All Work and No Play... (In Bed with the Boss 3)

by Julie Cohen

  Scratch that, she liked him a lot.

  But she worked with him. In fact, he worked for her; she was his employer. And what they’d done was way, way beyond the professional.

  He tossed the condom into a nearby bin and then looked back at her with that warm, humorous grin.

  ‘That was the best idea I have ever had,’ he said.

  He looked quite ridiculously happy, even with his trousers and underwear still pooled around his shoe-clad feet, and Jane swallowed. She really did like him a lot. But that didn’t mean that this had been a good idea, at all.

  Her career was all she had left, and she’d jeopardised it, yet again, by mixing it up with her love life.

  She bit her lip, and ran her hands through her untidy hair.

  Jay was kicking off his shoes, and then he pulled up his boxers and trousers. The sex-saturated part of her was sorry to lose the sight of his naked lower half, but the sensible part of her was relieved, because she didn’t need any more temptation tonight.

  ‘So what would you like to do now?’ he asked her cheerfully. ‘Shall we go find something to eat, or would you like to explore the rest of that fant—?’

  He stopped abruptly when he met her gaze, and she saw his expression transform from happiness to concern. He closed the small distance between them.

  ‘Jane? Are you all right?’

  She cleared her throat, because she wanted her voice to be steady when she told him she was going to have to leave. ‘I’m fine. But, Jay—’

  He frowned. ‘Don’t call me that, sweetheart. Not while we’re alone.’

  Jane frowned back at him. ‘What do you want me to call you?’

  ‘By my real name.’ He tilted his head in that way he had and gave her a half-smile, straightening the strap of her dress.

  ‘What’s your real name?’

  He looked as if he was about to laugh, and then he apparently read the confusion on her face, because he stopped and shook his head. ‘You’re funny, Jane, but it’s not a game now.’

  Something was wrong. Her stomach sank, felt cold. Jane stepped around him, away from the wall, so she wasn’t so close. ‘What do you mean, a game? This wasn’t a game.’

  Jay’s beautiful face was just about the most expressive thing she’d ever seen. The look on it now made her feel even colder; it was dawning dismay.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ he said.

  ‘What’s going on, Jay?’ she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest. As if that could erase what they’d just done.

  ‘You don’t know who I am, do you?’

  ‘You’re Jay Richard, the model we hired for the Franco cologne campaign. Except you said that’s not your real name.’

  Had he been deceiving her, somehow? Playing with her? Anger began to filter in, nearly as strong as her mounting panic. ‘Have you lied to me?’

  ‘I—’ Jay ran his hands through his hair. ‘Jane, I’m Jonny.’

  ‘You’re—’

  She felt her legs wobble underneath her and she grabbed at the bathroom door handle, the nearest solid object. Jay—no, wait, Jonny—put his hand out to steady her, but she backed away from him.

  ‘Jonny?’ she gasped. ‘Jonathan Cole? My Jonny?’

  ‘Yeah. I—I thought you knew.’

  She couldn’t quite breathe. She shook her head. He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and she thought she was probably doing exactly the same thing to him.

  Her thoughts whirled around her brain at about a million miles a minute and she had no idea what to say so she said the first thing that occurred to her.

  ‘Where are your glasses?’

  ‘On the desk, near the laptop. I’m wearing contacts.’ His voice also sounded stunned.

  Automatically, she looked over at the desk, seeing again his laptop open on it. His laptop where he’d told her exactly what to do on their date together.

  She looked back at Jonny. Jane could see a definite emotion beginning to dawn on his face, beyond surprise.

  Guilt.

  Her own emotions came into sharp focus.

  ‘You gave me instructions on what to do on our date?’ she cried.

  Jonny held up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘You didn’t mean to? You mean you told me how to have sex with you by mistake?’

  She didn’t feel wobbly any more; she felt furious. She stepped forward from the wall and Jonny stepped back.

  ‘You did ask me first,’ he pointed out. He still looked guilty.

  ‘I asked you what you would like on a hypothetical date of your own, not on an actual date with me!’

  ‘Jane—’ He reached towards her again, but then seemed to think better of it. ‘You enjoyed it, though, didn’t you?’

  Enjoyed it? She still was feeling aftershocks of pleasure. Her body wanted to leap on him again and see what they could do up against another wall.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said instead. ‘The point is that you didn’t tell me who you were and then you—’ She looked down at herself. ‘You even told me what to wear.’ Her pulse was racing with anger, but she felt her cheeks begin to flush, too. With humiliation.

  ‘I did tell you who I was. I sent you an email.’

  ‘I didn’t get it.’

  He frowned. ‘It must have gone missing. Didn’t you—?’

  ‘In any case, you didn’t try all that hard to identify yourself. You let me call you Jay.’

  ‘Yes, when we were with other people. I told you, I don’t want people to know who I really am.’

  ‘Including me,’ she said bitterly. She tried to remember whether she’d called him Jay when they were alone. She wasn’t certain, but she must have done, at least once? In the throes of passion, perhaps? Her face got hotter.

  ‘I thought you knew who I was,’ he said. ‘You acted as if you recognised me, when you first saw me.’

  ‘I’d seen your photographs.’

  ‘And you didn’t recognise me from them, either? Jane, we’ve known each other for years.’

  ‘You—’ You used to be a geek, and now you’re perfect. She couldn’t say that. ‘You weren’t wearing your glasses.’

  ‘You didn’t recognise me because I wasn’t wearing glasses?’ He sounded incredulous. ‘It is Clark Kent in reverse,’ he muttered.

  ‘We were eleven the last time we saw each other,’ Jane defended herself. ‘A lot has changed.’

  ‘Not that much,’ Jonny said, and this time his voice was sad. ‘I recognised you right away.’

  Jane couldn’t help but think of what she’d looked like the last time she’d seen Jonny. She’d been a tomboy, with tangled hair and probably a dirty T-shirt and skinned knees.

  And apparently she hadn’t changed at all.

  She’d thought she couldn’t get any more humiliated, but it crept further along her spine, made her want to double over and cover her head with her arms and run away.

  ‘I trusted you,’ she said, and her voice wobbled. Tears burned dangerously close to the surface.

  She’d trusted him, both as Jonny and Jay, and now they both knew that she was so hopeless at being a desirable woman that she had to get instructions from the man she was dating on how to be sexy.

  ‘Jane—’ Jonny reached for her again with his strong arms. She could see softness, maybe pity, in his eyes. He wanted to hug her, to comfort her, and this was her friend and now her lover, and she’d exposed more of herself to him than she’d shown to anyone in a very long time.

  If she cried in front of him that would be the final helpless step in her destruction.

  She stepped quickly to one side and pulled open the hotel-room door. Anger was strong, and anger would save her.

  ‘I never want to see you again,’ she said, and wheeled out of the door.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JANE turned her chair so it was facing away from the full-length windows looking out into the rest of the office, and massaged her aching cheeks. Fake smiles must use more muscles than real ones, an
d she’d been at it all day.

  Somebody knocked on her door. Instantly Jane whirled around in her chair, her expression composed and friendly. ‘Come in.’

  Amy, her art director, entered. She was small and cute and, currently, the only other woman working in the creative team at Pearce Grey. In usual circumstances, Jane supposed this would bond them together. She’d expected them to bond together when Amy had been hired. She wasn’t quite sure why they hadn’t.

  ‘I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’ Amy asked, poking her head inside. The query was pure politeness; the entire office could see, if they wanted to, that Jane wasn’t deep in work.

  ‘Not at all, please come in.’

  Amy entered and perched on the armchair across from Jane’s desk. Her dark brown fringe flopped in her eyes until she flicked it aside. ‘Well, I have to thank you,’ she said.

  Jane smiled. This time, for real. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love photo shoots. I love them. The clothes and the noise and those hot lights.’ She gave a little shudder of pleasure. ‘And the models. Thank you for asking me to go, Jane.’

  ‘How is it going?’

  It was purely a professional question, of course. Jane was in charge of the Giovanni Franco campaign and therefore she needed to be up to speed on every aspect of its production. It wasn’t a question about Jonny at all. In fact, she’d been too busy to think about Jonny all day.

  Except for every five minutes or so when she was broadsided by a sensual memory of them tearing at each other’s clothes. Or a sickening memory of herself, typing her heart out onto her laptop.

  ‘Great! Absolutely perfect.’ Amy sighed happily. ‘We made completely the right decision choosing Jay Richard as a model. The guy is a natural for Franco cologne. He’s got that relaxed attitude, you know?’

  ‘He was relaxed?’ Yes. It made sense that Jonny would be relaxed, even after what had happened last night. He’d probably had a hearty post-coital dinner and then tumbled into a restful post-coital sleep.

  ‘He’s got a talent in front of the camera. And he’s such a nice bloke! Not at all up himself. Very friendly.’

  Yes, you should see how friendly he likes to get with his friends. Jane did her best to look interested.

  ‘And delectable, of course. He had his shirt off at one point. My God.’ Amy pretended to fan herself.

  ‘Are you looking for a boyfriend?’ Jane asked, a little too quickly.

  Amy laughed. ‘As if a model would be interested in a twenty-seven-year-old single mum. No, I was just window-shopping.’ She evidently caught Jane’s expression and her smile faded. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘No.’ Jane rubbed her forehead and gave Amy another smile, this one rueful. ‘I’ve been working too hard, I guess.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a lot on. I was thinking about creative director some day, you know, but, watching you, I don’t think I could cope with the workload. I work hard, but you’re amazing.’

  ‘Just dedicated.’

  Not quite dedicated enough, though, apparently. Checking up on how the photo shoot was going should have been Jane’s job; it was the sort of thing she prided herself on doing, the little extra bit of personal care for Pearce Grey’s clients. But this morning, the thought of going to see Jonny posing in front of a camera had been too much to bear.

  ‘Well, thank you for asking me to go this morning. Apparently Thom Erikson is throwing a party on Friday and is inviting the whole office. Did you know about that?’

  ‘Yes.’ She’d found out at lunch yesterday and forgotten to send out a memo when she got back to work, because she’d been too preoccupied with her upcoming date. Just another ball she’d dropped. ‘I don’t think I can go. Work,’ she added.

  ‘Too bad. I hear his parties are legendary. And Thom’s cute, even more hunky than his models. I’m definitely getting a babysitter for that night. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Though I doubt Thom Erikson would be interested in a single mum, either.’ Amy perked up. ‘The model asked after you, by the way.’

  Jane had thought she was sitting up straight, but at that she became even straighter. ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He wanted to know why you hadn’t come yourself. I told him how busy you were.’ Amy played with the hem of her jumper for a minute, and then met Jane’s eyes. ‘Jane, are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jane said automatically, then thought twice. Amy wasn’t Gary; she appeared to have no alternative agenda for asking how she was. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, you know, I haven’t worked here long, but you’re always so busy, and then it’s not like you not to go to the shoot yourself. And you seem pretty preoccupied, even considering how important this campaign is. And then even Jay asked if you were all right, and I figure if someone who barely knows you is concerned about you, then …’ She trailed off. ‘Well, anyway, I wondered.’

  Amy’s green eyes were full of kindness, and for a moment Jane was tempted to confide in her. She remembered what a relief it had felt yesterday when she’d typed Jonny the truth about her break-up. And how, when he’d told her about his father, it had seemed as if a burden was being lifted from him.

  But then, of course, Jonny was evidently a very good actor. And maybe he’d felt as if he owed her a confidence in return for her blatantly showing him her insecurities. Some people worked like that, as if secrets and vulnerability were commodities.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jane said, and in her head she heard Jonny’s voice saying, I know you’ve got a better vocabulary than that, even when you’re lying.

  ‘I’m splendid, actually.’ She stood up and gave Amy her widest smile.

  She genuinely liked Amy, so it only hurt a little.

  The glimmer of relief she had when she turned her key in the lock of her flat, home at last, died away as soon as she actually opened her door.

  The place was so empty. And the hours ahead of her, even though she’d worked late, even more empty.

  Habit sent her straight across the hardwood floor to her desk in the corner of the living room. She toed off her shoes, giving an involuntary sigh of blessed freedom for her feet, and pressed her laptop’s ‘on’ button.

  It hadn’t finished booting up yet when she realised she’d autopiloted herself straight to the worst place in the room.

  For the past few months, even when Gary had been around, this had been her favourite seat in the house. Her computer hadn’t been a piece of machinery; it had been a direct line to somebody else, someone who cared. She would come home from work and look straight away for a message from Jonny. Something warm and human, even though it was through a machine.

  Quite often, Jonny was online in the evening at the same time she was; he worked all hours on his computer stuff. She’d pour herself a glass of wine and chat with him, about nothing, and laugh.

  Jane stared at the screen, now blossoming into colour and icons.

  It was a computer. It wasn’t a magic portal to her friend. It was plastic, wires, microchips, a screen that had made her feel safe enough to reveal herself.

  Her chat program launched itself, and she saw that Jonny was online. She immediately shut the program down, before he could hail her.

  Her inbox popped up too and she watched the numbers of unread messages mount up. There were two from Jonny. She noticed his return address without wanting to. Swiftly, she turned the computer off before she could even read the topic lines of his emails. She didn’t care what he wanted to say to her.

  Because the screen went blank she didn’t realise right away that she was crying.

  He had been one of the few comfortable things left in her life. And now he was gone.

  Briefly, she buried her face in her hands. Her skull felt fragile underneath her skin, and her tears were hot.

  Somebody knocked on the door.

  Jane jumped out of her chair. Jonny knew where she lived, didn’t he? Had he been online on a mobile device, hoping to talk with her as he travelled to her fla
t?

  Surely he wouldn’t turn up, not after what she’d said and what had happened between them. But he’d called her at work, both this morning and this afternoon; she’d pretended to be too busy to take his calls.

  Her stomach fluttered and she wasn’t sure whether it was dread or anticipation.

  She crossed to the door and looked out of the peephole. Only when she saw Gary’s face did she remember that he’d asked her if he could come round to pick up a few things.

  This feeling wasn’t ambivalent; it was disappointment, pure and simple.

  ‘Just a second,’ she called through the door, because if she didn’t answer he’d most likely let himself in with his own set of keys. The knock had been courtesy, like his asking permission to come round; in reality, Gary still owned half of this flat, at least until she bought his share from him.

  She hurried to the kitchen, splashed her face with cold water, and wiped it on a tea towel. She’d promised herself that Gary would never see her crying again. Even if, this time, it had nothing to do with him.

  Freshening up done, she opened the door, hoping she’d eliminated all traces of her tears. Her skin was always pale, she knew, and tended to show pinkness around her eyes and nose.

  ‘Gary,’ she said, not exactly in greeting, and stepped aside to let him in.

  It was odd, but even in this flat, which they’d shared for two years, Gary looked like a stranger. He stood in the room, clearing his throat and fiddling with his shirt cuffs. She wondered if she had ever found those mannerisms endearing; she couldn’t remember. In fact, she couldn’t remember looking at him closely at all.

  ‘Kathleen said she ran into you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ Jane replied. ‘Tell me, Gary, what attracted you most to her—her breasts, her cheap shoes, or her ability to balance heavy trays of food?’

  Gary rolled his eyes. That trait wasn’t endearing, either. ‘Jane, that comment isn’t worthy of you.’

  Jane took a deep breath, and dropped the sarcasm. ‘I just have a hard time understanding your motivation. You always encouraged me to go for promotion at work. It seemed important to you that I had a successful career. I’m wondering if that was never actually true, or if you’ve changed your mind about what you want in a woman.’