by Melissa Blue
“Probably could,” he said mostly to himself.
“You don’t seem stupid. I could like you.” The man gestured his head outside. “I own the coffee shop across the street. Come by sometime.”
“Will do.” Drew nodded. Tobias took up the same position by the counter. Abigail came back and handed him a box.
“Back table,” she said.
Confused, he asked, “We’re not going to the office?”
“I’ve brought my work laptop. There’s no need.” She led the way.
He followed and sniffed at the box. “Wow.”
She glanced back and then laughed. “Yeah. Anyway, we’re not going to your place or mine. I’m sick of the office. This place is like a third home anyway.”
“Second home,” he corrected.
“Emma’s place is the second home. This is the third.” She scooted into the booth, placed the laptop bag on the table. Swatting the bag aside, she opened the bakery box, and let out a long-suffering sigh. “First we’ll eat, and I think I can manage all the questions you might throw my way.”
He flipped open his box. Up close it looked like a checkered brownie, part dark and white chocolate. Artfully, raspberry and caramel syrup were drizzled over the top.
Abigail pushed over a fork and paper napkin in his direction. “Just don’t look at me when you eat it.”
“Why not?”
She sighed, picked up his fork and broke off a corner of the confection. “Close your eyes. Otherwise, it’ll be a big mistake.”
“What?” he said even more confused but closed his eyes.
When the food met his tongue, he understood. The dessert was indescribable. He made an inappropriate sound in the public establishment, but it couldn’t be helped. He was about to open his eyes, but Abigail tutted.
“Keep those things closed.”
She fed him another bite. Eyes still shut, he chewed, and all his other senses came to life. He caught a whiff of perfume she’d sprayed over her wrist. No surprise it wasn’t a sweet or soft scent but strong and subtle. Once it tweaked his nose there was no ignoring it.
“One last bite then we have to get to work,” she said.
Drew opened his mouth without question. He lingered over the morsel and groaned again before finishing. “You’re feeding me.”
The fork didn’t clatter to the table at the observation. He opened his eyes and caught her stealing a bite.
“I am ’cause it’s the lesser evil,” Abigail said.
“But you can look at me when you eat it?”
She glanced down at the dessert. “You’re right. Bad idea.”
She took another forkful and laughed. Her features had softened, and it was unintentionally seductive. He grabbed his fork from her hand and tried the pastry with his eyes open. He made another indecent sound, but, again, it couldn’t be helped. The dessert was so damn good. And, it was so damn good to finally see Abigail relax. Flushed and still chewing the dessert, slightly pursing her full lips—what would she taste like with the pastry still flavoring her tongue?
She pointed at his face. “That’s why it’s a bad idea. You’ve got the look.”
He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin. “What look?”
“Like you want me with the dessert. It’s dangerous. When we really like a guy, we feed it to him. He’s toast.”
He was probably toast before he ever ate the damn thing. “But you could eat it? I call that an unfair advantage.”
“Well,” she hedged. “I know what it can do, and my will is strong.”
“Stubborn.”
“Eh, same thing.” Abigail grinned at him, realized what she was doing and stopped. “So, questions?”
She fell back to a comfortable subject—work. A growl built up in his throat, but he tamped down the frustration. Why couldn’t she let whatever it was between them be? Why couldn’t she look across the table and see Drew for exactly who he was?
Right, because she’d been engaged to his cousin. He’d played up his role as Playboy Bunny wrangler. He made sure ninety percent of what spewed out of his mouth was a joke, usually a crude one. Up until the wedding reception, he made sure the buzz crackling the air between them stayed ignored. It had been better that way.
Now Drew wanted her to see him differently. His own reputation kept a block between them, and there was no one to blame but himself. Mistakes…he’d made a lot of them, and he’d yet to stop paying for them.
“Plenty questions,” he said and pushed aside the disappointment.
Chapter Five
“So?” Sasha asked, standing next to the counter and Emma.
“You’re stealing my line.” Abigail slid lower into the booth. She hadn’t left Sweet Tooth, though Drew had excused himself an hour ago. He’d told her, “There is only so much tire you can retread.”
He’d been right, but she had a date with her friends. If Abigail went home there was a firm guarantee she’d fall asleep on the couch fully clothed.
“It’s been one hell of a long day with Drew,” Abigail said, too exhausted to play dumb. “You know how much I would love to place the blame squarely at Drew’s feet.” Her shoulders bunched around her ears at the next confession. “I can’t.”
Sasha crossed her arms. “Why?”
“He was so unlike Drew.” Confusion knitted her brows. “He was exacting in the details he wanted. Not nonchalant at all. He was self-assured and the consummate professional.”
He acted like the type of man she wanted to impress. All the while a part of her kept saying, “This is Drew. Stop it.”
“I would introduce him to another team member, and he’d wrap questions around charm. Like those little pigs in a blanket. He got more information out of them in ten minutes than I can during an hour meeting. He’s amazing,” she heard herself say and frowned. “I can admit that and still believe him to be a man-whore.”
Emma threw the towel she’d been wiping down the tables with onto the front counter and moved to the booth. “You sound downright befuddled.”
“She is.” Sasha followed Emma from the counter and slid into the booth too.
“I am.” Abigail stretched and said with a yawn, “He’s so different at work. It makes no sense.”
“It makes perfect sense and you know it.” Emma pulled the bakery box in front of Abigail over to herself. “Why am I not sick to death of desserts?”
Sasha blinked, feigning innocence. “Because you share.”
Emma took a bite of the macadamia nut cookie and gave the rest over to Sasha. “I need to watch my figure anyway. We made a date.”
The announcement made Abigail sit up. “Really? Like, really, really?”
“He wanted April first.” She rolled her eyes but smiled. “I got him to choose the ninth.”
Abigail paused on that information. “Why the ninth?
“Because it wasn’t the first.”
Sasha made a noise of frustration. “We let you stall…so?”
“You know, saying ’so’ is irritating,” Abigail pointed out. “Why do you guys let me get away with it?”
“Because we love you.” Emma raised her brows. “So?”
The words were said with such sincerity it made Abigail ache. “He’s a consummate professional when it’s everyone, but I can’t quite put my finger on what he is when it’s just us. Oh, did I forget to mention he’s there to see whether or not my team needs to be fired?”
“You did forget to mention that little factoid,” Emma said.
“He’s relaxed.” Sasha ticked off after finishing Abigail’s treat. “Sexually potent. Charming. Considerate. Doing his best to draw out your ire. It’s the grown up way of pulling your pigtails. That’s who he is when you guys are together.”
“Ok.” Abigail laughed. “He’s all those things, but especially the last part.”
Sasha faked a gasp. “What? You noticed he wants you?”
“Of course I did, but the flirtation is to get under my skin. The attraction will
pass on Drew’s side. If it’s real. I’m something he wants but can’t have. Once he realizes I’m not going to be had, then all will be well.”
Both women went silent with her pronouncement, and then turned to each other. “She doesn’t see it, does she?” Sasha began.
Emma answered, “Nope, not an ounce of it.”
Abigail looked between them. “See what?”
“Nothing.” Emma grabbed the now empty box.
“My boss has given him the final veto power on my team. Let’s put aside the fact I don’t want him in any way. If I did—”
“OJ said the same thing and no one believed him either,” Emma said quietly.
Abigail glared at Emma for a moment, but her friend only smiled. “If I did and someone at my job found out, I’d be screwed. They’d think I was trying to use sex to keep my team.”
“But you just said it would never happen.” Emma bit her bottom lip. “So the what if game is moot. Right?”
Abigail turned to Sasha to give it to her straight. “What am I’m missing?”
“He’s your forbidden fruit.”
“What?” She scoffed. “If I wanted Drew, I could have him.”
Sasha said, “But why is it you don’t want him?”
“The scenario of doom I played out for one. He’s maddening for another. Third, he’s Greg’s cousin.” Abigail put up a fourth finger. “You know my friends and family rule.”
“But,” Emma said, “I doubt now that Greg is married he’ll be sitting around in the proverbial locker room asking, ’Does she still do that one thing?’ It’s tasteless, and Greg isn’t.”
Emma was right. Abigail lifted her chin in a stubborn manner. “So why is he forbidden fruit?”
“Because you do want Drew, and he’s not what he seems,” Sasha said.
Emma, always the practical but soft-hearted one, winced. “And because you are still pissed at him about Greg.”
Abigail argued, “This has nothing to do with Greg.”
“It has everything to do with him.” Emma kept her voice soothing. “I know you think we forgot, but Drew said something to you before you broke the engagement.”
Abigail flinched. Her friends had been in on the big discussion when she made the decision to end things with Greg. Yet, the memory of Drew rose up in her mind. He hadn’t been his usual sardonic self that night. Relaxed, he sat on Greg’s sofa across from the love seat she’d staked a claim to, but his eyes had turned serious after she asked him why he didn’t seem happy about the engagement.
The question coming out of her mouth surprised her. Even then she knew Drew would tell her the truth sans bullshit, if she asked. In a way, she could count on the honesty. A million times over Abigail told herself she really didn’t care what he thought, especially in those quiet moments when left alone with him and he’d peel back the loafer persona.
But when Drew spoke, he chose his words carefully, and fear pumped blood to her ears, drowning them in a roar. He’d told her he’d be happy if she was. So simple a statement. Not spoken to be mean, but it had been the truth, unvarnished.
Abigail closed her eyes to the memory. “That’s not why I have trouble getting along with him. Outside of work, he’s still the same self-indulgent, irresponsible man. I’ve got to hitch my wagon to him for the next couple of weeks and make it work for me and for my team. Hell, for the success of my job.”
She went on though both Emma and Sasha had started to speak. “I can’t be sure he won’t bring his real self to work. I can’t complain about him, because I’m sure Drew would bring up our association. I’d look petty and desperate. He needs this consulting job, and I’m sure he’d do and say anything to keep it. Let’s not forget it’ll look suspect, because he has veto power.”
“You’re sure about a lot,” Sasha said.
“I am.” She looked at both her friends. A worried frown creased Emma’s brows. Sasha wore an expression of concern.
Damn.
“I’m going into work tomorrow,” Abigail said. “I’ll be polite and professional. We’ll get the job done, and I won’t lose any of my team.”
Neither friend concurred that’s all it was.
Double damn.
*****
Ready to go to war, Abigail handed Drew a packet covering all his previous questions and some more she thought he might ask. He settled into the office chair across from her and flipped through the pages, making notes in the margins, which made her scowl.
She reminded herself to be professional and polite. The latter would mean keeping her mouth shut and not interrupting to find out why he needed to make notes on what she’d given him. Plus, it would sound insecure. The worse emotion an account manager could show to anyone, especially someone coming in to diagnose a team’s problem. The team leader should not lack confidence.
Drew had arrived early with his game face on. The only sign revealing he’d gone without enough sleep was the five o’clock shadow along his jaw. The scruffiness enhanced his masculine features, deepening them and made him a little breathtaking to look at.
She tilted her head and wondered how many women who had survived the night of debauchery with no intentions to ensnare themselves with emotions, woke up to his face—scruffy and masculine—and fell hard.
Drew wasn’t the kind of man who would make a woman feel cheap for having sex with him—a hypocrisy. Abigail never understood that, it took two—and the small human decency probably tripped up the rest of the women.
And it said a lot her mind had decided to take a stroll through that land mine. The attraction to Drew wasn’t wrong in and of itself. He had an appeal that made those primitive genes of survival sit up and hum. Acting on the primitive urge would be unwise, which is why she wouldn’t.
Drew flipped to the last page and began to nod. She put her mind back where it should be—work.
“Ok.” He breathed out. “You need to call a meeting on the Lancaster account. I want to see you guys at work.”
“It’s my smallest account,” she said and then bit her lip. Defensive was not professional. “Let me get the team together,” she corrected.
A smile blossomed. “It’s killing you, isn’t?”
“Excuse me?” Her fingers twitched above the phone.
“Drives you crazy to follow orders. I don’t think it’s just me, but following along behind anyone.”
She placed the phone down, willing to appease him with conversation. “I’m a natural leader.”
“Translation: I like telling people what to do,” he said. “I’m here to watch and then help.”
Abigail sucked her teeth. “Your job is to watch, but then tell someone everything she is doing is wrong. And maybe put a couple of people out of a job.”
“She?” A laugh was in the word.
“I had to choose a gender to make my verbs agree. And currently,” she added, “you’re preventing me from helping you.”
“How?”
“I was going to call my team to set up a meeting. I know Janice and George are out, but they could wrap up what they’re doing in an hour.”
“Everyone has a company cell phone hooked up to their e-mail account. You could send an e-mail. You can keep better track of responses and a loosely put together schedule. Lastly, I don’t want to get anyone on your team fired, if I don’t have to.”
“I don’t micro-manage my team.” This time she couldn’t help the defensiveness, because the earlier comment had been a potshot he sidestepped easily.
“Not saying you should. What you do with your team currently works, but I’m suggesting a small change. It would be more efficient than taking twenty minutes to call everyone. Or, having your assistant call everyone and then try to remember where everyone is located and their ETAs. I do believe you have a program on your computer you’ve seriously neglected that can do everything you’re about to attempt.”
If she disagreed it would be for argument’s sake. She liked the personal contact with her team. E-mail, though
faster and efficient, put up a distance she didn’t want. It’s why she wasn’t at a bigger firm, in a large city. The best ideas came when you were sitting face to face, but she would still have personal contact during meetings.
Abigail moved her hand from the phone for a moment. “I’ll bring it up during the meeting.”
She punched the intercom and told her assistant to get everyone together within the hour and to bring all they had for the Lancaster account. She continued to ignore Drew. He had reopened the packet. Abigail pulled up what she had on the Lancaster account on her laptop and printed out a copy. The silence thickened. She stole a glance at him. Drew wasn’t pretending to be engrossed. He was making notes and frowning down at the pages as he read them.
He usually filled up the silence. She cleared her throat, and still he didn’t look up. The hour would tick by slowly with him sitting there quietly. Maybe starting a conversation wouldn’t be so bad.
She picked up a pen, twirled it around and decided to go easy. “How long have you been a consultant?”
He made another notation and then glanced up. “When you first met Greg, I was doing what you do. A few years later I hung out my own shingle, because I worked better on my own, and I hated the constant fast lane.”
Abigail couldn’t help herself. “So, you like to hit it and quit it?”
“You should be banned from using slang,” he said, but laughed. “No. Like I said at the wedding reception, I get paid an ungodly amount of money selling things to people. What I happen to sell is my advice on how they should sell themselves and the products they advertise.”
“And what do you do when you’re not selling yourself?” She even managed to keep a straight face.
Bemusement glittered in his gaze. “Who’s insinuating now?”
“I’ve tried to be professional with you.” Abigail found herself smiling and stopped. “But it’s hard because I know the real you.”
“You think you know the real me.”
“You’re the average man.” Abigail waved one hand in a dismissive manner. She tapped the pen nervously with the other. “You like money, women and probably fast cars.”