by J. A. Dennam
Play in the rain…his subtle reminder of her sorry state when they met was a low blow. She rewarded him with a bland smile. “Oh, you shouldn’t concern yourself with getting wet, Ethan. Most filling stations come with a really big canopy overhead.”
He shrugged. “I’m good with that. If you can manage to hold your tongue for nine hours straight, I win either way.”
“You know what I think?” Ken asked from his office doorway. “That you two need to spend more quality time together.”
As panic set in, Brooke leaned around the partition to find her new boss massaging his temples. “That’s not necessary, sir.”
“I want at least an hour on that transition file starting now,” he snapped. “And no bickering!”
“But it’ll be almost six o’clock before—”
“And if it keeps up, you’ll give me another hour tomorrow.” Before either of them could argue, he retreated back into his office, leaving the door open a crack.
Ethan blew out a frustrated breath. “Yes, sir.”
By the end of Tuesday, Brooke was glumly searching the forecast for days with no rain. Why she ever agreed to Ethan’s challenge was a mystery. She could have just left things the way they were, but she’d know better from now on. How could she possibly outsell him when all he seemed to get were female clients? They melted like butter at the sound of his voice—instantly succumbed to his crafty words and whisky-coated chuckles.
It was painfully clear that she’d have to adjust her strategy, turn on some charm of her own. Gaining new clients had been a struggle for Monroe Graphics in the last year or so, but Brooke had been distanced from that department for a long time while deeply engrossed in other facets of the business.
No, the only explanation for Monroe Graphics’ failure was Stanley Monroe. Her father had fought retirement until it was too late, and he had simply grown lax. She had detected the fatigue, but had failed to sense the impact of his neglect. It just wasn’t like him. Then to sell out and move to their second home in Dallas before the ink had even dried….
Did that man even know how shell-shocked, grief-stricken, and painfully alone he’d left his daughter? Why hadn’t he warned her? Why hadn’t he tried harder to leave her something or at least allowed her the opportunity to try to save the business?
“Looks like you’re in luck for the rest of the week,” Ethan said from the other side of the wall. “There’s rain in the forecast every day until Monday.”
Having worked up a good anger, Brooke sniped, “Oh joy,” and instantly thanked the heavens that Ken had already left for the day.
“Come on, it’s not so bad. Want to play double or nothing? Tomorrow may be your lucky day.”
“Fuck off.”
As soon as the words escaped her mouth, an exaggerated gasp came over the partition. She put her face in her hands.
“Why, Miss Monroe,” Ethan gushed. “Such language. Is this what I can expect from my personal secretary?”
Brooke slammed her palms against the desk, pushed off, and stalked around to his side. He was munching on a candy corn, deeply engrossed in his computer screen, clearly not intimidated by the fact she hovered like a lethal cloud. Her eyes darted to the glass bowl of candy. She grabbed it, picked out one of the brightly colored triangles and held it up. While Ethan watched, she gave it a good long lick and then buried the contaminated piece deep in the bowl. When she slammed it down with a thunk, he appeared to be in shock, which filled her with childish satisfaction.
“That…,” he said as she stomped back to her desk, “…was grossly immature.”
Tucking her skirt beneath her, she calmly reclaimed her seat. “Want to tell me again how you like your coffee?”
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
“Neither can I, but I feel much, much better now.”
“Guess I should have known that losing to me would turn you into even more of a bitch.”
“Good.” Ken’s voice came from around the corner. He appeared with briefcase and keys in hand, startling them both. “I see we’re all geared up to spend another hour on that file.”
Brooke opened her mouth to argue.
“And,” he added before she could, “I think it’s only fitting you do it in the corner office. Don’t you?” He looked between them as if expecting a comment. When only tense silence followed, he nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
5
TEN MINUTES INTO THEIR PUNISHMENT, BROOKE sat with her face on the desk and her high-heeled shoes in the corner. Ethan stood at the window, hands in his pockets watching the rush-hour traffic go by. They hadn’t spoken a word since the door closed. Not a lick of productivity had been accomplished, but it was highly suspected that their boss could care less about the two-inch file.
Ethan was the first to crack. “This is torture.”
With a heavy sigh, Brooke peeled her face from the desk and propped it between her palms. “Yup.”
He twisted around and fixed her with a look. The top of his shirt was unbuttoned revealing a hint of firm, tanned skin. “Want to order Chinese?”
Her natural inclination was to say no, but her stomach rumbled in agreement instead. “Sure.”
He took out his cell phone and hesitated. “Do I need to worry that my food will find its way into any of your orifices?”
The absurdity of his statement accompanied by his censuring glare made it difficult for her not to smile. “Not if we eat without speaking,” she managed with a straight face.
A while later, the air was thick with the aromas of chow mein, pot stickers, and orange sesame chicken. Brooke had solved their bickering problem by pulling up an episode of “Revenge” on the computer, which Ethan agreed to as long as she didn’t get any ideas. They watched TV and ate in silence, relaxed, feet up and—most importantly—quiet. When their time was nearly up, the door opened. Shannon’s head popped through it.
“Ooh, dinner and a movie,” she crooned. “Isn’t that…cozy?”
Brooke choked on a mouthful of noodles. Ethan paused the show, his profile stern with annoyance. “What are you still doing here?”
Shannon walked over and snatched one of his pot stickers. “Waiting for you.” She took a dainty bite, the small dumpling clasped between two pink fingernails. “We were supposed to have a beer after work, remember?”
How cozy, Brooke thought with an internal snarl. She picked up her drink and loudly sucked out the last of its contents.
Ethan picked up his own soda. “It’ll have to be tomorrow.”
“That’s the second time you postponed on me,” Shannon argued.
“Sorry.” He jerked a thumb in Brooke’s direction. “Blame her.”
“Excuse me?” Brooke said through her straw.
“You’re the reason we keep having to stay late.”
“Unbelievable.” She got up and started clearing away her share of the mess.
Shannon helped him clean up his and asked, “Is there a rule that says you can’t be out past six?”
“I have a date.”
“With who?”
“My neighbor.”
That was a friggin’ surprise. Brooke went for her shoes, promising herself not to ever again give Ken a reason to punish her this way.
Shannon wrinkled her nose. “Mable Shoemaker? Isn’t she like eighty years old?”
Ethan gathered up his jacket and briefcase. “Seventy-nine. I promised to escort her during a sunset walk on the beach in exchange for a loaf of banana bread.”
As the three of them walked out together, Brooke felt the tug of a reluctant smile. Shannon outright laughed, shook her head. “You whore.”
“You don’t understand.” He leaned down and whispered, “It’s really good banana bread.”
By the end of the next day, Brooke was regretting her decision not to compete for double or nothing. Her phone soliciting had paid off in a big way, leaving Ethan in a cloud of dust.
Moreover, a sign that read “Respect the corn!�
� had been taped to the side of his new lidded jar that was secured with a small padlock. Why he’d chosen to do that rather than simply lock the whole thing in a desk drawer was beyond her. On occasion, she’d hear him open the jar, take out a small pile of candy, and then replace the lock. It made her smile every time since such acts of paranoia—in fact, anything that made his life more difficult—put joy in her heart.
Surely, they were neck-and-neck in sales, especially now that the bids were rolling out and coming back signed. It was getting harder to secure times for the conference room, and some client meetings would have to be held in one of the empty offices. She and Ethan alone were keeping Shannon busy, never mind what the other two account specialists were bringing in.
Still, they both had yet to secure any big, new, VP-winning accounts.
Roger spent more than a little time at her desk, getting regular updates. Shannon also kept close tabs on things, clearly rooting for team Ethan. In doing so, Roger and Shannon had struck a little bet of their own as to who would win the position.
Since she and Ethan had already spent their lunch hour with the dreaded two-inch file, Brooke rejoiced in the fact that Ken had no reason to keep them after work and had gone home early himself. She knew because she watched him from the hall of windows, making sure to track his progress all the way to the first stoplight. Not that she planned to fight with Ethan, but it was nice to know their boss wasn’t within earshot just in case.
What a silly man to think that forcing them together would solve their issues. Okay, maybe yesterday afternoon wasn’t so bad. She was sure it was because she and Ethan didn’t actually work and instead wasted an hour of their day in an idle, stress-free environment. It wasn’t as if Ken checked on their progress or anything.
But today she could go straight home, climb into her flannel pajamas, make dinner, and satisfy her creative side in her own studio until bedtime. Just like every other day….
Why did that sound so damned sad all of a sudden?
Roger showed up to see how things were going. Having shed his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, he appeared just as relaxed as when he’d worked for her father. At least some things remained familiar, she thought with a smile. He leaned against the partition and spoke low. “I take it you had a good day?”
For the first time, Brooke noticed how much she appreciated the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled at her. His presence had quickly become a breath of fresh air amid the hostile work environment. She removed her glasses and returned his grin while rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. “I did, but I’m ready for a hot bath and a glass of wine.”
When she opened her eyes again, his blurry form was leaning in a little closer. “You have such beautiful eyes,” he observed. “Ever thought about wearing contacts?”
This time, his compliment had an effect. She felt a small warmth bloom in her chest as she put the wire-rimmed glasses back on her nose. Now she could clearly see the way his defined jawline actually made his lips look fuller, more inviting than she’d ever noticed before. “Do you think I should get contacts, Roger?” she asked softly.
“Oh, please,” an annoying voice came from over the partition. “If you two don’t get a room, I’ll be forced to wear my noise-cancelling headphones.”
The warmth turned into full-fledged heat that rose clear up to the roots of her hair. Roger stood up a little and peered over the partition with an air of amusement. “Dang, Wolf, you sure know how to piss on a moment.”
“I don’t know what kind of frolicking went on here before, but Ken doesn’t allow ‘moments’ between coworkers.”
Roger stifled a cough with his fist. Brooke widened her eyes, begging him not to bring up the darkroom, knowing exactly where his mind had just gone.
Ethan must have noticed because he too stood up and peered over the wall. “I’m right, aren’t I? You two are a couple.”
“We are not nor have we ever been a couple,” Brooke emphasized in a panic, fearing that Ethan may try to get one of them fired. “A man and woman can be good friends without more entering into it.”
His brow creased with a frown of doubt. “Sorry, Brooke, but guys have one-track minds. Whether you know it or not, your friend Roger has envisioned going to bed with you many times, just like he has done with all his other platonic female friends.”
“Daaaaaang!” It almost came out like a whine as Roger pierced him with a look that screamed shut up!
Ethan met it with a shrug. “It comes with the Y chromosome. Everyone seems to know it but her.”
Brooke watched with horrified fascination from her chair below. The two men were so close in size and height, she wouldn’t know the difference from behind if not for the hair. And the feet. Roger had enormous feet. Did he really want to sleep with her?
As the thought rolled through Brooke’s mind, Roger began to back away. “Dude, things just got awkward. I’m out of here.” He mimed a silent apology to Brooke and, with a casual walk, abandoned the administrative side of Monroe Graphics.
Brooke turned her rage on Ethan, who winked at her in return. “You’re welcome,” he said before disappearing back into his own workspace.
“For what?” she hissed. “Putting a strain on the only friendship I have in this office?”
“No, for opening your guileless little eyes to the ways of men.”
He was getting ready to leave. Most folks had already gone home, and Brooke had no desire to be the last one left in the office. She shut down her computer in a race to make a dramatic, angry exit. “Who knew you were such a sore loser,” she grumbled.
“Excuse me?”
She grabbed her briefcase and purse and turned off her light. “You’re just pissed because I did better than you today.”
Halfway down the darkened hall of windows, Ethan caught up to her as she sprint-walked toward reception. “Believe me, I’m used to competition, Brooke,” he said behind her, his voice taking on a tone of ridicule. “At least you won’t find me spewing profanity when I’m under pressure.”
Deciding against the elevator, she took a hard right and entered the stairwell. The door slammed in his face. She heard “shit!” and felt a jolt of supreme satisfaction for proving him wrong.
But it wasn’t long before he was sailing down the stairs behind her. “You know what your problem is? “ he asked, his tone more harried than before.
“That you didn’t take the elevator?” She clutched the strap of her purse high on her shoulder as she rounded each landing in the windowless, vertical tunnel of stairs.
“You’re mad at yourself for being duped,” he said.
Brooke made a face. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Why do you think your father sold Monroe Graphics without telling you?”
“Because he wanted to protect me.”
“No, because he could. You’ve ridden his coattails for so long, you never learned the basics of running a business or how to spot the warning signs when it’s in trouble.”
“It wasn’t in that much trouble,” she denied hotly.
“See? That’s what I mean. You may have connections, but you’re too naïve and too unobservant to do Ken any good as VP.”
They reached the ground floor at the same time where she turned on him in a fury. “It wasn’t my job to be observant, it was my father’s.”
“As senior manager, it wasn’t your job?”
She couldn’t exactly tell him her role as senior manager was a bit different than most. She’d stepped into it to replace her ailing mother, but she had largely remained a part of the creative department.
As she pondered her answer, Ethan stepped closer, his energy wreaking more havoc on her frazzled nerves. This anger between them was more charged than anything she’d experienced, and damn it, she knew it was mostly her fault. But she couldn’t help it. He was stealing her future.
His voice rumbled above her. “Vice presidents don’t make excuses, Brooke.”
“I’m not,
” she ground out. “Things were run differently, that’s all. If I had been in charge, this takeover would have never happened, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let you sink your hooks into me any further than they already are.”
His eyes darkened to a stormy blue. “I think you hate me more than the takeover.” He took another step, forcing her to back up. “Why is that, Brooke? What did I do to you besides say a few poorly chosen words?”
She swallowed the softball in her throat, hoping he didn’t notice. “Is it so wrong to fight for what’s rightfully mine?”
“Is it so wrong for me to accept a promotion from my employer?” he came back with incredulity.
“Yes, when it’s my promotion,” she hissed. “My office. My eleven years of hard work you see every time you walk in there.” She poked a fingertip into his chest and hit solid muscle. “And when I get that corner office back, you may as well pack your bags because I’ll be rehiring my old staff and there will be no room for you.”
Looking down at the spot she’d touched, Ethan’s mouth thinned into a dangerous line. “Wow, lady, you never quit, do you?”
Something in his demeanor told her she’d pushed the wrong button. His next words confirmed it.
“For your information,” he said with deceptive calm, “I had no intention of taking that corner office from you. I actually felt a little sorry for you. But now the gloves are off, and I’m going for gold.”
“Good!” Brooke fired back. “Because I don’t want or need anyone’s pity, especially yours.”
She dove for the exit door’s push bar, but Ethan held it shut, preventing her from leaving with the last word.
“If you think for one second that you’ll have the power to run me out,” he said, “you’re more naïve than I thought.”
With a look of supreme annoyance, she faced him beneath the glow of artificial light. “I’m not as naïve as you think. I see through you, don’t I?”
His brow went up. He backed away and gave her full access to the door. “I stand corrected. Maybe I’m wrong about you after all.”
With a satisfied nod, she threw her weight against the door and dashed out into a complete and utter downpour. Her body instantly revolted against the rush of water already flowing down her back and into her high-heeled shoes. Slowly, she turned around and glared at him through the roaring curtain of rain.