by Sierra Rose
My spine stiffened automatically, and I straightened a little higher in my desk. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked nervously. “Is he just not into me or—”
“Not at all!” Madison reassured me quickly. “Quite the contrary!” Her eyes were borderline dreamy for a moment as she pictured his perfect face. “It’s almost... I don’t even know what word to use. It’s just not like James to be so...”
Shy?
I bowed my head toward the desk so she wouldn’t see my grin. He did certainly look shy when he said it, and he acted just as sheepish when he noticed my necklace. Rather than eating in the common part of The Dorchester, he even booked us his family’s private room, a place that was very special and nostalgic for him. There was definitely something different going on, and shyness wasn’t off the table, even if no one had noticed it about him before.
Both Madison and I were quiet for a while, each ignoring the waiting calls blinking on my company phone, each considering the possible implications of this newly discovered facet of James Cross’s personality, the one I’d somehow unearthed just by being with him.
Then, without a word of warning, she looked up with a sudden frown. “Della, please don’t be angry at me for this, but after this bizarre story of yours, I’d be an idiot not to ask.”
“And you and I both know you’re no idiot, right?” I teased.
“Right,” she said, even as her face grew abruptly serious and she leaned across the desk. “It’s really him, right? James?”
I threw my head back with a burst of laughter, laughter that only grew louder as a look of concern splashed across her face. “Yeah, Madi, it’s definitely him.”
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “You were positive about Robert, too, and we all know how that turned out. You just...” She trailed off, her wide eyes locking on something just outside the window.
I followed her gaze to see Robert watching us both from the hall, shamelessly staring with his arms folded across his chest. It was impossible to know how much he’d overhead, because the walls were designed to be soundproof, so as to allow for confidential business dealings. Madison’s voice, however, was never on the quiet side, and I was hyper-aware of exactly how many times she’d cheerfully chanted, “Fuck,” the most unprofessional of all words in the English language on any side of the globe.
“Ladies...” Robert said, pushing the door open and strolling into my office as if it was his own. “Conference room, five minutes.”
Our eyes met for a brief moment as he turned to leave, and I stifled an automatic shiver, remembering the last time we’d run into each other. I also recalled James’s apartment; in that untimely meeting, he was so angry that I didn’t know whether he wanted to fuck me or hit me or both. Now, he had that same look on his face, and my only solace was that I was sure he wouldn’t commit either felony in public.
“Well, someone’s in a terrible mood.” Madison pushed quickly to her feet, smoothing her dress as she hurried out the door as well. “It must have to do with you, you twin-swapping little slut.”
My eyes shot up in a withering glare, then I laughed. “Thanks, Madison. It’s good to know I can always count on your support.”
“Anytime, love,” she said with a wink before she vanished around the corner.
EXACTLY FIVE MINUTES later, the entire sixtieth floor was shoved into the confines of the conference room. There was palpable tension in the air as people shifted restlessly on their feet, casting nervous looks from the corners of their eyes.
No one had any delusions; everyone knew the company was sinking, in grave economic trouble, like so many others worldwide. It was all they talked about in their hushed conversations behind closed doors. If we had all been summoned to the top story on the fly, with just five minute’s warning, I was sure it had more to do with layoffs than who I might lie with.
The room fell dead quiet as Robert took the floor, a rare thing, since he seldom spoke for himself and usually relied on David or some other supervisor, especially when he had bad news to break. The fact that the CEO himself was hosting the meeting was enough to send an already-panicked staff into a virtual tailspin of impending doom. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” he began with a tight smile. “As many of you know, we’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch here at Cross Enterprises.”
Yeah, and whose fault is that?
“The pressure is higher than ever, and the competition is nipping at our heels.” His eyes swept briefly over me before he continued, “Thus, I’ve decided to institute a little friendly work competition, something I hope will get the juices flowing and light a fire under you junior associates.”
The horror in the room momentarily subsided, as no less than thirty pairs of eyes simultaneously sharpened at the word “competition.” No one climbed high up the corporate ladder by running with the crowd; it required more of stepping on others than building bridges, and the room was full of Type A personalities with adrenaline to burn. Already, Madison was sliding to the edge of her seat with a slightly rabid look in her eye, as if she wanted to get a head start on whatever game Robert was about to initiate.
“It is really rather simple,” Robert said. “You will work in pairs, with your assigned partners. At the end of three weeks, the team with the highest numbers wins.”
“Wins what?” someone piped in from the back of the room.
The rest of us turned to glare at him disapprovingly before twisting back around to hear Robert’s reply, secretly thrilled that someone else had dared to ask the question. While respect and bragging rights were both acceptable answers, we tended to thrive on material incentives.
Robert actually chuckled. “Well, in addition to a small cash bonus, you’ll also receive an all-expense-paid vacation, a week-long stay at a resort in the Alps.”
A cash bonus? A week in the Alps? Yes, please. Sign me up. But more importantly...
My eyes flickered around to the various senior partners scattered around the room, all of whom were discreetly watching the junior associates with hawk-like attention. I knew it would be a huge boost for me, a real niche on my dossier, to win such a competition, particularly since I was the rookie on the team. I simply had to win; there was no other option. “Madison,” I said, grabbing her arm in a vice-like grip, “we’re on the same page, right?”
I could practically see the gears turning, and I thought I smelled burning again as she glared unblinkingly toward the front. “We will take no prisoners. We will bury the competition behind the sushi house down the street.”
I sat back in my chair with a smug grin on my face, already dreaming of the cute little ski jacket I needed for the Alps. “Exactly.”
Chapter 10
AS DETERMINED AS I was to throw myself back into the game, I couldn’t help but check my cellphone periodically as Madison and I worked throughout the day, but James didn’t grace me with that call I was expecting. We skipped lunch entirely and focused on streamlining our client base, going for quality, not quantity, zeroing in on the accounts that we knew would generate the most money.
By the time we finally packed it in for the day, around nine o’clock, I was exhausted but that didn’t stop me from going to James. I kept thinking about it. So I decided to make the first move. If it didn’t go over very well, then I would never make the first move again. Part of me knew I should give him notice, another part of me wanted to surprise him.
From the street, his penthouse was barely visible, the upper balcony blanketed in a layer of clouds. The clandestine hideaway was all quite purposeful; James had to make a concerted effort to keep his return to London under wraps, and I’d really only seen a few cameramen milling about the last time I was there. Now, after he was spotted and called out by Duke Charles at The Dorchester, that number had multiplied to far more, likely 100 media mongrels.
I pushed my way through the crowd as best I could, sincerely hoping I’d be granted entry into the building and not just turned away at the
door. There’s probably a password I have to repeat to the bellhop, I feared. They probably change it biweekly.
I was in luck, because the guy manning the door just so happened to be the same person who was there the last time I visited. He smiled as soon as he spotted me and pulled on the handle to hold the door open as I breezed inside. He even said, “Nice to see you again, miss!” instantly putting my nerves at ease.
Less than five minutes later, I was in the elevator, shooting to the penthouse nestled amongst the clouds. My nerves returned as I considered that I was about to surprise my ever-elusive dinner date. By the time I reached the top floor, I was so filled with anxiety that I almost pressed the button to jet me back to ground level, so I could escape with him being none the wiser. I seldom did anything so unscripted and spontaneous, but before I could change my mind, the doors dinged open, and I found myself standing in James Cross’s living room.
“Hello?” I called tentatively, feeling more and more like an intruder as I made my way inside. “James, are you here?”
There was no response, and the place seemed deserted, but just as I was about to leave, I heard a familiar English accent calling down from somewhere upstairs. An unfamiliar sense of recklessness surged through me as I abandoned my urge to retreat. I hesitantly climbed the stairs, then tiptoed down the hall to a room I’d never seen before, a room I could only assume belonged to James.
The door was open just a crack, and I peeked through and saw him pacing distractedly, with a phone glued to the side of his face. An uncharacteristic nervous crease wrinkled his forehead as he continued, “Anyway, I’m sorry again for calling so late.” He ran a manic hand through his long, wavy hair, a habit I recognized as an anxious tic. “I just... I know you worked today, and I didn’t want to interrupt, catch you in the middle of a client meeting or something.”
A sudden grimace flickered across his lovely face, and he hung up without saying another word, then automatically punched a button to delete the message. “Damn,” he cursed under his breath, shaking his head. He pressed another button and inhaled deeply, ready to try again. “Hey, Della, it’s James,” he began.
Wait. What?
I yanked my phone out of my pocket, only to see that the battery had died, and I felt like the world’s biggest fool.
“I just wanted to give you a call because... Well, I said I wanted to call you, and you said... Fuck! Why can I not do this?” He punched the keypad once again, only to hit the wrong button. There was a happy beeping sound, followed by a look of sheer panic as the voicemail accidentally sent. “Shit!” He lifted the phone up to his face and began to push frantically on the buttons. “No, no, no, you stupid piece of shit! You can’t do this to me. She’ll think I’m an idiot!”
Another cheerful beep declared the happy proclamation that his message had sent.
“Son-of-a-bitch!” he said. “Fuck!”
At that point, I backed silently down the hall and crept down the stairs with a huge grin on my face, stretching from ear to ear. I waited a moment in the lobby before clearing my throat with an innocent cough. “James?” I called sweetly up the stairs. “Are you home?”
His pacing abruptly stopped, as did his manic tirade of several four-letter words, the fit that reminded me of one of his brother’s. For a second, all was quiet, but then I heard the sound of footsteps. Finally, James appeared at the top of the stairs, remarkably cool, calm, and collected.
“Della?” he questioned, and there wasn’t a trace of residual panic in his voice or eyes as he made his way gracefully down the stairs; even his hair had fallen back in its usual elegant waves. “What are you doing here?”
“I hope it’s okay.” I grinned shyly and gestured to the elevator. “I was nowhere near the neighborhood, so I decided to stop by.”
He laughed quietly as he descended the stairs, and his eyes twinkled as he came to a stop beside me. “I’m glad you did. I was... I was just about to call you.”
“You were?” I asked innocently, pulling my phone from my purse. “Oh, sorry. I guess my battery’s dead. Good thing I’m here.”
His eyes locked on the little device, horrified that I might eventually hear his haphazard attempt at a casual message. “Yeah, good thing,” he said.
I bit back another grin and slipped the phone into my jacket pocket, vowing to myself that I would take to the grave the secret of what I’d seen and heard. “What have you been up to today, other than almost calling me?” I asked.
He glanced once at a half-constructed motorcycle in the parlor before turning back to give me a shrug. “Nothing interesting. What about you?”
I perched upon the back of the couch and let out a little sigh. “Actually, it’s been a pretty hard day. Your darling brother announced a work competition to help the company make up some ground. As you can imagine, all the junior associates went a little nuts, myself included.”
James beckoned me into the kitchen and gestured for me to sit, then poured two mugs of coffee before he joined me at the table.
“Your friend the duke was right,” I teased.
“Excuse me?”
“Look at you, cheating on Earl Grey with Mr. Coffee. Maybe you are being a bit too American after all. If you aren’t careful, you’re going to start deep frying everything and spend your weekends watching NASCAR.”
He laughed as he set the mug before me, but then he looked at me seriously. “Make up the ground the company has lost?” he asked, a little frown creasing the place between his eyes as he studied me intently, as if he was hearing about it for the first time.
“Uh...yeah.” I bit my lip and looked down at the mug, suddenly fearful that I’d said too much. Still, I was sure he had a right to know, since his name did occupy the side of that big skyscraper we all worked in. “It’s no big deal, just something we need to reconcile before the start of the next quarter.” I took a sip of the best espresso I’d ever had, then threw back my hair and gave him a confident, winning smile. “At any rate, we have three weeks to run each other into the ground, and I must say that our first day got off to a damn good start.”
James compartmentalized the troubling news about his father’s company for another time, and a faint smile flitted across his face at my enthusiasm. “Three weeks, huh?”
“Yep, which is kind of odd actually,” I mused, “considering the quarter ends in two. A little random, huh?”
He flashed a humorless smile, spinning his cup around gently on the table. “There’s nothing random about it. Trust me.”
I shot him a questioning look.
He rolled his eyes and gave me a reluctant smile. “Three weeks is...kind of a family joke. My dad and brother always say I can’t ever stay in one place for longer than that.” The sparkle in his eyes intensified slightly as they fastened on me. “It seems to me that someone is trying to be sure you are...distracted and unavailable during this so-called competition.”
My mouth fell open in shock. Could that possibly be true? Is this entire competition really just be Robert’s way of trying to undercut his twin brother? And does James really intend to leave at the end of three weeks?
“No, that’s not...” I trailed off, feeling more and more ridiculous all the while. “I mean, he wouldn’t...not just for...”
James grinned and dropped his eyes to the table. “Your babbling is worse than that awful voicemail I just left, he muttered.
I glanced up in a daze. “What?”
“Nothing.” He reached across the table and clinked my mug against his. “A toast then, to the great start to your ruthless competition. I’m sure there’s blood in the water already.”
I joined him in the toast, then felt a sudden wave of nerves as I realized the actual reason why I was at his apartment, recalling precisely what I had come to tell him. “James, the thing is—”
In what felt like slow motion, the coffee slipped out of my hands and bounced across the table, splashing all over his white collared shirt.
“Oh my gosh! I
-I’m so sorry!” I leapt to my feet in horror, wringing my hands as the stain spread slowly across his chest. “James, I can’t believe I just—”
“No worries,” he said easily, pushing to his feet.
“Seriously, you must at least let me have that dry-cleaned for you, and I’ll—”
“Della...” He caught my nervous hands and steadied them. “It couldn’t matter less. I have fifty shirts just like it. Now, tell me what you were about to say.”
As I struggled to collect myself so I could make my awkward little announcement, he crossed the kitchen, peeled off the ruined shirt, and tossed it into the sink. A second later, he returned to the table, bare-chested and more steaming hot than our espresso, with that honey scent oozing off him.
“I really like you.”
“Seriously? Because I have a crush on you.”
My grin widened. “You’re on my mind all the time. Guess I just needed to tell you that.”
“Damn, woman. I’m addicted to the way I feel when I’m with you. You’re all I think about too. It’s like you cast some spell over me. I don’t get what’s happening, but I’m so glad I met you.”
“Me too.”
“I think I met you for a reason.”
“Had to. It’s highly unlikely that two souls just bumped into each other simply by accident. And to think we almost lost each other.”
“That would’ve been tragic.”
“Very.”
“So what are you thinking?”
He softly cupped my face. “I’m thinking I should take a chance.”
“I’m thinking the same thing too.”
He held me close and hugged me. I loved the way I felt in his strong arms. It was like I always belonged there. My eyes lit up when I noticed the tattoo on his chest. I was grinning because I knew I definitely had the right guy.
“What?”
I pointed. “Your tattoo.”