Say You Need Me

by Carrie Lomax

  Too bad. He wasn’t up for casual sex anymore. Yet eight months in civilian life had taught him the gulf between his past and his present was most sensitive at its deepest point—sex and relationships. Janelle might as well have taken a stick and poked him right where it hurt the most. Not that he’d ever let her see it. Janelle was a nice girl with a ruthless streak. Who knew what she’d poke into next?

  He was such a sucker. He’d given her exactly what she wanted, and now he was going to spend the rest of this conference chasing down some asshole for a two-minute sex tape instead of making the contacts he needed to get his business off the ground.

  Why hadn’t he let her go to the police?

  Because you like your dirty pleasure shot with a chaser of pain, dumbass.

  Nothing had changed since Penny. Because of her, he might never find his way back to what he’d been: a mathematically-inclined kid with a film studies professor mother and an English professor father, his entire life ahead of him—until it had all gone to shit in the space of a few months. Not that he’d done himself any favors along the way. All Trent had done was dig the hole deeper.

  * * *

  She’d offended him deeply. It was written in the stiff line of his shoulders, in the way the sensuous curve of his mouth had gone flat and hard.

  Janelle didn’t know what to say. Should she try to make things better, or keep him at arms’ length? What if he tried to do…those things in the video?

  What if he didn’t?

  She wished Trent would say something, anything. He remained sulkily silent, so she offered a tentative, “Olivia seems nice.”

  Trent only nodded.

  “It was really decent of her to give me her dinner ticket. And the jacket too. I only have a cardigan with me.”

  He jerked his head toward the bathroom door. “Better get dressed. You can write her a thank you note later.”

  The door slammed behind her a little harder than she meant it to. Janelle added insult by turning the bolt. Then she flipped on the fan to cover any noise.

  Only then did she exhale.

  She stripped out of her clothes for the second time that day.

  That video.

  Would he do those things to her, if she asked nicely?

  You don’t want him to. You have boundaries, and those don’t include dirty sex. Look how she’d reacted when Kyle the Rich Jerk had tried some of those moves. She’d been terrified.

  Janelle hooked her thumbs into her panties and pulled them down. She had one other pair of regular panties with her. Most of what she’d brought was risqué. Well, her version of it. Trent would probably laugh at the sweet balconet bra and matching thong she was hooking herself into.

  Trent’s opinion of your underwear does not matter and never will.

  This had been the most confusing day of her life. Worse than the day Ben had dumped her. Worse than losing her car, her apartment, and her fantasy of getting back together with Ben all in a few hours.

  When you meet the right person, you know.

  Really? she demanded of the little voice. That is such crap. Trent Mason is a gambling drug addict who likes porn stars. You have higher standards, woman.

  She’d known Ben was the one for her from the instant they’d met in freshman psych, and now he was marrying someone else. Maybe Trent wasn’t Mr. Right, but he could be Mr. Right Now. A long-delayed rebound to help her finally get over Ben, while she figured out a solution to this pickle.

  A solid rap at the door. Janelle fumbled the mascara wand she was using on her short, dark lashes. “You coming out? Dinner starts in ten minutes.”

  What the hell was wrong with her? Fantasizing about getting it on with the one person with any capacity to help her was the same foolish thinking that had gotten her into this mess. She didn’t need another opportunity to screw this up. “Be right out.”

  * * *

  Janelle emerged from the bathroom wearing a tiny black dress that dipped in the front as if putting her mouthwatering breasts on a platter. Almost as soon as Trent had registered the fact of how stacked she was for a second time, she stuck her arms into the pink suit jacket Olivia had left and buttoned herself away from view.

  Trent took his turn in the bathroom with resignation. The next few days were going to be impossible. He had to find a way not to touch her. Easier said than done when his dick interpreted every word that came out of her sassy mouth as an invitation. She was alone and clinging to him like a life raft. Taking advantage of her made him an asshole, not a hero.

  She stood before the dresser mirror waiting for him in her too-large jacket, too-short dress, black open-toe sandals and hair curling from her braid. “I think I should use an alias. A fake identity, just in case we run into the Rich Jerk.”

  “You could be my secretary,” Trent offered, opening the door.

  Janelle side-eyed him. “Can you be more cliché? How about Business Operations Manager?”

  Despite his foul mood, Trent stifled a laugh. Good thing she wasn’t really on his payroll, or he’d be over budget on salary already. “Sure. It’s your fantasy. Name your title.”

  She shot him an annoyed look. “You would call it a fantasy. It’s self-protection. What if the Rich Jerk is at this dinner? He could be here for the same conference.”

  It was possible. Unlikely, but possible. There were dozens of conferences in Las Vegas every week. Weren’t there?

  “What should I call you?” he asked as he followed her into the elevator, taking the opportunity to check out the curve of her ass above the short hem of her skirt. What was she wearing under there? Anything? His inquiring mind wanted to know.

  “Rachel.”

  “Okay, Rach.”

  “I said Rachel. No nicknames. Rachel….uh, Stone.” Janelle flicked her hair over the shoulder of the pink blazer. It nipped in at the waist and she’d rolled up the sleeves to display the striped silk lining. She’d be noticeable among a lot of tech geeks, government flunkies and sales reps. There were a few women in the mix but usually not more than a handful. He’d never seen one as attractive, either.

  In the lobby, they passed a miniature drug store with a rack of reading glasses.

  “Hold up.” Trent picked out a pink frame with minimally magnifying lenses. Ten bucks. Well, he was in this deep. What was another few dollars?

  He held them out. “Try them.”

  “Fake glasses?” Janelle cocked her head at him, a hint of a smile playing over her lips.

  Trent’s abs tightened against the blow to his solar plexus. He reached over and slipped the ear pieces into place under the fine threads of her hair. Like the first time he’d touched her, the physical contact sent a spark flying along the fuse of his nerves straight toward the bundled dynamite of his long-restrained libido.

  Fuck, he wished he’d ponied up for the bigger hotel room. Not having to share had seemed ideal, until it turned out he was sharing after all. He’d checked at the desk, but they were booked up. There was no hope of changing rooms. At least he’d been able to pick up an extra key card for her.

  “Very you, Rachel,” he deadpanned as he paid for them at the kiosk.

  “She’s my roommate, so I know I’ll respond.” Janelle discarded the paper tag and propped them onto the bridge of her nose.

  “Thought you lived with your parents?”

  “Right. Rachel gave up the lease to move in with her boyfriend. I tried to take it over, but the landlord wouldn’t rent to me because of my credit. I had to move home a few weeks ago.” Janelle shrugged with feigned nonchalance. Relying on her parents clearly bugged the shit out of her. “I’m pretty sure they don’t want me crashing at their house indefinitely.”

  “So what’s your exit plan?” he asked.

  “You’re looking at it. This was it.” Her expression was so crestfallen, Trent didn’t have the heart to tease her about it.

  He changed the subject.“So how much do you know about IT security?”

  “Nothing, other than I
can’t access a lot of websites from work because they have everything locked down,” she replied without hesitation.

  “Then this is going to be an exceptionally boring two hours. But at least you’ll be fed.” Trent led Janelle/Rachel down a hallway marked with a sign that bore the conference’s logo and title. It was filled with suits. Men in navy, gray or black suits, some with pinstripes, some with checks, some wearing power ties, others wearing no ties. An occasional woman dotted the landscape. While a good chunk of the men came from varying ethnic backgrounds, all the women were either Asian or Caucasian.

  No wonder Olivia hadn’t wanted to attend. After dealing with being the only black woman in the room all day, no one could blame her for wanting to take a break. He didn’t see Olivia’s roommate, either.

  Janelle stood out for her pink jacket and matching pink glasses. If Trent hadn’t been glued to her side, he had no doubt that she’d be deluged by a sea of testosterone-fueled inappropriate attention.

  “Do we get to keep these?” Janelle whispered, holding up an inexpensive USB charger, notepad and flashlight on a keychain. She’d leaned close to whisper her question, and the faint scent of her glossy dark hair made him momentarily light-headed.

  “First conference?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Janelle turned the plastic-wrapped giveaways over in her fingers.

  “You can keep them.”

  She brightened and stuck them in her pocket. Olivia’s pocket. The jacket barely buttoned over her breasts. Trent swallowed at the sight of her lovely flesh snuggled between pink wool.

  He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, either.

  The man sitting to Janelle’s left began chatting amiably. “Russel Solomon. What’s your connection to the IT world, Rachel?”

  “I’m the Business Operations Manager for Mason.” Janelle elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

  “Mason Technology Security.” He stuck out his hand.

  “Specialty?” Solomon’s curtness was accompanied by a New York accent.

  “Custom-designed, secure cloud systems. Malware, ransomware, cloud data security with expertise in terrorist threats. Recently ex-Army. We’re still in startup mode.”

  “Me too. Launching a high-value mergers and acquisitions team in the spring. We’re too small for the big vendors to take an interest in, but our security needs are too complex for the lower-tier vendors. We’ll issue an RFP soon to potential contacts. Ms. Stone, do you have a card?”

  Panic flashed behind the cheap lenses. “I left them in my hotel room. Mace, did you bring yours?”

  What’s an RFP? she whispered. Trent’s mouth tried to smile at the excellent save, but he didn’t let it. Trent leaned over until his mouth was an inch from her ear, he soft floral scent of her shampoo teasing his nose. “It stands for request for proposal. It’s the start of a formal bid process.”

  He passed a small rectangle of card stock across Janelle’s shoulders. Hell, if anything came of it, he could thank Janelle for making the contact. He wasn’t any good at these events. Too reserved, too anxious someone might recognize him from that damned video Penny had released. TMS had been slower in getting off the ground than he’d have liked. There was a very distinct possibility he’d latched onto the project of saving Janelle from herself simply to avoid going out of his comfort zone and talking to people.

  Janelle had no such inhibitions. By the time the keynote speaker took the stage, she’d gotten the entire table talking. Even Trent joined in. Adding a woman to the mix broke the ice, especially since she had a seemingly endless reservoir of curious questions that a bunch of men might not have bothered to ask. Or maybe it was just Janelle. Rachel. Whoever she was, she was chatty.

  The keynote’s comments on the global threat of ransomware to companies and governments were right in Trent’s wheelhouse. He should’ve been rapt. Instead, he kept glancing at Janelle, who was properly riveted. She’d pushed the glasses up on top of her head, unaware that the top button of Olivia’s jacket had given up the ghost.

  Don’t look, asshole.

  He had the perfect vantage. It was impossible not to sneak a peek.

  Perfect, plump mounds snuggled a two-inch V of cleavage. Saliva flooded his mouth, and it had nothing to do with the mediocre conference food.

  Which was still a sight better than MREs.

  Two-factor security. Global hack attacks. C’mon, man, get your mind back on track.

  Bankruptcy if you don’t find a way to expand your business beyond a few government subcontracts.

  It did the trick. There was nothing like being responsible for five people’s livelihoods to bring focus. He needed to land some clients that Olivia hadn’t tossed him as a handout. Right now, he was tapping the inheritance he’d received from his parents’ deaths to cover shortfalls, long held in trust by his aunt. It was a lot of money, but if he kept burning cash at this rate, he’d run through it in no time. Considering he’d lost millions at twenty-three, Trent couldn’t let the business fail and lose everything all over again.

  He was here to prove himself, not ogle his unexpected roommate.

  Who dropped her forearm over the back of his chair for a few minutes as she turned to watch the speaker. Lilliputian darts of awareness prickled along Trent’s shoulders. If either of them moved half an inch, they’d be touching. Touching through layers of wool and cotton, sure, but making physical contact.

  She removed her arm from the back of his chair, and the moment passed. The speaker droned on through dinner before handing the podium for another speech. Trent heard none of it. When it was over, hundreds of people thronged the cash bar or headed for the exit, depending on their preferences.

  Janelle-as-Rachel continued chatting with the older man she’d been seated next to, Solomon. He seemed annoyingly interested in Trent’s fictional Business Operations Manager, quizzing her about the business while she ad-libbed her way through the conversation. It was impressive, in a way. He only hoped she wasn’t spinning too many lines about MTS he’d have to explain away if the RFP came through.

  He was busy watching her talk, so Trent knew something was off the moment her body stilled. Janelle reminded him of a mouse sensing a cat, a prey animal on high alert and ready to run. Slowly she lowered the glasses to the bridge of her nose and turned to face him.

  Hiding. Janelle was hiding.

  Janelle’s attention was fixated across the room. Trent tried to follow it, but all he saw was a cluster of older men in dark sports coats or suits. Indistinguishable, paunchy, and middling to a one. Mid-level executive types.

  She leaned close to speak low in his ear. “Short man, glasses, gray at the temples. It’s him. The…” Janelle swallowed. “The man I came here to meet.”

  “The john.”

  The delicate point of her chin dipped. “Whatever you want to call him.”

  Trent’s gut tightened with regret at his choice of words. She’d gone up to the door and knocked, but she hadn’t gone inside the house. Until this minute, he hadn’t believed the guy posed any real threat.

  It hit him like an IED under a truck, how dangerous it was, what she’d done. He’d focused on the sex, and treated the situation as a joke. It wasn’t. Meeting a stranger in a distant city, alone, could get a woman killed. Janelle had every reason to be scared. His fingers tightened around her elbow. “Let’s go.”

  Wordlessly, Janelle dropped her napkin on her plate.

  “Can you change your appearance? Put your hair up or something?” Trent demanded.

  She kept her eyes focused on the hideous carpeting and produced a rubber band, quickly tucking her long, dark hair into a sleek bun. It added five years to her appearance.

  “Stand up straight,” he ordered, military training kicking in.

  Janelle’s shoulders went rigidly square. Instantly she looked taller. Older, bigger and all-business. Her john wouldn’t recognize her in the few steps they needed to make to get out of the conference room. There were hundreds of people milling about.


  But not many women.

  He’d never considered the scrutiny that came with being the only one of your kind in a room. He’d observed people’s reactions to Olivia, but until recently, she’d been the one in authority. Only in the civilian world was he beginning to understand the under-appreciated value of being able to fade into the background, one among many. Unless someone knew about the video, he didn’t stand out for anything but his height. Trent couldn’t imagine how exhausting it must be, when there was no passing unseen.

  Janelle’s hand clamped over his forearm, her nails digging through the wool, and sent his body into high alert. “He’s walking toward us.”

  Trent gestured down a darkened hallway and pushed her against the wall. “He won’t see us down there. We’ll follow him out.”

  The tip of Janelle’s tongue moistened her lips as she darted into the shadows. At the end of the hallway was a cart with folding chairs. People streamed by. Trent leaned against the wall, blocking her from view. Janelle peered over his shoulder. “Kiss me.”

  “What? No. Why?” Hot desire sluiced through his body as if a pipe had burst. This was a terrible idea. He needed every barrier he could get between them. Now.

  Janelle’s green eyes searched his. “It works in the movies.”

  Why couldn’t she have chosen another example? Trent’s mind barreled back in time to when his mom had made the family watch classic movies together, a gut punch that left him disoriented. “You don’t have to do this.”

  Janelle gave him a funny little smile. “I know.”

  6

  On tiptoe, she tried to close the gap between her lips and his. He couldn’t react, frozen between protest and acquiescence. Eventually, instincts kicked in and Trent bent to close the remaining distance.

  He tasted her lipstick first, a little waxy. Janelle didn’t open her mouth. Trent inhaled the faint perfume of her hair, the warmth of her skin, and desire lunged hard against the leash of his self-control.