by Tawny Taylor
He walked over to Fate’s desk, notably devoid of clutter, and scooped a framed photograph from its lacquered surface. She was accepting an award from the ex-C.E.O. of Love Lines. Tracing the outline of her face, he thought, Fate Doherty, you have no idea what’s in store for you.
Damn, did she look sexy in the photo, even if she was wearing a conservative blue suit and overly grim expression. He couldn’t wait to see her clothed in more casual attire—a pair of shorts, or sweats and one of his tshirts. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene, sighing.
“What the hell are you doing, you psychopath?”
Her voice struck him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes flew open. “Thinking about our new partnership. What do you think about the news?”
Her eyes flashed. “I want to make one point perfectly clear. We have no partnership. Our companies merged, but there is no way we will be sharing anything. You understand?”
“Sure.” He hadn’t expected her to give in easily. Actually, the tougher she was the better. He enjoyed a challenge, especially from a woman. Once she realized he was more than a cocky, troublesome, man-boy, she’d come around. He’d have plenty of opportunity to reveal the depth of his intelligence and personality.
A grimace firmly in place, she followed his movements with narrowed eyes as he set the photograph down and returned to his junky aluminum desk. Missing a metal foot, it rocked noisily when he rested his arms on the top. No matter. He didn’t need a fancy one.
He slumped into his chair and kicked his feet up on the desktop, intentionally rocking it. Even with his back turned, he could see her grimace in his mind’s eye with each hollow bang. He smiled and stared at the Rembrandt print on the wall, a portrait of a man painted in dark colors. The solemn tone of the painting might have matched the former mood of Fate’s office, but that was about to change.
He stood, took down the painting, and in its place hung his babe and motorcycle calendar. There. That ought get her goat. Damn, this was fun!
Before getting to work, he took a few minutes more to rummage through his boxes, delivered by a stream of movers over the past half hour or so, and found his more charming decorations—gag gifts never meant to be on display anywhere sunlight might reach. The Whip and Chain Chiropractor coffee cup his friends had given him after he’d graduated from college, the Rodney Dangerfield talking bust his brother had thoughtfully bought him for his last birthday, and a Voodoo computer his last boss had given him after he killed three computers were the perfect compliment to his ugly desk.
Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he slipped down deeper into his chair. Time to brainstorm, his favorite past time. “What do you think about television?”
“Huh?” was her unenthusiastic response.
He kicked his feet against the desk front, spinning his chair around. As he turned to face her, his feet slammed on the ground, stopping the momentum. “Television?”
“What about it?” She glared at him.
“I’m not trying to trap you or anything. We’re on the same team now, remember?”
Pulling several files from a low cabinet next to her desk, she shook her head. In a soft tone, like a mother would use when scolding a toddler, she said, “No, we’re not. There isn’t room in this office for two of us. Someone will be leaving, and I’m guessing it’ll be within the next week or two.”
“Hmm. Hope you’re wrong. Wouldn’t give us much time to get reacquainted.”
Clearly ignoring his comment, she continued, “The way I see it, we’ll both be better off if you do your thing and I do mine. No partnerships.”
“Damn! You’re gonna take all the fun out of this.”
“No, this is a job, and I’m taking it seriously.”
“Of course you are, Fate. By the way, I’ve never told you, but I love your name. Your parents hippies? I never did get to meet them.”
Something on her desk captured her attention, exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an immature goon in college you might have had the chance. My parents have a warped sense of humor. I imagine you would get along with them just peachy.”
He chuckled at the insult, having heard it so often it had lost its former sting. “Well, I have some great ideas about the new company. You might want to listen.”
She lifted her eyes. “Okay, fire away.” Her cynical expression and emotion-void voice suggested she had no interest in his ideas, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t deter him.
“I say we produce a dating program. You know, like a blind date show. We can screen the applicants and set up the dates…”
“A television program would require an enormous capital investment. Video and sound crews, producers, directors, staff to screen applicants. Where would the money come from? Last I checked it wasn’t in the marketing budget.” She flopped open the Date Doctor marketing binder, shuffling pages until she found the budget page. “Nope. Not there. Sooorry!”
Shot down. No matter. He would find a way. He rummaged around in his brain for an idea. “I know. We’ll sponsor a show or provide the contestants, do the applicant screening for a show that already exists. That way, we’d get hundreds—thousands—of young singles in the door. Then we could sell them our service.”
“I don’t know. Your plan sounds sneaky. I don’t like it.”
“You have a point?”
Cutting him off again, she dropped her head and started reading.
The fun was over.
Determined to find a solution, Gabe spun his chair to face his desk and doodled on a notepad. He wasn’t an advocate of team meetings or brainstorming sessions, but he was beginning to see their benefit. Fate was the perfect person to bounce ideas off, intelligent, honest, critical. If she permitted, together they could be a force to be reckoned with.
Resolved not to let her intelligence go to waste, he turned to face her. “What about a name? Any thought there?”
The paper she held slipped from her fingertips. Pushing against the desk, she scooted her chair back. Her dress, black with simple lines that traced every curve, shimmied down her body as she stood. “Mr. Ryan, I think we’d better set things straight right now.”
There was no mistaking the tone of her voice. He waited with expectation. She was tough, inflexible, beautiful, and wielded a tongue as sharp as a saber. He had dreams about that tongue. A man had to be tough to stand up to her, or insane, but he was far from intimidated.
No, she was his perfect match. In every way.
She continued, “I have no choice but to accept the situation, and I suspect you don’t either. I am determined to make the best of it…”
“Good, so am I.”
“Would you let me finish?”
“You weren’t through yet? Oh, sorry.” He had to smother a laugh. Baiting Fate was his favorite hobby.
After a deep sigh and a shake of the head, she muttered, “They can’t expect anyone to work like this.”
“I think it’s a great set-up. You’re looking at the whole thing wrong. Instead of searching for a way out, you need to consider how the situation can work to your advantage. I’ve always done that, and I can’t complain about the results. Look where I am now.” To illustrate his point, he swept his hand toward his desk, presenting it like a game show hostess did a valuable prize.
She bit her quivering lip, and then the corners of her mouth lifted into a brilliant smile. “Yeah, I can see what you mean. That desk is to die for.”
He stood, shook it, and kicked at the legs as though he were inspecting a used car. “Good tires, solid. What’s there to complain about?”
They faced each other, and a tense silence fell between them like a curtain…electricity sizzled between them. He imagined himself pulling her to him, and planting a deep kiss on those pouty lips.
“What are you grinning about? That is the goofiest expression I have ever seen.”
Her words yanked him from his musings before he’d fully enjoyed them. “Um, thi
nking about my game show idea. It could be a lot of fun.” His cheeks reddened. Good Lord! He couldn’t be blushing…nah, must to be the heat.
“I think your idea is absolutely ridiculous. It’ll never work. For one, you’ll never find a show willing to let us do the screening. They look for specific things when they select contestants… Then again, maybe you should pursue it. On your own, of course. I’m going to lunch.”
He shrugged. No need to sell her on his idea yet. Once he’d worked the bugs out, she’d see its genius. He was simply glad to have broken the ice a bit, eased the tension. Or—He watched her ass sway as she walked to the door. Damn, that was one round, firm ass. The heat from his face spread down his body…
What was he thinking when Fate’s ass interrupted his thoughts? Shit, he had it bad.
Chapter 2
Today, of all days, am I going to be stood up?
Fate sat at the tile-topped table in the noisy restaurant, glancing at the door every few minutes. More than ever, she needed the benefit of Tracy’s levelheaded logic. Where was she?
The atmosphere of the restaurant was an odd melding of Tex-Mex steakhouse and English pub. Pop music blaring from speakers and diners’ chattering voices did little to diminish her stress. Her heartbeat quickened with every minute that passed, and each time the waiter ran by without acknowledging her.
After another glance at her watch, she sighed and waved at him again. “When you get the chance…”
Turning, he smiled and took her order: a sandwich she could pack away, take to the office if she had to. No way she would take more than an hour. How bad would a leisurely-extended lunch look today?
As the waiter stepped away, Tracy ducked from behind him and plopped into the chair across from Fate. Studying Fate with a grimace, she asked, “What’s the deal with you? On the phone you sounded like the world’s come to an end.”
“Thank God you’re here.” Fate looked at her watch. Forty-five minutes would have to be good enough. At least she didn’t have to drive back to work; she’d purposefully chosen the restaurant next door to save a few precious minutes.
“Yeah, I’m here. So what’s the big emergency?” Tracy wore her usual corporate black suit, and her golden hair was swept back in a French knot. Her makeup was flawless, her entire personage polished.
Fate wished she could be as collected as Tracy, especially today. “I have a big problem, and I don’t mean pimple on date night big, I mean big, big.”
The waiter stepped in before Tracy could respond and took her order. Once he was beyond earshot, Tracy rested her elbows on the table and leaned closer. “What is it?”
“Love Lines was bought out.”
“Wow! When? You didn’t know?”
“Nope. I stepped into chaos this morning and feel like I’m on a wild carnival ride—the Tilt-A-Whirl. I had no idea. No one did, that is, except for the brass, but obviously they didn’t tell anyone.”
Tracy fell back against her chair. “Wow. I know I keep saying that, but I’m at a loss. Sorry, Fate. Did you get fired?”
“Not yet. But—here’s the worst part—they teamed me up with Gabe Ryan to design the new company’s image and marketing strategy. We’re sharing an office. It’s been four hours, and I swear I’m going to hurt him by the end of the day if he doesn’t shut his mouth!”
“The one you’ve been waging war against? Ryan from The Date Doctor?”
“The one and only. Oh, and have I ever told you we dated briefly in college? I broke it off because he was such an immature ass, and I swear he hasn’t matured a day since then.”
“Immature ass?”
“The man thought fine food came in paper wrappers, treated a beer keg with more reverence than me, and couldn’t hold back an ejaculation for more than a minute.”
Tracy’s eyes glimmered as the waiter stepped in to serve their drinks and salads. Her lip quivered.
Fate could swear her friend was about to laugh. “Is something funny?”
Piercing a cherry tomato with her fork, Tracy avoided her gaze. “Funny? No. Absolutely not.” She held a cupped hand over her mouth, but Fate couldn’t miss the mirth in her eyes.
“Then why are you laughing?”
As Fate’s last word slipped from her mouth, Tracy burst into an uncharacteristic belly laugh. “Oh, Fate, I’m so sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the whole scenario.”
Suddenly lacking an appetite, Fate glanced down at her tossed salad. The food held the appeal of bricks. “What’s so funny about that? Tracy had always possessed a slightly warped sense of humor, but never had she laughed at something so serious. “I didn’t laugh when your ex-boyfriend showed up on your doorstep in nothing but a leather g-string and brandishing a whip.”
“That wasn’t funny, it was downright scary, considering the boy had gained two hundred pounds. Sorry, Fate. Love ya like a sis, but I have to tell you, this is funny. Really funny.”
“No it’s not. It’s just your warped sense of humor.”
“Look, you’ve spent the last three years battling Ryan—correction, more like six years—he’s been like a fly buzzing in your ear, a mischievous sprite tossing roadblocks in your way at every turn. And now he’s working with you.”
“Yeah, and he’s still throwing roadblocks at me, but now he doesn’t have to throw as hard.”
“Oh, come on, Fate. He’s been the sole reason you’ve worked so hard the past three years. Admit it, you’re a competition junkie.”
“Am not!”
“Look at you, you can’t even deny it with credibility. Give it up; I think you still like the guy.”
Whoa, was she on the wrong planet! Like him? Gabe Ryan? Obnoxious, immature, annoying… The vision of his mirth-filled face flashed through her mind. His eyes, which should be cold considering their steel color, were always filled with life. And his mouth was always pursed into a playful smirk, sending little creases from the corners of his eyes. And his body…shit, that body. Wide in the shoulders, narrow in the hips. Thick arms and legs, every muscle sculpted to perfection, thanks to countless hours spent in the gym or who knew what perversions.
Nope. Nothing to like there.
Even though his physical qualities wouldn’t turn off any red-blooded woman, his personality would. He went out of his way to annoy people, treated women like objects, and was manipulative and sarcastic. Sure, she couldn’t deny he was as full of life as his eyes, playful and easygoing, intelligent. Creative. But the bad outweighed the good by one hundred-fold. “How could I like him? He’s been nothing but a thorn in my side since I met him?”
Tracy stared at her, her smile still broad as the waiter set their sandwiches before them. After he left, she challenged, “Why don’t you tell me? It’s all over your face, Fate. You can’t lie.”
“No way, you’ve got the wrong message. That’s nausea all over my face. How can you even consider it?” She shoved her plate away. Maybe she’d eat later, or yield to the temptation to dump it on Gabe.
“Isn’t there some kind of saying about love and hate being nearly the same?”
“Who knows.” Fate took a drink of her diet soda, forcing the liquid past the boulder-sized lump in her throat. She didn’t like the way the conversation had turned. She needed a strategy, not girl-talk. She wasn’t in high school, and there was more at stake than a prom date. “Tracy, I need your help! Would you quit with the mushy stuff?”
“What’s wrong? Did I hit it in the nose? Yes, I did, I’m gooood.” Tracy’s grin suggested she wasn’t about to give up.
“No. But you have to remember what’s going on here—”
“You’re too wrapped up in your work, that’s what’s going on,” Tracy interrupted, then popped a french fry into her mouth.
God, Fate hated when people interrupted her! Gabe Ryan did that too. It was annoying. “Would you let me finish? I love you to death, but you’re a terrible listener.”
Tracy chuckled and took a dainty bite of her sandwich. With a
nod, she encouraged Fate to continue. “I’m all ears.”
“I have two weeks to get the financing for my mom’s house. If I don’t, her bank will put it on the auction block. I can’t change jobs. Not now!” From Tracy’s surprised expression, Fate guessed she’d forgotten about the house. Tracy was a wonderful friend, caring and true-blue, but sometimes she was a little flighty.
After taking a sip of her diet soda, Tracy said, “Of course you can change jobs. First, didn’t you get pre-approved?”
“Yup, but a pre-approval isn’t written in stone, you still have to go through the formal approval process.”
“But if you take a job in the same field it won’t matter. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” Tracy took another bite of her sandwich and washed it down with a gulp of soda.
“I don’t think that’s true for all banks.” Fate watched her, wishing she could eat, but even the thought of food sent her stomach into convulsions. “I don’t know. I’m not willing to take the chance. If I fail, Mom’ll be out of a house. I can’t believe this is happening.” Her mood was sinking fast, like the Titanic into a frigid ocean.
Tracy tipped her head and regarded her with sister-like concern. “Oh, Fate. I’m sure everything will work out fine. They haven’t fired you yet, right? So there’s still the chance they won’t.” She munched on another fry, studying Fate with soft eyes and a gentle expression. Then, her mien changed, growing more determined. “What’s your boss have to say about all this? Thomas, right?”
“He’s gone. They fired him. I didn’t get the chance to talk to him before he left.”
The assuredness on Tracy’s face washed away. “Oh.”
Fate’s hope sunk to the darkest pit—down deeper than any ocean, where there was no light and the water pressure was high enough to crush steel. As the waiter dashed by, she flagged him down and asked for a to-go box. After he nodded and stepped away, she looked at Tracy. “I need some ideas. We have to come up with a new name, marketing concept, the whole nine yards. I’ve been wracking my brain all morning but haven’t come up with a thing.”