It had taken a few goes to pull the zip up the back of the grey shift dress with cap sleeves and a nipped-in waist, but the effect was worth it. Not a Pearson’s product, which made me smirk. I regularly cheated on my employer by shopping in other stores. Pearson’s paid my wages—and very handsomely, too—plus a fuel allowance, given the daily commute to and from my new, temporary workplace. They did not, however, own my soul or my fashion sense. Besides which, I couldn’t stand Donna, the womenswear manager at two-eight-nine, and rarely ventured into her territory if I could help it. Ever since I’d asked her if PMT stood for ‘permanent menstrual tension’ in her case, and in front of a customer too, she’d waged a campaign to kill me with dirty looks and heavy sighs. It was much safer to stay the hell back and buy my dresses elsewhere—and hang the staff discount.
So the effect was worth it—an hourglass figure. But why was it more than likely a mistake to wear the damn thing on my first day as Acting Visual Manager at four-five-three? Because the word ‘hourglass’ made me think of time running out, and a quick glance at my watch told me I’d need to leave within minutes to be able to sign in before half past eight.
And the end of that half-hour commute would bring my first meeting for three months with Tyler Johnson and Sebastian Dickson.
Maybe this time I’d be able to act like the professional I claimed to be instead of sticking my tongue down each of their throats.
* * * *
“Professional, Jess, always a professional. Come on, you can do this,” I muttered, pulling into a vacant spot in the staff car park. I glanced up at the rear view mirror and everything looked normal. No embarrassed flush, glassy eyes, mussed hair. I looked like the grown woman I was, not a nervous wreck.
While one hundred per cent confident in my ability to do the job for however long they needed me—and the estimate was around three months—I wasn’t so sure about my ability to stay calm around Tyler or Sebastian. My first sight of them would be the worst. After that I’d probably—no, no, definitely would—be able to keep it together, but I just needed to see their initial facial expressions. A knowing smirk, perhaps? Nothing mocking, I hoped. A friendly smile would be ideal. A sign that everything that had nearly happened between us all was forgotten.
I came to, tapping the steering wheel with the fingers of one hand, not sure for how long I’d been spaced out. My watch said a few minutes. It felt like forever.
I grabbed my bag and got out of the car. I’d have to get this over with at some point. The slamming of the door behind me and the double beep of the remote control when the alarm kicked in only emphasised that.
I’d already been given the code for the security panel at the staff door and was inside within seconds. The entrance hall was tiled, the walls painted a sickly cream, making it look like a prison, a school or—even worse—a dentist’s waiting room. Straight ahead lay the stairs; to the left, the elevator I’d been told opened on the various shop floors on the other side. Only members of staff had the code to open the lift doors on this side of the building.
On a side table lay a clipboard with time sheets for signing in and out. A not-very-high-tech way of enabling the emergency services to carry out a body count if there was a bomb threat or fire swept through the building.
It was still early. The managers were always the first on the premises, so only one time sheet had been christened thus far. The two names I most dreaded to see were first on the list, timed one after the other at just after eight o’ clock.
Well, fuck. Both on the premises. Jesus. I couldn’t do one today and the other tomorrow—they both had to be rostered on for Monday morning, didn’t they?
My scribbled ‘J Ludlow, 08.20’ wasn’t the neatest it could have been, but still legible.
Eyeing the lift, I needed only a split second to make the decision. Stairs. Yes, it would delay the very thing I wanted to get over with, but the climb might work off some of those nerves.
No such luck.
The stairs led directly to the top floor—reception, staff locker room and toilets, managers’ offices and staff canteen—with no doors opening onto any other department. One hell of a climb, and though it may have burned a few calories, the nerves nearly burned a hole in my stomach, too.
I wasn’t important enough to have my own office at ‘my’ store or at this one, but because I had the word ‘Manager’ on my name badge, I was allowed to use one of the lockers behind the reception desk instead of one of the coin-operated jobs in the proles’ cloakroom.
“Hey, I’m—”
“Jess?” the receptionist interrupted. She eyed my lapel badge just to check and flicked her gaze back up to my face. “Tyler said just to go straight through to his office when you got here.”
I looked at the framed photos on the wall behind her, arranged in a pyramid shape. Its apex drew my attention instantly. ‘Tyler Johnson, Store Manager’.
The only thing I could think of until my gaze dropped down a level was, I know what your mouth tastes like.
Photos of the Assistant, Accounts, Womenswear and Health and Beauty Managers blurred into one, and I tried to scan the photos on the third and final row but couldn’t tear my eyes away from the one marked, ‘Sebastian Dickson, Menswear’.
Yeah, I could never imagine saying out loud. Yours, too.
The receptionist—nameless, no badge with which to ID herself—gave a nervous, meeting-a-new-person laugh. “After you’ve put your things in one of the lockers, of course.”
Once I’d done as she suggested, pocketing the key, she began to pull herself to her feet, but I pre-empted her. “It’s all right, I’ll find it.” The layout of this store couldn’t be too difficult to decipher, especially as managers’ offices tended to be clearly marked with highly-polished brass nameplates declaring the occupant’s status. “Better that I find my own way round as soon as, eh?” I’d been told a bit about this store, hadn’t been behind the scenes until now.
She nodded and I stopped, already halfway to the door. “Oh, before I go, it’s polite to ask your name…?” Not that I was enough of a wuss to actually delay going, of course.
“Lisa.”
“Well, it was good to meet you, Lisa. You’re the one who keeps Tyler and—” I gulped, my blood running cold at having almost given myself away. “And all the other managers in line?”
“I try.” She smiled. “Doubt anyone could keep Tyler Johnson in line, though.”
And because she punctuated her words with a quiet giggle, as I left the room I found myself wondering if Lisa-the-receptionist had herself a little crush on Mr Johnson.
Easy to understand, I thought, my three-inch heels making little sound on the carpet. He’s not the ugliest bloke I’ve ever met, that’s for sure. Offices lay ahead. As they were probably all grouped together I carried on walking, assuming Tyler’s would be somewhere in that direction.
Three months since the staff dinner, no local taxi company numbers on me and the offer of a lift back to my hotel.
If four-five-three was anything like two-eight-nine, the Menswear Manager wouldn’t have his own dedicated office—more than likely he’d be busy on the shop floor. It was possible that out of a sense of devilment he’d appear in the vicinity just to fuck with my blood pressure. He and Tyler seemed to interact that way, feeding off each other’s sense of mischief, following visual and verbal clues, standing back and letting the other ramp up the flirting—
Flirting? Good God, Jess, keep control of yourself. The last thing I needed was to think about thehour or two I’d spent at that dinner dance chatting to Tyler and Sebastian—“Honestly, call us Ty and Seb. We’re not gonna arrange to have you fired if you do”—and label it flirting. It wasn’t. It hadn’t been.
Wait…yes it had.
I saw him before he saw me. His office door was open and he sat at his desk, using one hand to grip a pen and scribble on a notepad, the other to prop up his slightly-bowed head, fingers poking through ruffled hair, like I’d wanted—
<
br /> Professionalism at all times, Jess, remember?
Though the carpet muffled my footsteps, he looked up at that moment as if he’d heard my approach. I could have been mistaken about the down-up flick of his gaze, but definitely wasn’t when it came to that smile of his. Self-satisfied or not, appreciative or not, it curved one corner of his mouth up first, before spreading slowly to the other. He licked his lips as the smile developed and I told myself it was because he was hot.
Warm. Because of the weather. He’s…warm.
“Jess.” He knew my full name was Jessica, but had never used it. Hardly anyone bar my parents did—the short form was on my name badge and all my paperwork—but even given this unspoken permission to utilise it, he still made it sound like intimacy.
“Mr Johnson.” I stopped on the threshold, one hand on the doorframe to hold myself steady. I wished I had the nerve to cross my arms and lean against it like I owned the place, but that would have been a step too far, even though I couldn’t yet bring myself to step into the room.
“Oh, come, now.” He clicked the pen on and off a few times before laying it on his desk. “Call me Tyler. Surely you’re comfortable with that? After everything we’ve been through together?”
Oh, God. This was going to be the longest three months of my life.
Chapter Three
Tyler, as he insisted I call him—and we were more or less equals, after all—kept me in his office almost until the store opened, going over his plans and my ‘vision’, which I hadn’t yet formed.
“I’ve seen your work at the other store,” he dropped into the conversation at one point. “You’re good.” A momentary pause. “Really good.”
I had to fill the second pause with something. “Thanks.” My shoulders twitched with the beginnings of a, ‘It was nothing’ shrug, but I kept them under control.
“But the fact is…Meg’s not happy.”
I raised my brows.
“Accounts Manager.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Yes, of course.” I’d no doubt seen her image as a component of the managerial pyramid on the back wall of reception, but two others had distracted me. And the Store Manager’s image had done no justice at all to the flesh and blood man sitting across from me, behind his desk. I didn’t think I’d ever seen eyes so blue. Light stubble dusted his jaw, little more than a shadow. The night I’d kissed him, however briefly, he’d been clean-shaven and I’d laid my palm against his jaw just to feel the absence of stubble. The touch, the kiss, had only lasted…well, however long, it hadn’t been long enough. Not that it should have happened at all, given that here I was, working for him. Under him.
I shuddered.
“Jess?”
“Hmm?”
“You all right?”
“Yes, yes, fine. Sorry, you were saying?”
“Are you cold? We could shut the door—”
“No,” I said, rather too quickly. “I mean, no. Thanks.” I waved a hand between us, swiping at the air. “It’s nothing.” Alone in the room with Tyler Johnson, the door closed? Hell to the fuck no. The thought wasn’t entirely unattractive but it would be a bad idea.
“Sure? Well, anyway, Meg’s not happy and to be honest the higher-ups aren’t, either, so…we need the next quarter’s takings to be up. Which is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“The last Visual Manager left us high and dry, so until we recruit a new one, you’re our best chance to make some serious money.”
My lips parted but I couldn’t think of what to say to fill the silence.
“Which is a lot of pressure to put on you, but…”
“Did you just…?”
“Did I what?”
Had he just winked at me? “Nothing. Look. It is a lot of pressure to put on a stand-in Visual Manager but I’ll do my best. I’m good at my job—”
“I know you are. That’s why we asked for you.”
I glanced down at my palms, clasped in my lap atop the clipboard he’d given me five minutes before. “You…?” I found the courage to look up again.
“We asked for you. Me and…” Tyler cleared his throat, momentarily dipped his gaze to the desk between us, then lifted it back to me. “Me and Sebbe.”
“You and…?”
“Sebastian Dickson. The Menswear Manager. You remember him, don’t you?”
God damn you, and your evil smirk to hell. “Yes. I do.”
“Look.” He took a deep breath and laid both palms flat on the desk. “Being completely mercenary about it, ignoring…you know…”
I lifted my eyebrows in expectation.
Tyler cleared his throat. “Anyway, to be completely mercenary about it and just talk about the here and now, whatever you’re doing at four-five-three has their end-of-quarter totals up and—”
“I’m only one person on the staff roll.”
“You’re being modest.”
“If takings are up across the board, how do you know it’s down to me?”
“You’re one of the few people who has ready access to all departments and any degree of autonomy when it comes to working in them.”
“Pfft.” Again, that casual hand-wave.
“You really suck at taking compliments, don’t you?”
“You really suck at taking responsibility for your own store.”
“I…” Tyler swallowed so hard his Adam’s apple bobbed. Funny, but he seemed to have a lot of trouble breathing. Or responding to my sarcasm. “Well, whatever. The point is, four-five-three’s totals are up, so when the vacancy came up here we thought we’d…uh…borrow you for a bit.”
“Leaving them short and you in possession of their alleged secret weapon.”
“Precisely.” He grinned and sat back. “That was exactly the plan.”
“So what exactly did Sebastian have to do with it?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said you asked for me. Both of you.” Habit of yours, isn’t it?
“I’m the Store Manager, as you pointed out. I discuss things with my colleagues.”
“Did everyone get a say?” I was probably pushing things with that one. Not only was I acknowledging his friendship with Sebastian, but the conversation also hovered dangerously close to putting the kiss—actually, the kisses, plural—on the table.
“It was mentioned at a managers’ meeting. In passing.”
“Look.” I edged forward and laid one hand on the desk, not brave enough to mirror his earlier posture exactly. Somehow I took a deep breath. Turning away from the images playing out in front of my mind’s eye was a different story.
At least I’d departed the scene three months back with my virtue intact.
And enough red-hot fantasies to occupy many a night when I felt lonely.
Walking away from Tyler’s car had been the hardest thing I’d ever done, and not because of the four-inch heels I wore and the alcohol I’d drunk that evening.
Of course, the pair of them had probably watched my exit with relief cooling their ardour. All very fun and flirtatious and, yes, we worked in two separate stores, but it wouldn’t have been a good idea to…
I screwed my eyes shut, pinched the bridge of my nose to avoid smudging my mascara, then opened my eyes again. I looked out at the here and now, even if I wasn’t fully present in it myself. “I’ll take a walkthrough once the store opens. Make notes, give you my first impressions. If you’re so impressed with my work at four-five-three and the fact I had enough authority to mix things up in whichever department I pleased, I’m assuming the same applies in this store for as long as I’m here?”
Tyler stared for a long moment. His gaze was directed at my mouth but his eyes were unfocused, somehow spaced out. There in body, but somewhere else in spirit. Maybe outside a cheap hotel, sitting with his buddy and work colleague in a fancy sports car, watching someone head indoors alone?
Again, he cleared his throat. Back in the room, he said, “Of course.” The smile he focused on me was one hell of a dist
raction, but not so much as his words. “For as long as you’re with us, you can play with whatever you like.”
“Stop it.”
“What? What?” Tyler held his hands up in mock surrender. I knew it was mock because that smirk of his divested him of any appearance of shame or penitence. He rose to his feet and gestured towards the doorway.
Ah. Dismissed? I thought. Fair enough.
Ignoring the sinking feeling in my stomach, which was probably closer to disappointment nestling into place, I headed for the door. Slowly. I kidded myself it was to steady my footsteps, not to prolong the discussion.
“I’ll let you go now—”
“Oh. You’ll let me, will you?” I interrupted. Sauciness was the only way to handle Tyler Johnson. Or at least that was what I told myself, to justify being pert with him. It put the twinkle in his eyes that made me lust after him.
Okay, Ludlow. Time to stop.
“But…” Tyler paused, one hand on the edge of the door…
And softly pushed it closed.
“Uh… What…?”
“Just answer me one question. Are you okay with this?”
“This?” I hoped my shaky voice and raised eyebrows did enough to beg for clarification.
“Working under me.”
I coughed. “Pardon? You… Uh…”
Tyler grinned. “You know. Given our…” He glanced skywards as if asking the Almighty to provide him with the right word. “History.”
“We have history?”
“Sadly not as much as I’d like us to have, but…” He shrugged, grinning, but only momentarily. His expression darkened, then. “I’m being serious. If there’s any awkwardness…”
Temporary Position Page 2