to see you as a person who’s not hate-worthy.
“How to Talk to a Woman Who Hates You”
by Greg McAdams
4
Staci
The next day, I headed for the revolving door of the office building and spotted Greg standing next to his new toy—a Harley—with his arms crossed. He wore a leather jacket, a red shirt, and dark denim jeans.
“Hardly work attire,” I said over my shoulders as I walked away in my dress pants and a new chiffon blouse.
“Staci, listen,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what I’ve done to make you hate me, but the way you have been acting isn’t the real you. I’ve seen how you care for Jackie. I’ve witnessed your warm nature around the office. You’re a good person, so today, I will make you show me that person.”
Oh brother, not a chance.
“You’ve been observing me?”
“One has to around you. You’re a wild creature. Never know when the claws might come out.” The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Hilarious.”
“Get on the bike. This is a company retreat.” He tossed me a helmet, and I caught it.
“Good reflexes.” Greg smiled.
“Why would I get on that thing?”
“Because, deep down, you’re an adventurous person,” he said, his smile making my skin tingle. “I know you’re eager to ride with me. You’ve been eyeing it after work all week. What do you say?”
“Why does it bother you if I like you or not?”
“Because everybody likes me.”
I let out a breath. “You keep believing that. We have work to do.”
“Well, despite your best efforts to distract me, I’ve finished more than enough work to please my father and your boss, Kate. Will you come, please? A couple of hours. That’s it.” He stuck out his bottom lip then held his hand.
Cute.
Maybe this is what we needed. Who knows, after today I might have a different opinion of Greg. I guessed he could grow on me, like an acquired taste.
“Fine, you win,” I said.
I pulled on the helmet and hopped behind him on the bike without another word. He revved it up before we zoomed down the street, zigzagging between several cars. A rush of adrenaline exploded through me. He was going so fast I had to hold on to his waist, but when I did that, he reached down and brought my hand higher on his chest, placing his hand on top for what seemed like an eternity before returning it on the bar of his motorcycle. Why was Greg so touchy-feely? I wished I hadn’t enjoyed it so much.
* * *
Our first stop was at a duck pond in Central Park. We sat beside each other on the bench, talking about our families and throwing breadcrumbs at the quacking creatures splashing in the water.
“I talked to your mom on the phone yesterday,” Greg said, eating a sandwich he had bought us at the corner food truck. “Your mother is an amazing woman. She inspired me to make the piece longer than I’d planned. She even gave me the numbers of her friends who might be interested in talking to me.”
“Did you tell her you were single?” I giggled.
“I don’t think so.”
“Did she ask you if you were married?”
He nodded. “Oddly, yes.”
“Those numbers she gave you are of friends whose daughters are single. She’s trying to set you up.”
His mouth fell open. “No … your mom wouldn’t do that. “
“You don’t know my mother.”
I laughed until he brushed the hair away from my face. I felt something shifting in his eyes, something profound.
“Okay, truth time,” he announced, standing in front of me. “Why do you hate me so much?”
“I don’t hate you per se … just a little annoyed,” I said, standing to walk around the pond.
He followed beside me with his hands in his pockets. “Then why have
you been acting like a brat?”
“I’m not a brat!” I squealed.
“You licked my muffin the other day, so I couldn’t eat it. At least have the decency to eat it.”
“I would have, but I didn’t want the calories,” I mused, but he gave me a flat look.
“You’re a very disturbed woman,” he muttered.
“Okay,” I sighed, stopping to stare at the shimmering water. “I’ll admit, with you, I revert to this immature self, but getting to know you … the more I like you as a friend. And that was … unexpected.” I almost bit my tongue after saying those words, but it was the truth.
“Then why not apologize?”
He stood behind me, and when I turned around, the hurt in his eyes made my gut twist in knots.
“I guess holding on to my anger kept me … distant.” Distant enough that I would never get hurt again.
“That still doesn’t explain the way you’ve been acting,” he said with a smirk. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. You don’t need to hold on to whatever hurt you had in the past.”
There was something about Greg that made me want to open up, but I didn’t want him to judge me—afraid to show my real self.
“I was rounder when I was younger,” I said blatantly, staring at my feet. “I told you once, I worked at the Pelham Country Club,” I said as he nodded. “There was this guy I liked who used to come there often. I developed a major crush on him.”
“And I remind you of that guy?” He frowned.
My eyes dragged across his face. I couldn’t believe he didn’t remember. He touched my shoulder, and I slowly backed away.
“We should get back to the office. I have much work to do.”
* * *
My lunch with Greg had given me an idea to pitch for my next article — “Five Signs You Are Moving Forward.” Greg had made me realized I had some emotional history I needed to sort out, and maybe my readers did, too. I was not the only woman on earth who had had her heart squashed. These painful experiences got recognition for the way we behaved without realizing it. I’d always thought I’d moved on from Luis or any other man hurting me, but there were visible signs I hadn’t. Maybe my readers and I could both learn from this. I had been typing my pitch when two tickets appeared in front of my face. My gaze slowly followed up the steady hand that was attached to a muscular arm. The man was relentless in his mission — I wasn’t going to get anything accomplished today.
“What do you want, Greg?” I let out a breath.
“I have two tickets to watch the Knicks at Madison Square Garden,” he said. “Want to come?”
“I don’t like sports.” I continued typing without meeting his gaze.
“What kind of New Yorker are you?”
“The kind who has a deadline to meet.” I flashed him a look of annoyance.
“It’s tonight.”
“No, thanks. I’m busy.” I informed Greg.
“Doing what?”
“Scrubbing the dirt out of my kitchen tiles.” I flashed him a smile, and he gave me a flat look.
“What if I told you it was work-related?” He perked an eyebrow.
“You don’t know how to let things go,” I huffed.
“Persistence is my worst and best quality.” He grinned.
“I’ve noticed,” I said, snatching the tickets out of his hand. “Okay.” I leaned back in my chair, making it roll back an inch or two. “I’m listening,”
“What if our first post for the magazine is about a couple who’s on a date at a Knicks game?”
He smiled, and I rolled my eyes, going back to my e-mail.
“I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work.”
“Let me finish.” He continued when he had my full attention, “We’ll go on pretend dates and keep a diary about it. I’m sure we’ll have enough material between us. It will be a post about a date with two viewpoints, like he said, she said kind of thing?”
“Or she said, he said,” I volunteered.
“Sure, whatever makes you happy.” His eyes met mine; I diverted them back to the tickets. “It would give our readers insight into our minds.”
“Your mind? Now, that’s a scary thought,” I murmured, and he chuckled.
“Admit it— it’s a great idea,” he said, leaning forward.
“But I have a better idea.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.” He sat at the corner of my desk.
My eyes met his, and that smile was dreamy. For a second, I wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth.
I’ve gone mad. Seriously, stop staring, Staci!
I needed space. I was spending way too much time with Greg McAdams.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s pitch According to Staci this way. I’ll be a wing-girl for men. I’m giving them an insight into what women think and want from a man. Teaching them what not to do on a date or in a relationship,” I said, lifting my hands to the sides.
“But you forgot one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s According to Staci and Greg. You and I are the brands. However, I see what you’re saying; I’ll be catering to the female readers. Advising women looking for Mr. Right.” He nodded his head.
“Yeah, sure. That would work, too.” I shrugged, pulling out my pad of paper to jot some ideas down. “Maybe this might be better for you. I think you have a higher success rate, helping out women than men.”
“What?” He frowned.
“Have you read your articles? You know nothing about women.” A clicking noise came out of my mouth, and I pointed my finger at him like I was pulling the trigger on him.
“You don’t know what you’re saying. I know women.” The side of his mouth lifted.
“You don’t know me.”
“No, that’s for sure.” He tapped my desk with his hand and got up. “You, Staci Cortés, are not like other women, not by a long shot.”
“I’ll take it as a compliment.”
“You should,” he said as his eyes dragged down to my crossed bare legs, lingering there a moment before meeting my eyes. “But, for the sake of the magazine, I think we should stick to she said, he said kind of thing.”
“Why don’t we speak to your dad? See what he thinks?” I thought he was doing this all wrong.
“I don’t need to. According to Staci and Greg is my project. Especially now that my good-for-nothing brother Jamie is in California.”
“I thought—”
“I know what you thought. I knew you wouldn’t be on board if you knew I had full control of this magazine.”
“So, what, this makes you my boss?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“Why would you choose me? Knowing we are not fond of each other?” I shuddered. “Why not Julia or Jackie?”
“Because you’re the best writer we have,” Greg said.
I felt a tickle in my stomach. Greg thought I was a good writer?
“Who said I wasn’t fond of you?” His eyes met mine.
I had been so preoccupied on hating this man that I could only assume the feeling was mutual. Maybe that was the plan all along. If Greg weren’t attracted to me, then I would be clear of getting hurt again.
“All right, I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this. I’ll meet you there,” I said.
He snatched the tickets from me. “You don’t want me to pick you up?”
“No, I will leave from work. Some of us still have a deadline to meet,” I said, going back to my e-mail, hoping Greg got the hint and went away.
“Okay, just don’t be late.” He smacked the tickets across his palm, like he’d just scored a point.
“Hold on. So we’re clear, it’s not a date, it’s work,” I said.
“Sure, but there’s something I want to get off my chest, too.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“I don’t put out on the first date, just in case you get funny ideas,” he said.
Before I could say anything
, he walked off, disappearing through the glass doors.
When a man goes above and beyond to make sure your needs are taken care of before his own, he does it because he wants to make you happy. He knows that’s the only way he can keep you around.
“When He Knows You’re the One”
by Staci Cortés
5
Staci
“You realize the game has already started,” Greg said, standing at the front door of Madison Square Garden with his arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Sorry, I lost track of time,” I said, stumbling out of the taxicab, making my way toward him.
After going through the checkpoint, we found our seats, then Greg took off to get us something to drink. I had to admit I didn’t expect Greg to be a total gentleman. Of course it was an act, and I wondered what crazy antics I could pull off tonight to get him to show me his true side—an overbearing, pompous jerk that he was. Five minutes later Greg’s voice stirs me out of my thoughts. When my eyes met Greg, holding a tray of fast food—which I didn’t eat … I realized the potential.
This was going to be fun.
“What did I miss?” he said, handing me a hot dog and a Coke.
I hesitated for a second. “Thanks, but I don’t eat that stuff,” I said.
He looked at me, confused.
“Sorry, I should have said something before.” I shrugged.
“Okay, so what can I get you?”
“Do they make salads?” I smiled shyly.
He let out a long breath. “You’re very demanding, Miss Cortés.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’ll get something else,” I said, getting up, making my way around him, but a wall of his broad chest prevented me from going further.
“Here, hold this.” Greg handed me his food. “Let me go back, see what else they have,” he said.
The One & Only: The One Lover Series Book 1 Page 4