Sex, Lies and Dirty Secrets

by Jamie Sobrato

  Macy snapped to attention, her brain suddenly disinterested in Griffin and lunch.

  “And I see we have our two prime candidates sitting right across from each other, facing off just as they should be,” Gordon said, then laughed.

  Around the table, forced chuckles could be heard, and Macy herself smiled at Griffin in a way she imagined made her look as though she was sitting on tacks. He gazed back at her, vaguely amused, probably already patting himself on the back mentally for having the job in the bag.

  “I’m hoping in the next week we’ll see something brilliant out of one of you to make the decision a little easier.”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Griffin said.

  Macy nodded, as if she didn’t mind at all being treated like a racehorse rather than a human being. Truth be told, she thought Gordon Bronson was an utter and complete asshole, but it wasn’t like that opinion was going to get her a promotion or a raise, so she knew how to stay quiet about it.

  “I’ll expect to see an impressive start on the Golden Gate account—from both of you. Don’t forget for a second that you’re competing for the same job, and may the best ad man or woman win,” Gordon said.

  Macy tried not to roll her eyes, and when she got past the urge, she caught Griffin surreptitiously doing the very thing she’d been avoiding.

  Griffin thought Gordon Bronson was an ass, too? Could it really be? She’d never dared to broach the subject in real life, but it comforted her in some small way to know she wasn’t the only one.

  She suppressed a laugh, bit the inside of her cheek and thought about how much she would owe this year on her taxes to get rid of any humorous impulses. The urge to laugh passed, and she tried to focus again on what the senior partner had to say.

  But just then, Griffin caught her eye, and he pinned her with one of his looks that was nearly dripping with sex. Her traitorous body responded with a little wave of heat. He had such an uncanny way of tripping her up with those looks at the most inopportune times, as if he knew he could use his sex appeal to distract her when she least expected it.

  Damn him.

  “And Macy, by the way…”

  Macy sat up straighter, her heart flip-flopping at being addressed in front of everyone at the table. She looked at Gordon. “Yes, sir?”

  “I thought your team’s recent work on the Blaudren campaign was a bit disappointing. If you really want to be competitive for the promotion, you’re going to have to thoroughly impress us in the next week. Show us you can be more of a risk-taker, more of an innovator than some of your more predictable work has suggested.”

  She felt her face burning, and she slumped a bit. “Okay, Mr. Bronson. I’m sure I can deliver,” she said, not sure how convincing she sounded.

  She’d considered her work on the Blaudren campaign some of her best, but that was the thing about Gordon—he had rather unpredictable tastes, and some times he liked to insult people’s work just for the fun of it, it seemed. Or maybe to push them to try harder.

  She heard nothing for the final five minutes of the meeting, as her brain raced around the idea that she was lower on the promotion totem pole than Griffin now.

  If she didn’t get the promotion, Macy was going to be seriously disillusioned with her own abilities. She’d proven time and again that she was worthy of more responsibility, and she’d proven to herself that she could take the risks necessary to move up in her career, even if Gordon didn’t think so. If she didn’t get the job, she feared she’d be right back at square one, her confidence crushed, her self-esteem lowered to chubby high-school nerd levels again.

  She could not go that low again.

  While she was wrapped up in her own thoughts, Gordon finally closed the meeting, and the senior partners bustled out of the boardroom. The creative team was still sitting around, discussing details that had come up, and making lunch plans, while Macy sat in a stupor, feeling like a bit of an ass for being the only one who’d been called out for less than stellar work.

  A paper airplane sailed across the table and landed next to Macy’s notebook. She looked up in the direction it had come from—Griffin’s direction, of course—and found him staring at her smugly.

  “Don’t be mad,” he said. “I’m sure you can recover from that Blaudren debacle.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said sarcastically.

  From somewhere to the right, someone snickered. Probably Lynn Baxter, Macy’s arch nemesis, who relished watching Griffin upstage her. She refused to give Lynn the satisfaction of even a glance in her direction.

  Instead, Macy picked up the paper airplane, aimed it at Griffin’s head when he glanced away at Lynn, and sent it sailing through the air with a flick of her wrist. The plane zoomed toward its target at a surprising speed, and as if Macy had orchestrated the whole scene, just as Griffin turned toward her again, the tip of the plane crashed into his forehead, bounced off and landed on the boardroom table.

  Everyone in the room laughed, and she could see a little rush of color in Griffin’s cheeks. He pinned her with his sex-loaded gaze again, and the heat there nearly melted her in her chair. God, she hated how he could do that in a split second, even when she was pissed off at him. Even when she’d just pelted him with a paper airplane.

  How the hell did he do that?

  “Am I sensing a little hostility?” he asked, the corner of his mouth curving up.

  Thank goodness that’s all he sensed coming from her right now with their coworkers watching.

  She forced an even smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. That airplane just slipped right out of my hand.”

  “Yeah,” Carson said, recovering from his laughter. “I saw it. It slipped.”

  Griffin rubbed the spot where the plane had hit him.

  “Just remember,” he said. “I’ll be a fair boss. I won’t hold petty things like this against you after I get the promotion—I promise.”

  His self-satisfied smile spoke volumes about his conviction that he would, indeed, be the next creative director. He didn’t have a doubt in the world.

  Macy’s first instinct was to lash out with a smart-ass comment of her own, but she held back. She had to keep the big picture in mind. No matter how much he might piss her off today, tomorrow she’d get hers.

  Tomorrow, and all weekend, she’d see to it that Griffin finally got what was coming to him. He’d never know what hit him, and it definitely wouldn’t be a paper airplane.

  3

  TRYING TO JAM a full day’s work into two hours this morning before he’d gone back home, fed his cat enough to last a weekend, put out an extra litter box and caught a limo to pick up Macy and Carson, had left Griffin feeling a little harried.

  Not to mention the pressure that was mounting over the impending promotion announcement at work. He could almost feel the partners sizing him up at any given moment, could sense their satisfaction with his performance, but there was still the what-if factor going on. What if they didn’t choose him? Could he even stay at Bronson and Wade in that case? Could he keep on working in a job where he didn’t feel challenged enough, where he wanted more autonomy but couldn’t have it? He didn’t want to face any of those possibilities now, not when he was so close to having the promotion in the bag. He wasn’t twenty-five anymore, and he still had a lot to prove, including the fact that he could handle more responsibility.

  And now that he was finally alone with Macy, he felt a second wind coming on.

  Griffin shoved his carry-on bag into the overhead bin, then sat in the seat next to Macy’s. Carson had volunteered to get bumped from their flight because of overbooking and catch another a half hour later, which was fine with Griffin. A few hours alone together in first class would give him a chance to have a little fun with Macy.

  She had her nose buried in a book, pretending to be engrossed in it, but he knew better. She was just trying to avoid talking to him. She wore a white suit and pink lace camisole, and Griffin couldn’t help admirin
g her finer attributes for a moment as he leaned in close and pretended to be interested in what she was reading.

  She smelled a little like cotton candy, his favorite carnival treat, and he wondered if it was the perfume she wore, or some kind of flavored body lotion. Did she taste as sweet as she smelled?

  He’d debated all day about when and if to reveal he’d seen her little orgasm act. And, impatient guy that he was, he didn’t see the point of waiting any longer.

  “Mmmmm,” he said, low enough so only she could hear.

  She looked up and frowned. “Are you eating something?”

  No, but he’d like to be. “I was just admiring how well you fake it.”

  Her expression turned from perplexed to wary. “What are you talking about?”

  “You weren’t really reading that book, were you?”

  “Of course I was.”

  “You just didn’t want to have to talk to me.”

  She snapped the book closed. The title of it was Wicked Pleasures, one of those novels with a frilly-looking cover featuring a guy and a girl in the throes of passion.

  “What would you like to talk about?”

  He smiled. “Good book?”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay.”

  “Did you get to the part where they do that?” he asked, nodding to the passionate half-clothed embrace.

  “Yeah, but honestly, they do a lot more than that.”

  “Does the girl ever fake it?”

  Some of the color drained from her face. “Fake what? Why do you keep talking about faking it?”

  He plucked the in-flight magazine from the back of the seat in front of him and pretended to be interested in it. “No reason.”

  “Griffin, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “Do you have an air purifier in your apartment?” He asked as he pretended to study an ad for one.

  He glanced up and caught her looking as though she might bolt from the airplane.

  “Did you go to O’Shaunnessy’s Wednesday night?” she asked.

  Smart girl—he had to give her that.

  “Why do you ask?” he said, trying hard not to smile.

  She seemed to give the matter some thought. And then some small something about her changed. Her posture, her color, her expression… He couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but she didn’t look freaked out anymore.

  “You were there,” she said.

  “There for what?”

  “For my orgasm.”

  The guy in the seat in front of them glanced back with interest.

  And there it was again—Macy’s complete unpredictability. Just when he thought he was going to embarrass the hell out of her, she got all calm and matter-of-fact.

  “It was an impressive performance,” he said.

  She smiled. “Glad you liked it. I’ve had some practice.”

  “Lots of practice?”

  She leaned in close and dropped her voice. “It’s a highly protected female secret—if you ever reveal this to anyone, I’ll have to kill you—but we actually take secret lessons on how to fake it.”

  A laugh erupted from Griffin. “You must have learned from a master.”

  She sat back in her seat again and smiled. “If you ever need lessons…”

  “Guys don’t fake it.”

  “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you haven’t had to do it at least once.”

  “Never.”

  A flight attendant was prepping the plane for takeoff now, hurrying around and slamming doors. Another flight attendant was collecting drink glasses from the first-class passengers.

  Macy eyed him curiously. “Have you ever been to Vegas before?”

  “Of course. Who hasn’t?”

  “I haven’t,” she said.

  “Get out of here.”

  She shrugged. “I’m not even sure I’ll know how to debauch myself properly.”

  “Honey, you just leave me in charge of debauchery, and you’ll have no problems.”

  If only…

  If only she’d take him up on his offer. If only she’d give him half a chance to show her what debauchery was all about. He’d be a happy, happy man.

  “I hope Carson makes it on the next flight,” she said, glancing at her watch. “If this one gets any more delayed, he’ll get to Vegas before us.”

  “Frankly,” Griffin said. “I don’t give a damn if Carson makes it or not.”

  “Oh?” She cast a loaded glance at Griffin, and he watched her, wondering what the hell it meant. “Too bad we don’t have the weekend alone together,” she said, then reopened her steamy novel and started reading again.

  Whoa, mama. Back up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  The corner of her mouth twitched, but she kept her gaze on the pages of the book. “Oh, nothing.”

  Suddenly the canned air blasting out of the little fan above drove Griffin crazy, and he reached up to turn it off. The sound of the plane’s engines became louder, and the flight attendant started going through her safety briefing.

  He leaned over and snatched the book out of Macy’s hands. “Don’t you ‘oh, nothing’ me. I’ve seen your acting abilities, and impressive as they may be, I know the score now. You can’t fool me.”

  She made a show of stretching, probably all for his benefit. The movement emphasized her full chest, which he could barely tear his gaze away from. Crazy how when he got near her, he could hardly think of her as anything but a collection of irresistible body parts, a being created to torture him with temptation.

  “You’ve got me,” she finally said. “I guess I’d better just tell you the deal straight-up.”

  “That would be a nice change.” Wandering into O’Shaunnessy’s the other night had been a stroke of pure luck that he’d never be able to thank Carson enough for.

  “I just think, if we’re going to be in Sin City, anyway…” She smiled and shrugged.

  “Go on.”

  “We ought to take advantage.”

  “I’m going to need specifics,” he said, forcing his tone to stay casual.

  She crossed her leg toward him and angled her torso in close. “You, me and a hotel room. No faking it. Is that specific enough?”

  Her voice had taken on a sensual quality that left no room for doubting her meaning. If Griffin had been a guy on the cover of a romance novel, he was pretty sure this was the part where he was supposed to take the woman in his arms, rip her dress and start showering her with hungry kisses.

  Instead, he cast a glance down at Macy’s lace top and wondered how hard a tug it would really take to remove it. Definitely not a maneuver he’d attempt on an airplane.

  “No faking it,” he said, his mouth suddenly dry, his entire body tensed. Definitely specific enough, and the best idea he’d heard in years.

  WHAT HAPPENS in Vegas stays in Vegas.

  It was a piece of marketing genius, that slogan. Macy couldn’t get it out of her head, not on the plane ride, not in the cab and not now, when it threatened to make her as tipsy as if it were a strong drink.

  She looked up at the towering facade of the Golden Gate Resort and Casino—a massive gold building gleaming in the waning sunlight, its style both vaguely art deco and a tribute to the old-style hotels with their neon lights and lack of architectural gizmos—and sighed at the sheer grandness of it all. Speakers discreetly hidden around the hotel grounds played Frank Sinatra music, and if Macy had been wearing a flouncy dress, she wouldn’t have been able to resist the urge to do a little spin right there on the sidewalk.

  The casino had wanted a San Francisco advertising firm so that they’d have locals who really knew the city helping them recreate the magic of it through advertising. No small task, but something Macy was sure they could handle.

  The dry desert wind whipped at her hair, and the heat forced her to remove her blazer before she’d made it halfway up the casino walk.

  She was still feeling giddy from her proposition to Griffin on the plane—and his obvious
excitement over it. He’d fallen for her act without a hitch, even with the problem of his having seen her in the orgasm contest.

  Macy still wasn’t sure how she’d get around that little issue, but she figured most guys were so distracted in the final throes of passion that he wouldn’t notice a bit of acting on her part. He might wonder afterward, but during? No way.

  Griffin had spent half the flight talking about the casino ad campaign. He’d even kept talking after Macy had started reading her book again. The only thing that had gotten him to shut up was when she started reading the steamy parts of her book to him. Nothing like sex to shut a guy up.

  And now here they were. Macy hurried in her high-heeled sandals to keep up with Griffin, while he looked around, peering up and down the strip as he walked.

  “Great location,” he said. “We’re right in the middle of it all.”

  Macy felt a little too overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds to take it in at once. First she needed to get rid of her luggage and the stiff suit she always felt compelled to wear when flying first class, then she’d be ready to check out the casino and the town.

  Fifteen minutes later, they’d registered, wandered the gigantic hotel and found their side-by-side rooms. Only when they were standing outside their doors trying to get the damn credit card keys to work did it strike Macy how close she was to completing the first step of her crazy plan.

  Suddenly, her stomach revolted and she nearly lost her airplane snack all over the door. “I’ll ring you when I’m changed and ready to go out,” she called as she hurried inside her room before he could get any ideas.

  Just as she closed the door, she caught Griffin’s perplexed look and offered him a little wave goodbye. Once she’d closed it, she leaned against it and expelled a ragged breath.

  “Damn it.”

  If she was going to do this, she had to do it right. No freaking out, no throwing up, no turning into a wimp. She took a few deep, cleansing breaths.