ForePlay: A Checkmate Inc. Novel Book 1 (The Checkmate Inc. Series)

by Shelly Alexander

  The tension in my shoulders eases. She wants to be with me, and if she’s with me, she won’t be with Adam.

  “I told you, I’m all yours.” In so many ways. “What did you have in mind for tonight?”

  She arches a silky brow as if to say, “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Besides the obvious.” I swivel back and forth in my chair, the anticipation of getting naked with Chloe already building in me.

  “Leave it to me.” She turns to the door. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid.”

  Please God, I hope it’s not ice skating. I played a little hockey growing up in Upstate New York. Hell, everybody does. It’s sort of an unwritten dude-rule that if you’re a hockey player, you do not under any circumstances go figure skating. I really would have to turn in my man-card, but I’ll still lace ’em up if that’s what she wants.

  “What the lady wants, the lady gets,” I say.

  “Well.” She smiles and says over her shoulder, “We’re ready to start the interview, if you’d like to go first.” She disappears through my office door.

  I push out of my chair and walk to the conference room. When I pass Leticia’s desk, the white lilies are still sitting where I left them. I stop, look across to Chloe’s office where the roses are on her desk.

  My chest swells like an adolescent teenager who just won a ribbon. The bouquet I sent is much bigger than the lilies.

  Cheap bastard. I smirk. My dick is probably bigger too.

  “Didn’t you give these to Chloe?” I ask Leticia, tossing a malevolent nod at the white flowers.

  “Mm-hmm.” Leticia doesn’t look up from her keyboard. “She asked me to throw them out, but I haven’t had a chance yet.”

  Relief thrums in my chest and loosens the stronghold around my stomach. “By all means, let me take care of it for you.” I swipe the offensive bouquet from the counter. “Tell Chloe I’ll be back in five.”

  “You sure?” Leticia’s fingers stop moving.

  Oh hell yes, I’m sure. “It will be my pleasure.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chloe gives instructions to her team to keep working on other pieces of the project while she gets me ready for the interview. The camera crew tries to put makeup on me, but I wave them away. They give her a frustrated look, but she nods her consent.

  “Just the microphone, guys,” she tells one of the crew, and he secures a mic to the front of my trusty Italian leather jacket. I probably should’ve dressed up, but she wanted me to look natural, so this is what they’re getting.

  We sit against the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline, all kinds of energy crackling through the air.

  “Leo, your alma mater is teaming up with us to do the interview and editing.”

  “Really?” That unsettles me. The last time I interacted with Columbia University, it was an adversarial situation. I distinctly remember the dean using the words “indecent,” “vulgar,” and “If I ever see you on this campus again, I’ll call security.” I’ve chosen to hang on to the naughty teacher fantasy, but I try not to think about the dean’s bulging eyes, red face, and look of disgust.

  Chloe nods. “I wanted to maintain at least some control. Grad students from the Communications and Journalism departments were all over it. This is a huge story for them, so they agreed to allow us input on the editing if they have control over the questions. We’re both getting what we want: an exclusive interview that is professional and unbiased.”

  I’m not so sure about this. I’m already on thin ice with my partners. If it backfires, it may do irreparable damage to our relationship. Chloe stands to lose a lot too. “Why are you just now telling me this?”

  “It was a last-minute call.” Her voice is soothing. “I’m going to be here the whole time. I’ll step in if anything goes wrong. Just be yourself, Leo. That’s what the public needs to see.”

  “Maybe Dex and Oz should be here,” I say.

  Chloe shakes her head. “I’ve asked them to stay out of the room. I want the interviews to be organic, not rehearsed like you guys are making sure your stories match.”

  Ava walks in and kisses the top of my head.

  “Hey, squirt,” I say.

  “I had to come by and make sure you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.” She gives Chloe a hug.

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I deadpan. “I feel so much better now.”

  My sister looks cute in her trendy black sweater dress that hits her just above the knee, black tights, and black suede boots that have a flat heel for walking in the city. I’ve offered to hire a car for her, but she likes to walk or take the train. I guess she gets that from me.

  “Chloe wants to interview me too. Something about how she needs footage of the women in your life talking about what a sweetheart you are.” Ava crosses her legs and kicks a foot in the air. “I guess she hasn’t gotten to know you at all if she thinks you’re a sweetheart.”

  “Thanks for your help with the coupon graphics,” Chloe says to Ava. “5 Muse Designs turned that work around quick. Getting that promo out so soon is a huge help.”

  “You helped?” I tease, even though Chloe already told me Ava did the artwork. I pretend to be shocked that my sister could have any pull in the world of computer graphics.

  Ava doesn’t respond to me, but speaks to Chloe instead. “He was switched at birth. The real Leo Foxx lives in Duluth and wears camouflage.” Ava shoots a testy sibling glare at me, all the while a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I did it for Chloe, not for you, big brother. I’m charging you double what we charge our other clients.”

  Chloe leans back and looks Ava up and down. “I love that dress, by the way. It makes you look hot.”

  “My little sister does not look hot.” Because I cannot under any circumstances think about that. If she’s hot, that means guys will be sniffing around her. And I’ll have to kick someone’s ass eventually, I’m sure of it. “She’s cute.”

  Oz walks by, backs up a step, and sticks his head through the conference room door. “Hey, Ava. You’re rockin’ that dress. If you weren’t like my sister, I’d say you look hot.”

  I give Oz a what-the-hell look.

  Chloe and Ava both laugh.

  Oz shrugs and keeps walking.

  “Hey, I need to talk to Dex.” Ava stands. “Is he around?”

  “He usually is, since he owns part of the joint,” I smart off. “His office would be a good place to look.”

  Ava narrows her eyes at me, which is the same as her verbally calling me a smartass.

  I don’t even try to deny it.

  “Just for that, I’m going to go find him and leave you to make a total ass of yourself on camera.” She walks to the door. “Chloe, let me know when it’s my turn to be interviewed.”

  Chloe nods. “Will do. You’re the first of the women behind the men of Checkmate Inc.” She winks at my sister. “That’s what my team is calling all of the lovely ladies in the partners’ families that have agreed to be interviewed.”

  After a lot of bustling around, Leticia escorts the interviewer in. She’s pretty, polished, and professional. Yet she has a tough edge, and I know she won’t be a pushover in this interview.

  Chloe greets her. “Leo, this is Jennifer Nichols. She’ll be conducting the interview.”

  “Nice to meet you, Leo.” She smiles and shakes my hand. “I’ve been told not to call you Mr. Foxx.”

  “You were told right.”

  I’m on edge at first, waiting for the first attack. Eventually I relax, and we get through the interview relatively unscathed. There are a few touchy questions that try to back me into a corner, but I do what Chloe said and answer as if I’m having a personal conversation.

  What shifts the tone of the interview in my favor is when Jennifer asks me, “Leo, what is the most influential thing that’s shaped your life?”

  I know what everyone in the room is probably expecting me to say. Chess. My IQ. Or my education.
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  Instead I pause, lace my fingers with my elbows resting on the arms of the chair. I glance down at my hands and say, “The death of my parents when I was twenty-one.”

  A small whispery gasp comes from Ava. I don’t look at her. I can’t.

  The room goes so quiet that I swear everyone can hear my heart beat. I don’t ever talk about my parents or their deaths. It’s too painful. Too emotional. I save it just for myself like it’s personal. Because it is so very personal.

  “Tell me about your parents,” Jennifer says like she isn’t surprised. Obviously, she did her homework. My parents’ deaths are public record. But since I never talk about it publically, it takes some digging to find that information.

  “They were great parents. You know, they showed up. They engaged in my life.” I shift in my chair. “We lived in a small town upstate and were just an average, middle-class family.”

  “Except that you were never average, Leo. I’ve read varying accounts of your IQ, all of them exceptional. Your parents must’ve known that,” Jennifer presses me, but not in an unkind way.

  I nod. “They did. But they wanted me to be a normal kid, have a normal childhood. They encouraged me to do what I wanted with my life, not what others expected of me. That’s why I ended up here.” I wave my hands around the room, indicating the whole building.

  “How were they together? What kind of example did they set for you as a couple?”

  I know exactly where Jennifer is going with this. If my father was a douche and a womanizer, she could spin this in the wrong direction and add fuel to the claims that Checkmate encourages men to take advantage of women because of the influence my father had on me. But my father was anything but a douche. He was a good man who loved my mother.

  “They were polar opposites.” My eyes slide shut on a slow blink, and I let the memories take me. “But they didn’t argue over those things. Didn’t try to change each other like so many couples do. They embraced those differences. Where my mother had strengths, my father deferred to her judgment, and vice versa. That’s how I learned teamwork.”

  “It sounds like your parents were very much in love. How did they show each other?” Jennifer asks.

  That one is easy. “In the small things. It wasn’t about the grand gestures, it was the little things that counted.”

  “Can you give us some examples?”

  I rub a palm over my jaw. “My dad loved to play golf. He tried to teach my mom, but she didn’t have the patience for the game. She still went with him once in awhile, though, and rode in the cart just to spend time with him. Just so she could peck him on the cheek when he hit a great shot.” I chuckle. “My mom wasn’t a coffee drinker, but my dad loved it, so she made it for him every morning exactly the way he liked it.” I smile at the memory. “I knew they loved each other because of how considerate they were to one another.”

  I finally glance up at Chloe for the first time, and wetness glistens in her eyes. I have to look away before I let the next words tumble out of my mouth. “My mother loved jazz music. My dad didn’t, but he took her out dancing once a month at a jazz club in the next town over. We listened to it in the car on road trips, so now I love jazz music too.” I clear my throat and try to swallow the knot that’s been forming there for the last several minutes. “My mother’s favorite flowers were lilies.” I pause and look at Chloe again. “White Casa Blanca lilies.”

  Chloe’s gasp doesn’t go unnoticed by the crew.

  “He brought them to her often, and she’d always pick a smaller bloom from the bunch and put it in his button hole.” I turn my attention back to Jennifer. “So my sister and I travel upstate around this time every year, because they died in autumn.” I hesitate, clear my throat because the reality of why a sense of emptiness engulfs me every year when the leaves start to change and the air grows crisp hits me square in the chest. It’s been a mystery to me until now, because my life has turned out so good. “We bring a fresh bouquet to the cemetery.”

  “Do you bring anything for your dad?”

  I shake my head. “He was happy knowing mom was happy. But I pull off a small bloom and lay it by his marker.”

  Silence blankets the room until Chloe steps in. “I think we’ve got enough.” She cues Jennifer to stop. “Let’s take a break.”

  I skip out of the building before anyone can catch up to me. Talking about my parents let sadness seep into my soul. I need a few minutes alone to shake it off. I shove my hands into my pockets because the temperatures are getting cooler by the day. It’s overcast and dreary as I stroll down to the coffee shop where I stop almost every morning to order a coffee fixed exactly the way my dad liked it. It’s part of my daily routine and another way I stay connected to my parents.

  A nice-looking barista calls my order and gives me a flirtatious smile. I nod politely, but I’m not in the least bit interested, even though I only have a few days left with Chloe. Unless I can convince her to extend our arrangement. I scoop up my coffee, wade through the dark café that’s busy at any hour, and find a table in the corner where I can lick my wounds.

  Not only is my sadness morphing to anger because this whole fucked-up situation is casting a shadow over a company that is devoted to helping men become better partners, but now I’ve spoken publicly about my parents. Given up memories I’d bundled away, as though I’ve been afraid that if I ever let them out, they could be taken away from me too, just like mom and dad were.

  Besides Ava, Checkmate is my life. My parents played no small part in that, even though they died just before I founded the company with Dex and Oz. They encouraged me to chart my own course, but I have no idea if they’d be proud of the career path I’ve taken. I could’ve chosen a hundred things more impressive than developing a bioengineered formula for men’s body products that turn women on.

  I run a set of fingers through my hair at the absurdity of how it sounds. I sound like a fuck-up and a disappointment even to myself. Like one of the great literary giants would if they settled for writing cheesy romance novels.

  Ten minutes later my phone dings with a text from Chloe.

  Are you okay?

  I pull in a breath and type a reply.

  I stepped out.

  The dots do a dance.

  Where are you? I’ll come find you.

  I send a reply.

  Going to work from home the rest of the day. Pick you up at 7?

  My phone goes quiet for a minute. Finally her reply pops up.

  Sure you’re up to it?

  My fingers fly over the screen.

  Wouldn’t miss it. Need to know 1 thing though.

  The heaviness is lifting from my shoulders as I wait for her response.

  What’s that?

  I smile and reply.

  What color panties are you wearing today?

  I swear I can hear a clock ticking as I wait, and wait. And wait. Finally the dots start jumping, and I hold my breath.

  Maybe I’m not wearing any.

  I let out a growl that has the next table looking my way. I send her one last text.

  Pick you up in front of HQ at 5 instead.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I spend the afternoon working from home via conference calls with Dex, Oz, and directors from Checkmate’s many departments. Checkmate may not be on the verge of bankruptcy, but it’s definitely taking a hit. It may take a few days for our sagging sales to show a boost from the coupon ads. Until then, we are worried over how this is going to affect the expansion. Checkmate has already sunk a lot of money into this project even though it’s still in its infancy.

  My gloom has lifted when I pick Chloe up at five o’clock sharp in front of Checkmate headquarters.

  “Where are we going tonight?” I open the back door of a Checkmate car instead of walking or taking a cab. I’m in that kind of mood tonight.

  “Change of plans.” She slides into the back seat and I follow her in. “My place. I need to clean up since I’ve been working hard all d
ay.” She gives me a teasing smile like I haven’t been doing the same.

  I give the driver her address, and she slips her hand into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. My mind absolutely does not go to her lingerie. Or lack thereof. I absolutely am not completely and totally aroused at the idea that she may not be wearing any panties as her text indicated earlier today.

  She turns a cocky expression on me. “Anything you want to ask me?”

  Nope. No way. I can’t open that door when all my driver has to do is look in his rearview. I think I already mentioned that spectator sex isn’t my thing.

  She opens her purse to show me the depth of its treasures. I can’t help it. I reach in and extract a pair of pink panties. Presumably the ones she was wearing earlier today but took off to taunt me over text message. I bring them to my nose and breathe in her scent without giving a shit if the driver sees me doing it or not.

  Hell, I’ve heard horror stories about what people do in the back seat of a car while their drivers are within spitting distance. I knew a kid in undergrad who worked his way through school driving a cab. Swear to God, I think I lost my cherry just listening to some of his stories. So fondling Chloe’s panties isn’t a big deal.

  “Well, there’s something I want to ask you,” she says. “Why didn’t you tell me about your parents?”

  I shrug. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

  We go quiet for a few beats. “I don’t like to talk much about my family either.”

  “Why?” I can’t help but ask.

  “Because I’m the one that doesn’t quite fit in. I’m the youngest. I’m at a different stage in my life than my older sisters.” She laughs. “I swear I think I see disappointment in my parents’ eyes every time they look at me. I don’t think they ever forgave me for being born with a vagina and not a penis.”