by Malone, Nana
The girl shrugged her slim, tanned shoulders. “Then give them some direction. This is your project, after all.”
Do not kill her. Kill her, and you’ll do jail time. Still, Becca was tempted. Orange is not a good color for you. Jumpsuits were cute in jersey and silk blends, not in cotton and polyester.
Through a clenched jaw, she mumbled, “I’ll talk to the branding team and give them some direction, but then you’ll need to handle it from there.”
Charity smirked. “Good. And after you speak to the team, I’ll need you to report back to me so I have something to tell Jennings.”
Becca cracked her neck. “I send out a daily project report every morning, and believe it or not, Brett Jennings gets one as well.”
Tribot Charity shrugged and turned to leave. “Oh, by the way, congratulations on the engagement. Your ring is really pretty.”
Becca mumbled a thank you before slumping back into her chair. Seriously, was the whole world against her? Yesterday, she’d tried to have a meeting with the sales and marketing team in charge of signing Addison Torres, the Olympic swimmer. They’d given her some bullshit runaround about how Addison’s people had yet to get back to them. She needed to pull this shit together and pronto, otherwise, they’d pull her off this project.
A project you don’t deserve.
She swallowed hard and tamped down the flare of insecurity. She might not have as much experience as some of the others, but there was no reason she couldn’t succeed. Never mind it was because of Holden that she even had the job, and probably because of him that she’d been given this chance.
She still needed to talk to him about that. But then, they had a lot to still talk about.
Right now, she had more pressing concerns. Chocolate. With a boost of sugar, she could face the design team and tell them they were on their own for coming up with web comps without branding.
Burrowing through her desk drawer, she pulled out a Snickers and made quick work of the wrapper. The chocolate, nougat, and peanuts went a long way toward improving her mood. She reached for the phone to call Drew in design, but her phone rang instead. She stared at the caller ID. Unknown number. She answered dubiously. “This is Becca.”
“So the only way to get a hold of you is to call you at your office?”
Becca nearly choked on a piece of nougat. “Hi, Mom. Sorry. I’ve just been busy.” Busy avoiding telling you about this ugly ass rock on my finger.
“Too busy to call your mother? Honey, when you worked in the city, at least we saw you every few weeks. Since you moved to California, it’s not the same.”
Ahh, good old fashioned guilt. “I’m having a crappy couple of days, and I can’t seem to see my way out yet.”
Her mother was silent for a beat. “What’s the matter?”
Becca debated how much to tell her. She didn’t want to get into the whole Holden thing at work. She was always paranoid that the IT team was listening in. Unlike most people, she’d read her employment contract very carefully. There had been a clause in there about how company phone calls were subject to being recorded.
Instead, she told a half truth. “I’ve been given a new project at work, and it’s pretty difficult getting any traction.”
Her mother chuckled. “You’ve always been determined, honey. You’ll find a way.”
“Doesn’t help that no one thinks I deserve it. I’ve only been here a year.”
“It’s not about how long you’ve been somewhere; it’s about what you bring to the table. And you have a unique perspective. You merely have to work it.”
Work it. Riiiight. “I hear what you’re saying. It’s a pain, but I don’t want to screw this up.”
She’d left Bloomingdale’s, having interned there all four years of college, then working there for a full year, after she realized that the only way to move up and get promoted was to do the boss. She’d caught him with one of the other junior project associates after a party once. A week later, that associate was the project lead on social media initiatives.
No matter how badly Becca wanted to be successful, she wasn’t going there. Ever. Too bad that’s what everyone thought anyway because of Holden. He’d always promised to stay out of her career, but it looked like he hadn’t kept his promise.
“You won’t screw this up. You’re smart and resourceful and have a different way of looking at things. It’ll make you stand out. You’ll see. You have to remember that it’s okay to stumble sometimes. It’s not the end of the world.”
Yeah, she wasn’t so much down for the stumbling. But maybe her mother was right. She did have a knack for making things work in her favor.
A pang of guilt tied Becca’s stomach into a knot. Now would be the perfect time to tell her mother about her engagement. But as her mother filled her in on what was happening at home, Becca couldn’t find the words.
She was still on the phone when Van breezed into the office, plopping into a seat with a dramatic sigh. She waggled her eyebrows and mouthed, “Who is that? Liam?”
Becca shook her head and bit back a giggle. She mouthed back, “Mom.”
Van lost interest in the conversation, pulling out her phone to check her email.
After Becca’s mother recounted a story about adventures in raccoon hunting with one of the neighbors, she asked, “Anything new happening besides the job? Any man news?”
And by man news, her mom meant, ‘Have you met anyone new besides Holden?’ Her parents had met Holden during Thanksgiving last year, and it had gone fine, but her mother had made it clear that while Holden was nice and all, she didn’t think he was right for Becca.
Becca stifled the urge to blurt out Liam’s name and searched for the courage to tell her mother about her engagement. She grabbed the bag of Snickers in her desk and peered inside. No courage to be found in there, but there was a dark chocolate bite-sized one at the bottom. Those were healthy, right?
“Nothing to report, Mom. Same old, same old. Listen, I have to go and deal with this design thing. I’ll call you this weekend.” Yes, by the weekend, she’d have it all sorted. Then she could tell her mother that they were getting married in that little church and that she had a ring she loved. Putting it off was really best until she’d talked some sense into her fiancé.
Van waited until Becca had hung up with her mother before pouncing. “So, what you’re not saying is…you haven’t told your mother you’re engaged.”
“I—” She cleared her throat. “I figured it could wait a little. Besides, I want to do it right, send pictures of my ring, let her happily start daydreaming and calling venues back home and stuff. Holden and I still have things to work out.”
Van snagged the single, miniature candy bar at the bottom of the bag. “Okay, that’s fair. But you know you have to tell her.”
“I know, and I will. But not right now.”
“Uh-huh.” Her friend’s gaze slid to the gym bag under Becca’s desk. “Swimming today?”
Her stomach flip-flopped. She wasn’t sure which made her more nervous—getting in the water again or seeing Liam. “Yeah. My first private lesson.” Ten was a little late, but it would give her some time to work later and grab dinner. Bonus that she wouldn’t have the other people in class giving her the I-feel-sorry-for-you look as they triumphantly did their glides while she could barely blow bubbles.
“So just you and Mr. Swim Hottie in a pool all by your lonesomes.”
“Van, it’s not like that.” Becca wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.
Her friend’s eyes twinkled. “Of course not. You’re engaged to the perfect man...with your very pink ring.”
Becca couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “Stop. Come on. It’s not so bad.” She glanced down at her hand, willing herself to love it. Nope. She didn’t love it. “I’m going to talk to him about it.”
Van chewed her bottom lip. “Well, as hideous as that thing is, maybe you should iron out the wedding first. I still can’t believe he wouldn’t hear you
out the other day.”
“He’s so adamant. He kept talking about training for the Ironman, and all I could think about was the fact that I can’t blow bubbles yet. Let alone swim two miles. Did you know that I’m expected to run a freakin’ marathon too? A marathon, Van! My limit for reasonable is three miles on the treadmill with Real Housewives on the TV. Anything beyond that is for the crazies.”
“What are you always telling me when it comes to projects? One step at a time. Have your conversation with Holden before you start worrying about the swim or the marathon. In the meantime, take your lessons with Hottie Liam. I mean, the Ironman is out of the question, but Liam might be able to get you swimming well enough to do some watersports so you can enjoy Hawaii. Focus on the thing in front of you first.”
That meant focus on tonight...with Liam. She could definitely do that.
* * *
Liam was at the Club before nine-thirty. Restless, he paced the side of the pool, shaking out his arms. One gentleman swam laps, lost in the rhythm of his effortless strokes, getting in his late-night swim before the pool officially closed at ten. The cleaning crew wouldn’t be in until ten-thirty, giving Liam and Becca a solid half hour for a private lesson.
He smiled when he thought back to their previous conversation. The smiley face. He’d never been one for cutesy shit, but with her, it worked.
He should get in the water. Get rid of his pent up adrenaline. He had to be calm and reassuring for Becca, not wired like he was now.
But his mom’s appointment hadn’t gone well. The cancer was being stubborn. Her doctor wanted to do radiation and another round of chemo. Anita Caldwell had stuck her proud chin in the air and said no. It was all Liam could do not to put his fist in the concrete wall. But he had to give his mother credit. She’d lived life her way, and she planned to die her way as well.
The lone swimmer in the pool jumped out and began drying off. He nodded at Liam. “Liam, good to see you.”
“How’s it going, Mr. Tate?”
The owner of the Mission Sporting Goods chain stores rubbed the towel over his bald head. “Business is good. My marketing group is working on a new advertising campaign. We could use a model with your build for the print ads.”
“I’m flattered, sir, but I sort of have my hands full at the moment.”
As if on cue, Becca burst through the doors, hair flying in every direction, her towel dragging on the floor, and her arms filled with a pair of flippers. “Am I late? Sorry, I found a parking spot this time, but I couldn’t get in the doors. They were locked, and…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze landed on Mr. Tate.
Tate winked at Liam. “I can see that.”
Tate left, and Liam helped Becca arrange her stuff on a bench. “Ready to get wet?”
Her eyes rose to his, and she nodded. “I think so. Can I wear these?” She held up the flippers.
“You won’t need them.”
“Are you sure? I read this blog about swimming, and they recommended flippers.”
“How about we try blowing bubbles first?”
“I did that last time.”
Nothing like a challenge. “You need a little more practice.”
“Okay, sure, fine. Bubbles. But, uhm, it’s sort of urgent that I actually learn to swim swim.”
“How about we do sixty seconds on bubbles, then we’ll move on.”
“Okay. A pattern, a schedule. I like patterns and schedules. What’s after bubbles? You know, so I can mentally prepare.”
“Gliding.” At this rate, he was never going to get her in the water. He pointed at the pool. “Ready?”
She followed him to the side. He jumped in and motioned for her to do the same. Like the previous lesson, she went to the steps and clung to the handrail as she carefully entered the water one step at a time.
She was fired up to swim, but still feared the water. How to help her overcome that? He held out a hand, and she death-gripped it. With no one else in the pool, the calming lapping of the water was the only sound.
“Do you give private lessons often?” she asked as her foot touched the bottom. Her gaze was locked on his. Fear was definitely reflected in her eyes.
“Only to a few people.”
“So I’m special?”
She was special all right. “Why are you so scared of the water, Becca?”
Her eyes shifted away from his. “I—I’m not scared. Just not used to the water yet, I guess.”
So that’s how she wanted to play it. He’d give it a rest. “The best way to get used to it is to jump in. How about those bubbles?”
They worked for longer than sixty seconds on bubbles, mostly because once she got started, she kept at it. She liked the accomplishment. “Awesome job. Now, let’s get you on your back.”
That sounded dirty. He glanced at her face and saw a sly grin lift one corner. “I meant to float. I think we, er, you, should try floating. Then we’ll progress to gliding.”
For most of his students, floating came easy. As easy as blowing bubbles.
“I’m going to help you lie back in the water.” He placed one hand between her shoulder blades and the other on her lower back. “Lie back. My hands will support you. Nice and easy…”
She did as instructed, her feet rising to the surface. Her eyes were wide, but she smiled. “I’m floating! I’m really doing it!”
And then her butt dropped like a weight.
She flailed her arms, hitting Liam in the face as she torqued her body and rolled right off his supporting hands. She face-planted into the water, splashing him and going under.
He hauled her up by the waist. She gasped and coughed and spit pool water everywhere.
“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He held her against him. “I’m right here.”
She hiccupped and coughed some more, then balled up her fists and smacked them into his chest. “Why does it have to be so hard?”
It was hard. Everything, in fact, was hard beneath the water at that moment. He forced his mind off what was happening below his waist. “That was my fault. I should have had a better grip on you.”
She raised her face, water dripping from her curls, and relaxed her fingers against his pecs. “I’m not an idiot. I panicked. That’s not your fault. It’s mine.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Again.”
He had to admire the fact she was taking responsibility. “Let’s say we both could have done better.”
Her fingers splayed across his skin, and he had to shift his lower half back a little to be sure she didn’t come into contact with his erection. Maybe if he got her talking, he could put her at ease again. “So what do you do for a living, Becca?”
“I’m a project analyst at Dive, the swim line for Elite Sports. I pretty much make sure all the initiatives get put into production. But I’m the internal face. I have an account manager that handles client interface and getting our designs into stores. It’s better that way.”
“Why?” He maneuvered her into a floating position again.
“I tend to be too honest with clients and don’t bullshit them like a salesperson has to.” She shrugged. “They like a little more handholding.” She giggled. “Make that a lot of handholding.”
He understood that concept. As she leaned back into his arms, he carefully avoided her butt and slid his right hand down to the back of her thigh. “We’re going to do this a little differently this time. I’m not trying to feel you up, but you need some buoyancy on your lower half.”
She giggled again. “It’s fine. I know what you’re doing.”
He looked down into her face and held her in the float position. “Elite Sports is a big company. How long have you been there?”
He kept her talking about her job, and before they both knew it, she was floating. She was talking about her friend, Vanessa, and some prank she had pulled on the Tribots—whoever they were—and Liam slowly let go.
She continued to float, all on her own, as she confessed to her secret addiction to
chocolate and some reality TV series he’d never watched but overheard the Club women talking about. Then he raised his hands and showed them to her.
Understanding slowly dawned on her face. “I’m floating? All on my own?”
He nodded, and she froze. Down went her ass, and up went her arms, windmilling like before. This time, however, he was prepared. He swooped in with one arm and snagged her waist to keep her from sinking.
A repeat of their past chest-to-chest mamba occurred, only this time, she didn’t beat him with her fists. “I’m never going to swim, am I?”
He made sure she was steady on her feet, then headed for the edge of the pool. “Wait right there.”
He climbed out of the pool and grabbed a kickboard. On the way past the bench, he snagged her flippers. Back in the water, he lifted her up and sat her on the edge, then slipped the flippers on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Just hang with me.” After securing the flippers, he lifted her back into the water and demonstrated how to use the kickboard. He kicked back to her and handed her the board. “Your turn.”
Hesitantly, she fingered the board. “I don’t know about this.”
“I do.” He wrapped one hand around her arm and the other around her waist. “I’ve got you. Now do exactly what I did. Ready?”
She shook her head but held the board out in front of her. “Should I hum?”
“What?”
“Should I hum? You know, like when you taught me to blow bubbles.”
He laughed. “Whatever rocks your world, Becca.”
She smiled. “Are you making fun of me?”
“Never.” He positioned her in the water, kept her from sinking. “Now kick those legs, hard.”
With his help, she scooted across the pool from one side to the other. Her face morphed into that self-satisfied look she got every time she accomplished something. She lowered her feet and nearly jumped up and down in the water. “I did it. I kinda, sorta swam!”
“Yep.” He enjoyed seeing that look on her face, and the bobbing up and down in the water wasn’t terrible either. “You did.”