Something So Irresistible

by Natasha Madison

  “Can I help you?” Barbie asks, all perky and shit.

  “Ummm,” I stumble, trying to find my words because all I can think about is getting out of there before I embarrass myself or better yet get arrested for attempted murder. I mean, he was just with me almost naked!

  “I was looking for Coop. Is he here?” The words finally dislodge from my throat.

  She twirls her hair in her hand. Of course she does. She’s a fucking Barbie. “Yeah, he just stepped in the shower. Who are you?”

  “Oh, um, I’m Parker, his rehab coach.”

  “Oh, I heard so much about you. I’m Monica, the fiancée,” she says, flashing her five-carat ring.

  How did I not notice that rock while she was twirling her fucking hair?

  “Nice to meet you. I was just dropping by to let him know the hours have changed for practice tomorrow and that Tom will be there to assist him,” I say flatly, proud of myself for not saying what’s really on my mind.

  “Okay, do you want to come in and wait for him? He should be out any second.”

  Is she out of her fucking mind? I’m totally going to be superficial and say she’s a fucking airhead.

  “No.” I smile. “I’m headed out of town, so if you can just let him know.”

  “Oh, I’ll totally tell him.”

  Ugh, is that bile coming up my throat?

  “Thanks.” Without another word, I dash down the steps and whip my cell phone out. How, how in the ever loving fuck is this happening again? How is this possible? How many fucking people did I piss off on that Karma bus?

  Meg answers on the first ring.

  “Road trip.” My voice cracks, and I don’t know how, but she knows. She just knows I need her.

  “I’m packing. I’ll be ready in five.”

  A sob makes it out just as I press end and throw my phone across the car. I hope it smashes into pieces like my heart is right now.

  Something So Perfect

  Prologue

  Walking down the rubber mat to the ice, the smell gets you right away. Dry. It’s a smell you can’t describe. I’ve been skating before I could walk, according to my mom. I live and breathe for this sport. Even at the age of twenty-five, I still crave getting on the ice. When I’m almost near the door leading to the rink, I take off running, my skates sliding over the clean surface.

  Game day is a mix of different things for different players. For me, I get up early, get a workout in, and then relax till I have to make it to the rink, usually five hours before the game, to eat and get in the zone.

  The second I put my skate on the ice, the crowd goes wild.

  Little kids all line the boards, watching us skate around, shooting the puck doing drills. I stop in the corner and look up at the crowd as they take their seats while Ozzy Osborne’s “Crazy Train” fills the arena.

  “Big game,” my line mate, Phil, says right when he stops next to me. “We need this win if we want to qualify for the playoffs.”

  I handle the puck that’s ready on my blade for me to shoot at the person skating from the other side. I look down at the ice, and the Beavers are coming out strong, their goalie stopping every single puck that comes at him.

  “I want to fucking smash those assholes,” is the last thing I say before I take off to the center ice. The puck passed to me by Phil lands directly in the middle of the blade. I snipe it in as soon as it hits. Top corner, right over the goalie’s shoulder. My goalie, Luka, tells me to “fuck off” when I skate by him. I salute him while making my way to the bench where a reporter is standing interviewing our assistant coach.

  The coach walks away from the reporter, putting papers away in his coat pocket. The reporter looks at me. “You want to be interviewed, Grant?” he asks while checking his phone.

  I look him up and down. “Now you want to interview me?” I ask him, grabbing the water bottle on the ledge, squirting some in my mouth. “Weren’t you the one who started this fucking dumb campaign?” I smirk at him while checking the tape on my stick. “I believe the correct words were ‘time to hang up the skates, he’s done.’”

  His head snaps up and he tries to say something, but I ignore him and skate back to center ice.

  Chuck Harris, a Boston Beaver, is there watching me. “His highness is back.” He stands there looking at me. “Word is that your babysitter is a walking sex doll. Is that true?”

  He’s trying to bait me, trying to make me snap. I smirk at him, keeping my cool. That isn’t me anymore. I’m calm. I’m in a good place, and it’s all because of Karrie. I look up at where I know she will be sitting, but her seat is empty.

  I tilt my head to the side, wondering where she could be. The game is about to start. She is usually in her seat when we warm up, so I look around the arena to see if she is anywhere else.

  “Whatcha looking for?” Chuck smiles while he takes a drink from the green Gatorade bottle. I don’t bother answering him because the bell signals that it’s time for the Zamboni, so instead, I skate to the bench and head for the dressing room.

  I sit down, taking off the tape from my stick and throwing it in the garbage, then getting my roll of tape that’s right next to my cell phone. As I reach for the tape, I see my phone light up with my mother’s number. She knows I’m on the ice, so it might be an emergency.

  “Hello,” I answer the phone, looking around.

  “Matthew, thank God. I want you to listen and say nothing. I have you on speaker. Cooper is here, too,” she says, and then Cooper’s voice sounds out. “Listen to us before you talk. Got me, son?” His voice is clipped.

  “What the fuck is going on?” My heart starts pounding, and my neck gets hot, while I hear a commotion coming from outside the locker room. Voices rise behind me.

  “There’s a warrant out for your arrest. Someone is accusing you of beating and raping her yesterday,” Cooper hisses out while I look at the door that’s being slammed open. “I have the lawyer already on his way to you. You say nothing, son, nothing.”

  Two suit-wearing detectives come into the room. “Matthew Grant”—they flash their badges—“we have a couple of questions we need to ask,” one of them says while I hear Cooper still on the line. “Don’t say a fucking word, Matthew. We are coming to you.”

  “Now?” I hear Coach behind me yelling. “You do this to him now, two seconds before he’s supposed to go on the ice?” He glares at them. They obviously couldn’t care less.

  “You need to come down to the station with us,” the man continues, but I’m standing here with my mouth open, my ear drums pounding, and the phone to my ear. “We can walk out of here civilized or we can strap the cuffs on you. One way or another, you aren’t getting on that ice.”

  My teammates are standing up to see what’s going on and shaking their heads.

  “This is bullshit.” I hear Coach say while the guys nod.

  Phil comes up to me and whispers, “Don’t say a fucking word.”

  I don’t have time to process things before I’m being ushered out of the locker room. The only thing I take off is my skates.

  I walk out of the building and I’m led into an unmarked car. When I look out the side window, I see the owner of the team is now standing with Karrie by his side. His hands are around her shoulders, her face streaked with tears. “Karrie!” I yell from inside the car. “Karrie!”

  Nothing. She turns around and walks back into the arena, leaving me alone with the silence that now fills the car.

  Also Available

  Tempt The Boss

  I’m singing along to Maroon Five’s “Don’t Wanna Know” when a call comes in. Penelope’s name flashes on the screen. Penelope is my friend from college, the only friend who I kept in touch with. She runs an HR firm that specializes in placing temps. She is the reason I have this job right now.

  “Hello,” I say while I wait for her voice to fill the car.

  “Hey, there, just checking in. You ready?” she asks me. I hear her rustling papers in the background, s
o I know she is already at her desk.

  “Yup, I’m on my way there now. I’m so nervous, I may puke, though. But I’ll be on time.” I chuckle at the thought of me barfing all over my new boss. I brake for the traffic that is slowing to a crawl in front of me when I feel my van jerk forward slightly. My head flies forward and then snaps back. Looking in my mirror, I see that someone just hit me.

  “Oh my god. Someone just ran into me. Fuck me, P. I have to call you back,” I say, unlocking my seatbelt and climbing out of the car.

  I put my Tory Birch sunglasses on top of my head, walking to the back to see the damage. I don’t even have time to get there before I hear a raspy voice ask, “What the hell is wrong with you? You just stopped!” I put a hand over my eyes to block the sun and see him. And boy, do I see him. My heart skips a beat when he whips his aviator sunglasses off his face.

  He’s about six feet tall, maybe taller, with dark hair that’s short on the sides and a bit longer at the top, which almost looks like it was combed back by his hands. His eyes are a mossy green with shimmery gold flecks in them that I can see thanks to the sun hitting them just right. A freshly-shaven face that shows off the strong angles of his jaw and hints at where I’m sure a five-o’clock-shadow of delicious stubble will emerge in a few hours.

  He’s wearing a suit minus the jacket. His dark blue pants are a perfect fit, molding to him like they were made especially for him, and from the looks of them, they probably were. His crisp, white dress shirt is open at the collar and covers his broad chest and thick biceps. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and show off a big, masculine silver Rolex watch.

  He throws his hand up as he angrily asks, “Is something wrong with you? Are you drunk?”

  I take a step back, putting my hand to my stomach. “Are you talking to me?” I look around wondering if there is someone else he could be talking to. “You hit me. You. Hit. Me.” I storm to the back of the car to assess the damage. I see that my bumper is a bit scratched, but his Porsche is going to need some body work.

  “I can’t believe this. I can’t flipping believe this! Now I’m going to be late because you were probably too busy on your phone texting to pay attention to the road.” I walk to my car, opening the door and leaning across the seat to grab my purse. Cars pass us slowly, everyone taking a look to see what’s going on.

  Looking at the clock on the dash, I see that I have to be at my new job in twenty minutes. Grabbing my license, registration, and insurance ID card, I slam the door and walk over to see him leaning on the side of my car, watching me.

  “I’m going to be late. Is there any way we can just exchange numbers and get all the information after?” I ask, looking through the papers.

  I hear him huff. “You probably don’t have insurance, which is why you want to call me later so you can get some while I drive around with a missing a light.” He walks over to his car, leans down, and grabs his phone from the driver’s seat.

  I look at him. “So, you weren’t on the phone? Riiighhhhttt,” I say glaring at him.

  “I don’t have all day. Some of us have actual work to do. What do you want from me?” His tone is snarky.

  “Actually, I don’t want anything from you. My car has a scratch, yours is the one that is damaged. Besides, it wasn’t even my fault. Maybe we should call the police to make a report so we can get it on the record that you were driving while texting.” I lean my head to the side. “I’m not a police officer or anything, but I think that’s against the law.”

  He snarls at me, “Just give me your number.” I tell him my number, and when he asks my name, I gladly tell him. “The woman whose car you hit because you were texting while driving.” He looks at me and his eyebrows pinch together. “Is that name already taken?” I ask him, waiting for his answer. When I realize he isn’t going to reply, I ask him, “Now, what’s yours?” He shoots off his number, and I store it in my phone.

  I turn around to walk away. “Aren’t you going to ask me my name?” He puts his hands on his hips, his biceps bulging and his chest looking impossibly broader.

  “Nope, no need. I just put you under ‘Asshat who texts while driving and hit my car.’” I smile at him. “Have a fabulous day,” I grumble, turning around and getting back in the car.

  Fuck. I see that I now have ten minutes to get there. I dial Penelope right after I buckle and take off watching the asshole get into his car. “I think I might still make it,” I tell her even before she says hello.

  “It’s okay. I called and told them there was an accident on the way, and they said not to worry, that Austin was going to be late, too. So, you’re still good to go. How’s the damage?” she asks.

  “Minivan: 1 – Porsche: 0.” I laugh and tell her I’ll check back in with her at lunch.

  When I finally make it to the office building, I check my face and apply lip gloss one more time before walking inside. I look at my phone and notice that I’m only seven minutes late. Not bad all things considered. I walk in and tell the security guard I am there for Barbara at Mackenzie Jacob Associates. When he calls up, he gets the all clear to send me up.

  I make my way up to the forty-sixth floor and walk to the receptionist, who is smiling from ear-to-ear. “Hi. I’m here to see Barbara. My name is Lauren. I’m the temp,” I explain as she gets up and comes around to shake my hand, introducing herself as Carmen. She then takes me back to meet Barbara.

  Barbara is short with white hair, and her glasses are perched on her nose. “Hey, there, Lauren. I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard great things from Penelope.” She reaches out to shake my hand and motions for me to sit down.

  “Thank you so much, and I’m so sorry I’m late. I was in a little fender bender, and I tried to finish as fast as I could,” I tell her, sitting down in the chair in front of her desk.

  “No worries. I heard Austin was going to be about ten minutes late, but he got here right before you did. Now, if you will fill out these papers here, I will get your elevator pass ready for you,” she says while she goes to her cabinet in the corner.

  Because this is just a temp job, I don’t have to do much. Just an emergency contact form. “Now, I should warn you that this is the tenth temp we have hired for this position… this month,” she finishes quickly.

  I look at her, confused. “But it’s only the seventeenth of November.” My heart starts racing. What if he throws me out? What if he laughs at me since I haven’t worked in ten years?

  “Mr. Mackenzie is, um, well… special to work for,” she murmures while looking down at the papers in front of her and not even trying not make eye contact with me.

  “Special? What does that mean?” I ask, my eyebrows pinching together.

  “Let’s just say that my money is on you.” She gets up. “Shall we?” She points to the door. I nod at her, trying to get some saliva going in my mouth. It’s dry, and my palms are sweating. I think my armpits are actually starting to sweat, too. Oh boy. I can’t do this. I should turn around and run away.

  But before I can make my move, we reach a door that is closed. The big brown door is solid, and the windows that look out into the office have their shades drawn. I hear Barbara knock on the door before we enter.

  I don’t see much in front of her. I just look around the office at the view of the city, since there are wall-to-wall windows affording it an amazing view. I don’t have a chance to look much further, because all I hear is a raspy voice asking, “Are you fucking stalking me? Did you follow me here?” I whip my head around to look at him.

  Just my luck. It’s the asshat from this morning, the one who hit me. Except now, the asshat is sitting behind the desk, the desk that apparently belongs to my new temporary boss.

  Austin

  I’m already having the shittiest day ever and it’s only fucking eight o’clock. My alarm didn’t wake me at five a.m. like it does every day, so I didn’t have a chance to get my run in before I had to head to work.

  Just a quick shower an
d a coffee before I hurried out. I walked out of my apartment, rushed to the elevator, and ran smack into my ex who, according to her, ‘just happened to be in the area.’

  It took a lot for me not to roll my eyes at her. She wasn’t in the area; she’s fucking the dude who lives upstairs. Not that I care. I was the one who let her go. Whatever, I blew her off and headed to my car.

  Right as I started up my car, my mother decided it was a great day to call and lay out everything that’s wrong with my life. I’m nearing forty; all I have is my career, blah blah blah. Newsflash, Mom, that’s all I want.

  So, just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I hit a mini bus, or a van, or whatever the hell it’s called.

  I expected a frumpy housewife to get out of the car, but instead I was greeted by a woman who could only be described as sex-on-a-stick, or I guess I should say two sticks, because those legs of hers aren’t something I’ll forget anytime soon. I couldn’t even talk I was so stunned. Then she bent over her seat and presented me with the most perfect ass. I think I actually groaned.

  My cock was getting ready to salute her right then and there as she walked back to me from her minivan. The thought that she was someone’s wife and I was jonesing on her made my skin crawl. I may be an asshole, but I don’t fuck with marriages or people in relationships. There are more than enough single people on earth to not get involved with someone who isn’t.

  I tried to see if she was wearing a ring, but I couldn’t see anything. I took her number, and she rushed away.

  The whole way to work, I replayed the scene in my head over and over again. I tried to think back on anything that I could have said that would have had her reacting so hostilely.

  I got to the office just four minutes late. I absolutely loathe tardiness; people who are late drive me nuts. I built this company from the ground up. I am now the most sought-after commercial contract developer in the city, especially when it comes to entertainment establishments. If you want to open a restaurant or nightclub in this city, let’s just say I am known widely as the best choice to make sure it happens.