Power Play

by Tiffany Snow

  I’d never heard Parker speak to someone like that. Ruthless and cutting? Yes. But deliberately insulting cops usually wasn’t high on his To Do list.

  “I’d rather dress like shit than treat people like shit. You make your secretary serve you lunch without even a thank you? Color me surprised to see you’re still a narcissistic dick.”

  My face grew so hot my ears burned as Parker’s eyes flicked my way, as though he were just now noticing me in the room.

  “Was there something else, Sage?” he asked stiffly.

  “O-of course not, sir,” I stammered, hurriedly retreating. “Excuse me.” I couldn’t get out of there quick enough.

  My desk was a haven after the tension in Parker’s office and I eyed them covertly, pretending to work, though likely neither would have noticed even if I’d pressed my nose to the glass.

  Parker seemed to be barely paying attention to Ryker, though I’d seen him do that before and it was always a fake out. Nothing slipped by him.

  For his part, Ryker had abandoned his earlier relaxed pose and was now bent forward, his elbows braced on his knees as he talked.

  Neither of them smiled.

  They knew each other, and apparently hated each other—or at least Ryker hated Parker. “Narcissistic dick” and “fucking prick” usually weren’t terms reserved for a good buddy. It was an engrossing mystery and I did nothing but speculate, my imagination running rampant for the ten minutes Ryker was there.

  Finally, he stood and walked to the door. He didn’t appear to say good-bye and Parker was seemingly already absorbed in a file before Ryker even left his office.

  I expected him to head straight for the elevators, but he caught sight of me watching him. A look I couldn’t read flashed across his face and he changed direction, stopping in front of the raised counter that served as two walls of my “cubicle.”

  “So…Sage, was it?” he asked.

  I eyed him suspiciously, tapping the nameplate that sat on the counter rather than answering him.

  “Sage Reese,” he read. “Executive Administrative Assistant.”

  “You can read,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “I was worried you’d have trouble with the big words.” If Parker didn’t like Ryker, and it seemed pretty clear he didn’t, chances were I wasn’t going to like him either.

  He grinned at me despite my sass and he had an honest-to-God dimple in his cheek. His teeth were perfectly straight and white, and his smile drastically altered the hard expression on his face to one of sexy mischief. I momentarily lost my train of thought.

  Ryker leaned down like he was going to tell me a secret. The aroma of leather and something musky drifted in the air and I caught myself taking a deep whiff of it.

  “I know what you’re doing after work,” he said.

  I looked at him in confusion. “What?”

  “You’re having dinner with me.”

  That was the absolute last thing I expected him to say. I gaped at him.

  Ryker reached toward me and my breath caught. His fingers brushed the fabric of the scarf tied around my throat. I was frozen in place, my eyes wide as I looked up at him and my pulse racing. I felt the softest touch of the back of his knuckles against my jaw; then he was reaching past me to snag a couple of peanut M&Ms from the little candy dish on my desk for when I absolutely had to have a bite of chocolate. Tossing them in his mouth, he grinned again, the knowing look in his eyes telling me he knew exactly how he was affecting me.

  “Pick you up at six,” he said with a wink, and then he was gone, striding toward the elevators, his jeans and leather jacket utterly out of place in the sea of suits and business attire. But you would have thought he was a model wearing the latest from Armani by the way he walked.

  When he got to the elevator, it dinged as though it already knew he was coming. He’d slid his sunglasses back on and he turned before he stepped inside. I was still staring at him and he caught me at it, another knowing grin spreading across his face before he disappeared from my view.

  “Wow. Who was that?”

  I turned around to see Megan, my friend and fellow secretary. She worked for a group of analysts who reported to Parker.

  Sliding her glasses up her nose, she turned to me. “Seriously. Please tell me he was interviewing and starts work tomorrow.”

  I laughed. Megan was an incongruous package. She was tiny, barely five feet tall, with curly blond hair and a heart-shaped face—a stereotypical sweet, shy type. She was sweet, that much was true, but she had a biting wit and an irreverent humor that made her a favorite with nearly everyone at KLP.

  “Sorry,” I said with an exaggerated sigh. “He already has a job.”

  “As a movie star, right?”

  “He’s a detective,” I said with a grin. “And I think I have a date with him tonight.”

  “Get out!”

  I shrugged. “He asked me out.” I thought for a second. “Actually, he didn’t ask. He just told me I was going to dinner with him.” Which should have ticked me off, but instead I found it to be kind of…sexy.

  “If I didn’t like you so much, I’d hate you right now,” Megan sighed. “As if it’s not bad enough you work for the hottest guy in the building. Now you have a date with a sexy detective.”

  “There are some days I’d gladly trade you bosses,” I said dryly. “You know that.”

  “I know Parker can be a total pain in the ass,” she said. “But don’t give me that. We both know you’d come to work even if you were miserable sick—and have—if Parker said he needed you. So don’t play that ‘I hate my job’ card with me. I know you’re full of crap.”

  “He’s not that bad,” I said.

  Megan snorted. “You’re the only one here who’d put up with him. Even I could only let that pretty face go so far before I’d have to slip something in his coffee.”

  I couldn’t argue with her. There were some days I wanted to slip something in Parker’s coffee.

  “So I take it Brandon’s no longer in the picture if you’re going to dinner with a smokin’ hot detective dude?” she asked.

  “His name is Ryker and no. I got dumped last night.”

  “No shit,” she said, looking completely unsurprised.

  I held up a finger. “Don’t say it.”

  “Say what?” she replied, all innocence.

  “You know what.”

  “You mean that I’ve been telling you for months now how you’re never going to have a decent relationship so long as you let Parker rule your every waking moment? That I keep reminding you that this is a job and not your life? That Parker doesn’t appreciate you and that I can’t for the life of me understand why you allow yourself to be at his beck and call to the point where you can’t even date? Is that what you don’t want me to say?”

  I sighed. I couldn’t be mad at Megan. Nothing she said was wrong. I knew she only said those things because she loved me and worried about me, but it was what it was. I needed this job. I liked this job, despite the demands it made on me. The pay was awesome, the benefits were great, and I liked living in Chicago. Though Megan would call me a masochist—and probably had at some point—because most of my waking hours were consumed by Parker and my job, I liked it that way.

  At my silence, Megan looked contrite. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I should just keep my mouth shut sometimes.”

  I shook my head. “No, it’s okay.” It was kind of depressing when I thought about Brandon dumping me—yet another short-lived relationship to add to my tally—so I pushed the thought aside.

  “So I texted Brian this weekend,” she said, and I was glad for the change of subject. Brian was a guy who worked in IT. He was really nice and very good-looking, but I thought he wasn’t terribly bright when it came to women.

  “And?” I asked. Megan had had a thing for Brian since the day she first met him a year ago. They’d had to work together on a project and had become good friends. “Did he text you back?”

  “Yeah, a litt
le,” she said with a sigh. “I think I’m permanently friend-zoned, though. He doesn’t seem to get it no matter how much I flirt.”

  “Of course he doesn’t,” I said. “He’s in IT. You’d have to parade in front of him topless for him to get it.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know what it is with him. Any other guy, I’d just ask them out. But him… I don’t know.” She sighed.

  “It’s because he’s different from all the other guys you’ve dated,” I said. “You’re actually friends, which is awesome. They’re supposed to make the best husbands.”

  Now it was Megan’s turn to look slightly uncomfortable. “What was a detective doing here anyway?” she asked, changing the subject.

  “No clue,” I replied. “But I think they know each other, him and Parker. Their conversation was a bit…hostile.” A massive understatement.

  “Huh. Weird. Maybe he’ll tell you?”

  I shrugged. “No way to know. But I’ll definitely give you the gossip if he does.” I shot her a grin. Megan loved gossip.

  “You’d better.”

  After I swore to tell her all the juicy details of my date with Ryker, Megan headed back to her desk and I went to retrieve the lunch tray from Parker’s office.

  He was deeply involved in something, judging by his frown and fierce look of concentration, so I didn’t speak. His jacket had been discarded and flung onto the sofa. I picked it up and hung it on the valet in the corner closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Parker always kept an extra suit and a couple of extra shirts at the office. Once I’d done that, I picked up the tray he’d pushed to the side of his desk.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I glanced at him, for a moment wondering if he was speaking to me, but he was still engrossed in the computer screen. Since there was no one else there and he wasn’t on the phone, he must have been speaking to me. It was a little odd. He didn’t usually say anything when I took away his tray or hung his jacket.

  “You’re welcome,” I murmured, since it would have been weird to just ignore him. I couldn’t help but wonder if Ryker’s biting comment earlier was why I was getting a thank-you now, which kind of took the pleasure from it. Not that I did my job for thank-yous; I did it for a paycheck. But still.

  “Could you get me the file on that new Russian firm we’ve been buying from?” Parker said. “Rogers has it, I believe.”

  I frowned, thinking. “You mean Bank ZNT?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Of course.” I headed for the door, then hesitated, glancing at Parker. He looked up.

  “Yes?” he asked.

  “I was just wondering, and it’s probably none of my business, but about the detective who was here earlier. Um, is…everything okay? Do you need anything? Something I could do…” I was rambling now so I shut up.

  Parker was looking at me in that intense way of his, which had me rethinking sticking my nose in something that was obviously private. I looked down at the tray I held, unable to meet his gaze, and uneasily shifted my weight from one foot to the other.

  “Never mind. I shouldn’t have pried,” I blurted, balancing the tray on one arm so I could pull open the door.

  “Sage,” Parker called out, stopping me. I looked back at him. “There’s nothing you can do, but I…appreciate the offer.”

  That eased my embarrassment somewhat and I gave him a fleeting smile and short nod before hurrying out of the office.

  I watched the clock much too closely that afternoon, the butterflies in my stomach getting more fluttery with each passing hour. By five forty-five, I gave up working at all and just started cleaning off my desk. I didn’t know if the butterflies were from nerves, anticipation, or both.

  What if he’d just been messing with me? The men I’d dated tended to be safe types, men who had solid white-collar jobs and worked in office buildings. I’d never in my life dated a man who knew how to shoot a gun, much less carried one on him. All my dates wore suits and ties, drove sensible cars, and didn’t own leather jackets. And none of them embodied the guy-my-mom-warned-me-about cliché quite like Ryker did.

  I must be out of my mind.

  I went to the ladies’ room to check my hair and touch up my makeup, looking myself over critically. I looked very…businesslike, I guessed. My pretty yellow heels and scarf at least dressed up the dreary white blouse and navy skirt. I had a decent body that should probably get to the gym more often, but my waist was narrow, my hips curved, and I filled out a C cup bra reasonably well.

  Digging in my purse, I added some more blush to my cheeks and reapplied my pale rose lipstick. My skin was a warm peach and in the summer I tanned to a golden brown. My dark hair went well with my deep brown eyes, though I often wished I had light eyes, which was probably why I was always attracted to men with blue eyes.

  After tucking some wayward strands of hair back into my braid, I took a deep breath. I eyed my blouse. Should I maybe undo a button? It was done all the way up with only about an inch of skin showing between the bottom edge of my scarf and the top of my blouse. I hesitated, then undid a button, then one more. I had decent cleavage, might as well show it off. And now I looked a bit more like a woman who’d get asked on a date by a cop named Ryker.

  Glancing at my watch had me scurrying out the door. It was six o’clock and I was going to be late, not that it was necessarily a bad thing. I’d rather he show up and wait than me stand downstairs waiting for a man who never arrived.

  Parker seemed to be packing up, too, when I rapped lightly on his door and stepped inside his office.

  “Anything else for today?” I asked, as was my custom to do before I left.

  “No, I don’t think—” Parker glanced up from where he’d been adding files to his briefcase. When he caught sight of me, he stopped talking. I waited, but he didn’t continue, his gaze dropping to my chest.

  Okay, maybe cleavage wasn’t businesslike, but it wasn’t like it was eight in the morning. Technically, business hours were over. I glanced at my watch again. Crap. Six oh-five. “Um, okay, well I’ll see you tomorrow then,” I blurted. I tossed a “Have a good night” behind me as I rushed out the door.

  Grabbing my purse from my desk, I hurried to the elevator and punched the button, waiting impatiently for the car to arrive. What would I do if Ryker wasn’t there? What would I do if he was?

  I didn’t race across the lobby. Instead, I took my time and walked at my normal speed, joining the dozen or so other people exiting the building. When I hit the sidewalk, I glanced around, trying not to be too obvious that I was searching. But within seconds, my eyes found him and I froze.

  Ryker was waiting all right, his sunglasses on and arms crossed over his broad chest as he leaned against a massive black and chrome motorcycle parked at the curb. He saw me and his lips curved in a slow grin that made a warm tingle spread underneath my skin.

  I got my feet moving again and Ryker pushed himself upright as I approached, waiting until I was near to speak.

  “About time,” he teased. “I almost thought you were blowing me off.”

  “Does any woman blow you off?” I asked.

  His grin widened. “Nope.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I could admit it. Arrogance and cockiness turned me on, and Ryker had them both in spades.

  Gesturing toward the motorcycle, I said, “I hope the restaurant is within walking distance because there’s no way I’m getting on that.”

  “Ever ride a bike before?”

  “A bike, yes,” I said. “A death machine that can do ninety miles an hour with only a helmet for protection when my head hits the asphalt? No. I’m allergic to danger.”

  Ryker stepped closer, right into my personal space, and I tipped my head back to look him in the eyes. All I saw was my own reflection staring back at me. His proximity was electric, though, making my body hum as though a current ran from him into me.

  “Sweetheart, I’m as dangerous as it gets.”

  The low thrum of his voice sent
my heart into triple time. My gaze drifted down from Ryker’s sunglasses to his lips, still curved in that shit-eating grin. What would it be like to be kissed by a man like him? To be swept off my feet?

  “Whaddya say, Miss Prim and Proper? Wanna take a walk on the wild side?”

  My eyes flew back up to his. “Did you just call me—” I began, indignant.

  “Yep. Now let’s get out of here. I’m starving.” Grabbing a helmet from the back of his bike, he plopped it on my head. I would have protested, but was immediately flustered when he began fastening the strap beneath my chin. His fingers brushed my skin and suddenly it was harder to breathe.

  “Well, don’t you look as cute as can be,” Ryker said once he’d finished.

  I bet. Helmets were just oh so sexy.

  He swung a leg over the bike and moved the kickstand back with his booted heel. A moment later, the engine fired up. At the noise, people nearby turned to look.

  I stood, staring dubiously from the sidewalk. As if going to dinner with Ryker hadn’t made me nervous before, the prospect of riding a motorcycle with him made me lightheaded. My mother was so going to kill me.

  “C’mon,” Ryker said over the noise. “You know you want to. Don’t be a scaredy-cat.” He held out his hand to me.

  My eyes narrowed. Schoolyard taunts were for children. And that’s what I told myself as I reached out to take his hand. He tugged me forward, his mischievous smile changing to one of triumph.

  I wouldn’t have worn a skirt had I known I’d be climbing on the back of a motorcycle. For a girl whose mom had drilled into me the appropriate way a lady exits a car in a skirt, hiking my skirt up my thighs made me cringe.

  Shoving aside thoughts of what my mother would say, I quickly got on behind Ryker, letting out a squeak when he reached back and pulled me tighter against him. At least the strap of my purse was long enough to hook over my chest so it rested against my back.

  Grabbing his leather-clad shoulders, I steadied myself. I would’ve been showing the entire street the fabulous black satin and lace panties I wore if they weren’t currently pressed against Ryker as I straddled the bike. His hand drifted down my thigh to hook around the back of my knee, his calloused palm warm against my skin. I gasped at the sensation, a flash of heat and want racing through me.