Not That Kind of Girl

by Susan Donovan

  Still, to this day, Josie was sure she’d caught the brass ring with Rick. Ginger still felt the same about Lucio. So Roxanne prayed her friends were right but waited in the wings to offer them solace, just in case.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Roxie allowed a self-satisfied smile to spread across her face. She felt smug, and so very grateful she hadn’t jumped out of her seat at the sound of that voice. She turned and looked up. “Hello, Eli. Thanks for coming.”

  He pulled out the chair across from her. He tipped his hat back a bit and leveled his gaze, studying her. “Rough couple nights, huh?” he asked.

  Roxanne laughed, somehow relieved to get that out of the way. She stared down into her cup. “Well, truthfully, yes. When I wasn’t busy reading about you online, I was ordering crap I don’t need from the cable shopping channel.”

  She heard his chuckle and decided to meet his eye once more. Holy shit, that man is gorgeous, was all that went through her mind.

  “Buy anything for me?”

  She laughed again, thinking, How the hell am I supposed to pretend that I haven’t spent the last nine months picturing this guy naked? “Do you have any need for a vibrating eyelash curler?” she asked.

  “Not in the foreseeable future.”

  “How about a holiday nail care collection featuring twenty-five festive polish colors and a year’s supply of emery boards?”

  “Can’t say that I do,” he said, pursing his lips while the lines around his eyes crinkled in amusement. “What else you got?”

  Roxanne leaned back into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest, sighing deeply. “What I got, Eli, is one incredibly fucked-up dog.”

  He nodded kindly, and in that deep-velvet-mellow voice of his he said, “It kind of looks that way, Roxie Bloom.” She watched him take a slow, deep breath. “Did you bring a copy of her records?”

  “Yup.” Roxie reached in the bag at her feet and pulled out a manila envelope. “Everything’s in there—the report from the rescue group, her adoption papers, all her shot records and vet visits. I even enclosed the letters I got from the dog trainers who kicked her out of class.”

  “Wonderful. Thank you.” Eli pulled the papers out and glanced at them quickly before he shoved them back inside the envelope sleeve and slid it back across the table.

  “You don’t want to keep them? You’re not going to read them?” Roxanne asked, puzzled.

  “Nope. Just wanted to make sure she was up to date on her shots.”

  “Hmmph,” Roxie said, thinking that all he had to do was ask her for that information, for God’s sake. Maybe he didn’t trust her to tell the truth. Men.

  Why does this particular man have to be so drop-dead hot?

  “Now, before we get started, there’s one thing I need to ask you.”

  Roxie felt her eyes go wide. “Of course,” she said, her head spinning with the possibilities. What did he want to know? she wondered. Are you seeing anyone? Do you know how wrong I was to turn you down for lunch? Do you think you could orgasm at just the sound of my voice? (Why, yes, Eli! I believe I could!)

  “How do you picture your ideal relationship with Lilith?” was his question.

  “Huh?”

  “Lilith,” he repeated. “Your dog. Picture the perfect relationship with Lilith. What do you see?”

  “Oh.” Roxanne flipped her hair over her shoulder, slightly embarrassed that her imagination had roamed so far off topic. That had been a good question, and it just so happened that she’d asked herself that very thing many times over.

  “I want us to enjoy each other’s company,” she said, her voice confident. “I want Lilith to stay calm and feel safe, no matter where we go, what we do, or who we’re with. I don’t want to worry that she might growl, lunge, froth at the mouth, or bite again. I just want to have fun with my dog.”

  Eli blinked a few times, then unleashed one of those supernova smiles that seemed to appear for no reason, without any effort. Roxanne had never seen anyone—man or woman—produce such a white-toothed, full-faced smile of joy without it looking fake. Where did that smile of his come from? she wondered. Why did she find it so engaging? And why did it feel so fascinatingly familiar?

  “Good answer. Now tell me why,” he said.

  “Why what?” Roxie sat up straighter.

  “The ideal relationship you just described with your dog—why do you want that?”

  She smiled a little, enjoying the way this conversation challenged her. She might have known the answer to Eli’s first question, but that was where her introspection had ended. “You know, I’m not sure why, exactly. Give me a minute to think about that, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  Roxie closed her eyes. She was prepared to reach deep down into her heart for some kind of sensible reply, but, as it turned out, a deep reach wasn’t necessary. The answer was lurking right below the surface. But as the words formed in her mind, she was hit with a wall of emotion. Loss. Longing. Sadness. She tried to stop it, but tears began to well behind her eyelids. It took a moment before she could speak.

  “Because we both need some peace,” she whispered. Even though her eyes were tightly closed, the tears threatened to drop onto her cheeks. “I don’t want to fight anymore. I’m exhausted. All I want is to love my dog and have her be happy.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “I want to get rid of the garbage so there’s room for happiness.”

  When her words got no response from Eli, Roxie figured she’d made a fool of herself with her blubbering. With a nervous laugh, she swiped at her cheeks. “I must sound like Wayne Dyer on crack or something.”

  That’s when the strangest thing happened. Roxie was treated to a slide show of emotions playing on Eli’s face. First, he looked stunned. Next, he seemed slightly amused. Then, he looked downright proud of her.

  The rest happened quite fast—his smile softened and his green eyes darkened. His breathing slowed and his jaw twitched. And Roxanne swore she could feel him ripping her clothes off with his eyes. Her whole body began to tremble.

  Okay, perhaps the part about undressing her with his eyes was wishful thinking, but still, something extremely powerful had just passed between them, and not a single word had been spoken. It made their barnyard kiss seem like a snippet of static electricity.

  She tilted her head and stared at him, befuddled. He was the most unusual man she’d ever met, and the effect he had on her was stranger still. He had a calm charisma. He was dominant and masculine but gentle. And the combination of those traits seemed to soothe Roxie and stimulate her at the same time. She couldn’t put a name to it, but whatever was going on between them seemed like a chemical reaction of sorts, a collision of Eli’s assured maleness and Roxie’s mishmash of longing and anger and need.

  They studied each other for a moment, then Eli sprang up from his seat.

  “Let’s walk,” he said, nearly tossing aside his wrought-iron chair as he moved from the table.

  Roxanne smiled, relieved that the unnaturally serene Eli Gallagher could be made uncomfortable. She took her time disposing of her coffee cup, then caught up with him at the curb. His back remained to her.

  “So, where are we headed?” she asked, trying to sound casual.

  Eli looked down at her. Because his eyes were shaded by the brim of his silly hat, she didn’t have a clue what was going on with him. Suddenly, he burst out laughing.

  “What?” she asked, surprised by his reaction.

  “I believe we’re headed into unknown territory,” he said.

  “Seriously?” Roxie frowned up at him, a little disappointed. “So Lilith and I are an extreme case? You don’t have experience with this sort of thing? I thought you were some kind of guru or something.”

  He brought his hand to the small of her back and escorted her across the street, chuckling the whole way. When they reached the opposite curb, he smiled down at her. “I’m just a man, Roxie. But I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”

&n
bsp; * * *

  Sometimes, he marveled at the depth and breadth of his abilities. If there ever was a man who could make things happen simply by the force of his will, by the power of his mind, it was he, Raymond Julius Sandberg, Esquire. On occasion, it felt as if the world itself unfurled at his feet, a ruby-red carpet of possibility spread out to the horizon. All for him. Just him. Damn, but he loved this life he’d created for himself. It felt awfully good to be him.

  “Christ,” he muttered, a lightning sting of pain shooting down the side of his neck. The doctors had told him how lucky he was—the vicious she-devil of an attack dog had ripped some skin and a little muscle but had miraculously avoided tendons and arteries. Truly, he couldn’t have asked for a more jury-ready injury, a savage and hideous-looking bite wound that caused no permanent damage. Wasn’t that interesting? Even this nasty slice out of the right side of his neck was to his benefit. It might be slightly uncomfortable, but it would allow him to pull the plug on that fucking Roxie Bloom bitch forever.

  Raymond sighed with satisfaction. He led a charmed life. No doubt about it. A life where even his physical pain led to personal gain.

  “Is the light sufficient?” he asked his assistant. “Natural light is always best—is there enough? Should I turn a bit to the left?” Raymond adjusted his position to catch the maximum sunshine from his office suite window, suddenly doubting his new employee’s ability to execute this particular assignment. “Are you sure you know how to use a digital camera? These images will prove vital to my complaint. They must show how bruised and swollen I am, even two days after the stitches. Are you getting the caked blood?”

  Her response was borderline disrespectful. “Bruising and swelling, check. Caked blood, check.”

  Raymond rolled his eyes at the subpar attitude of his latest assistant. She was young. Extremely hot. Smart. But surly. Why did the hot ones always have attitude problems? Awkwardly enough, he suddenly couldn’t remember her name. It was Ricky or Randy or something inanely boyish, that he knew, because he’d almost condemned her résumé to the shredder pile when his eye caught reference to her four years in Stanford’s women’s tennis program.

  Looking at her now, in a tight little skirt and blouse, he could say with confidence that there was nothing boyish about that ass. She was all girl. All over.

  He smiled at her. “Maybe you should scoot over here and get a closer shot, Ricky,” he said, hoping his tone was at once suggestive and authoritative.

  “Dusty,” she said flatly. “And the zoom worked fine. Here.” She handed him the digital camera.

  Raymond felt a sudden hot rush of uncertainty. What was he supposed to do with the camera? He didn’t see any pictures on the screen! How was he supposed to find the pictures? How did he turn the fucking thing on? It enraged him that she’d seen his obvious lack of mastery over his own digital camera.

  “Ahh,” Ricky said, ripping the camera from his hand. She hit a few buttons. “There you go.” She shoved it back at him. “Click this arrow and you’ll see every picture I’ve taken, in the order taken. Can I go now?”

  Raymond’s lip began to twitch. Who did this little bitch think she was? He’d hired her from a pool of thousands of applicants. She was nothing. She wouldn’t even graduate for another two weeks. She wouldn’t start law school for another three months. Didn’t she know who he was? Didn’t she realize he could crush her? Ruin her before she even got started?

  True, she looked nothing like Roxie. This Ricky girl had curly reddish-blond hair and the palest gold eyes he’d ever seen. She was all peachy and perky and freckly, with a set of big tits and legs honed to perfection by Division 1 varsity tennis. Roxie, on the other hand, had been leaner and taller, and her looks were at the opposite end of the spectrum—strikingly dark hair and eyes and porcelain skin. Roxie’s boobs had been a nice handful, but they were at least a cup size smaller than this girl’s. Yet there was a similarity between them. Maybe it was the ridiculous, flippy sound of their names. Maybe it was the disrespectful attitudes.

  Roxie hadn’t always been that way, he knew. She’d started off in awe of him. She’d done whatever he said. She’d looked up to him. She’d admired him and catered to him and talked about having his children.

  Then she’d made it her life’s work to fuck him over.

  “You’re fired,” he told the disobedient Ricky.

  “Whaa—” she choked. “But … what did you just say, Mr. Sandberg?”

  “I said you’re fired.” Raymond tossed the camera to the leather inlay surface of his desk and rather jauntily circumvented his office suite, as if deep in thought. He headed for the door and put his hand on the knob. “Get out.”

  Ricky or Randy or whatever her name was, bless her little feminine soul, started to cry. She was sputtering and spewing and whimpering and her emotional implosion was just the kind he preferred—all helpless limbs and big, scared eyes.

  Raymond let his shoulders droop dramatically and nodded, as if he’d reached a difficult decision. He crossed over to where she stood on her three-inch heels, looking a bit shaky. He slid a hand around that firm waist and let it slide along the curve of her perfect hip. With his other hand he gestured for her to sit on the sofa.

  Once he got her snuggled up in the cushions, he joined her. Then he reached into his pants pocket for a clean, starched, monogrammed handkerchief, and noticed his dick was harder than Chinese calculus.

  “You are a very intelligent and capable young woman, Randy,” he murmured, insisting she take his hanky. “I chose you to be my assistant because I saw great potential in you. But the way you just spoke to me is unacceptable. Do you understand that?”

  She nodded, dabbing at the mascara pooling under her eyes. She looked like a twelve-year-old kid who’d just been yanked into the principal’s office.

  How perfect. He wanted to rip her clothes off.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sandberg,” she said, sniffling. “Please give me another chance. I … I just get a little woozy at the sight of blood, that’s all. I thought I was going to help with litigation when you hired me to be your assistant. You know, do legal research and draft briefs and stuff. I guess I got mad that you called me in here just to take pictures of your dog bite.”

  Raymond chuckled softly. He reached up and stroked her curls. She flinched, but just barely. He smiled at her, noticing how she’d started to breathe fast. He watched those luscious tits move under her blouse.

  “Randy, I am this firm. This is my creation. Sandberg and Associates would not exist if it weren’t for my reputation and skill. I am king here.”

  She nodded.

  “Your entire future is in my hands. If I like the work you do, you’re set for life. I may even hire you right out of Stanford Law as an associate. Someday you could even be a partner! But if I’m not pleased …” Raymond trailed his fingers down to her collarbone. He watched her eyes flash, but she didn’t move away. This was all very promising. “If I’m not pleased, I’ll fire you. For real next time. And I’ll make your life a living hell if you try to practice law in this town.”

  She gasped. But it was a small gasp. She’d obviously tried to suppress it.

  “If you are to be my assistant, you will remember all that I’ve just explained to you, and you will afford me the respect I deserve. Do you understand?” Raymond let his hand fall to the top button of her blouse, and he insinuated a finger down into her cleavage. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Well, do you?” he repeated.

  “Yes,” she said meekly.

  “And, should there ever be any kind of unpleasant misunderstanding between us, no one would ever take your word over mine. The idea is laughable.”

  She stared at him, but he knew she got the message.

  “Good.” Raymond removed his hand from between her perfect tits and then gave her knee a friendly pat. He stood up and smiled at her. She looked baffled. Once more, her mouth hung open.

  Raymond liked the view from where he stood, looking down on
her young, pretty, confused face—and open mouth. It wouldn’t be long before she spent most of her time on her knees exactly like this, with his dick between her lips. Just like all his other assistants.

  “How would you like to help me prepare for vicious dog court?” he asked her brightly. “It will be our job to convince the hearing officer that the horrible animal who did this to me should be destroyed.”

  Ricky’s brow crumpled. “Destroyed?”

  “Euthanized. To protect the public from further attacks.”

  She bit her lip. “Uh, well, okay, I guess,” she said.

  “It was a pit bull, you know,” he added.

  “Oh,” Randy said, nodding, as if that explained everything. “What exactly do you want me to do, Mr. Sandberg?”

  God, he loved his life.

  * * *

  Eli hadn’t planned for this.

  It seemed that beneath all of Roxanne’s anger lurked a smart and sensitive woman. The way she’d described her perfect relationship with her dog had been the most insightful answer he’d ever received from a prospective client.

  And he wasn’t comparing it to the real doozies he’d gotten over the years, either, like the guy who thought having control over his Doberman pinscher in public would make chicks dig him. No, Roxanne’s answer was the best—period.

  She didn’t mention control. She didn’t say she was embarrassed or ashamed of her dog. She didn’t need to prove anything to herself or others. She simply wanted peace to replace the struggle, so that there would be room for happiness.

  He hadn’t expected an answer like that from Roxanne. Eli was aware that there was more to Roxanne than her Web site or her anger, of course. Everyone had multiple aspects to their personality. It was what made us human. And Bea had given him a heads-up the other day by assuring him that Roxie was a pussycat in a porcupine suit. He smiled at the memory.

  But from what he could tell, Roxanne was far more complex than he realized. In addition to the father issues and bad dating karma, she happened to be funny. She possessed a deep compassion for her dog. She truly cared for her friends. She was willing to try something new. And when Roxie smiled …