by Nicki Elson
“Who?”
“Fitz—Mister Darcy. Pride and Prejudice.”
He shook his head. “I don’t watch chick flicks. But listen, gettable is only part one of my requirements. Part two is worth getting.”
“I think I’ll like part two better.”
“You will.” He smiled, and her eyebrows pulled together in a doubtful scowl. She hoped she hadn’t invited a fresh round of insults. “Chuck told me you had a good job, so I know you’re smart—I like smart—and Amy said you were the independent sort, that you date a lot, but you’re not the type to perpetually need to have a boyfriend. I also like independence in a woman. I don’t want someone going out with me because she wants a man; I want her with me because she wants me. So I went back through the pictures, and then I noticed something else.” He stopped, wrinkling his nose in an almost shy gesture and setting aflame those sparks she’d admired in his pale green eyes at the rehearsal dinner.
She bit. “What?”
He wagged his head slowly back and forth and let out a deep, inviting chuckle. “I don’t know. There was something about you—your smile, the self-deprecating roll of your eyes that I can see even in still shots. I could tell you were intelligent, funny, down-to-earth. You seemed like someone I’d want to know. Then I met you last night…” His eyes dropped to her mouth and slowly rose to capture her gaze with his. “I know we only talked for a few minutes, but Lyssa Bates…you are most definitely someone I want to know.”
Each word had drawn her a centimeter closer to him. By the time he finished delivering his lines, their mouths were mere inches apart. She tilted her chin up ever so slightly, giving him the permission he sought. His lips were immediately on hers.
It would’ve been a motion-picture-perfect kiss if he’d left it at a soft brush, but he didn’t. He went in for the kill way too soon, and Lyssa pushed back. “Whoa, cowboy. How about we have a few dances—and a lot of drinks—before we take it there?”
He laughed and ran his thumb across her jaw, pinching her chin. “See? Funny. So what shall we start with, the dancing or the drinks?”
“Drinks. Definitely drinks.”
The rest of the night passed in a swirl of drinks and dancing and more drinks and kisses…then a feverish taxi ride home and Sean pressing her up against a wall, slowly unzipping her dress, telling her how beautiful she looked in nothing but a push-up bra and bikini panties. He nibbled and gnawed at her flesh. She moaned for more, and he had his way with her all over her small apartment: against the front door, on the kitchen counter, in the shower. Everywhere.
When Lyssa woke the next morning, the greatest portion of the smile that spread across her face came from knowing that less than half of what she and Sean had done together had actually happened.
Chapter 8
“YOU AND MISTER UPSTATE NEW YORK were hot and heavy on the dance floor last night,” Trish said when she called early in the afternoon on the day after the wedding.
“Good wedding.” Lyssa smiled, dipping her tea bag up and down in her mug.
“You know you won’t get away with your coyness around me. Spill it—what happened? Is he still there?”
“He never even came in.”
“You went back to his hotel room?”
“Nope.”
“Well, he was all over you when you two headed out to get a cab. Something happened. Did you do him in the backseat and then send him on his merry way?”
“No!”
Trish laughed. “What then?”
“Pretending it’s any of your business…somewhere between walking out of the hotel and opening the cab door, I had an epiphany. I’m done with men.”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing I didn’t want him to do to me. I’m just done with them. The whole lot of them.”
“For good?”
“For good.”
“Holy shit. You sound totally serious.”
“I am.”
“I’m coming over. Start brewing the coffee.”
Twenty minutes later, Trish was at Lyssa’s apartment with a greasy bag of freshly fried donuts. She plopped the bag onto the coffee table and sank to sit cross-legged on the rug. “Okay, lay it on me. What happened with Upstate that’s made you turn away from the entire race of men?”
Still in her flannel pajama pants with a messy ponytail tied at the top of her head, Lyssa brought over a full carafe, two mugs, and a container of flavored cream. She set them by the donuts and sat on the folded futon. “There’s not much to tell. He started to get in the cab with me, and my drunken mind played out how things would go—we’d make out in the cab, he’d want to come up to my place, I’d tell him I didn’t sleep with guys I’d just met, he’d say we could just talk, I’d call bullshit, he’d ask for my number and promise to call so we could get to know each other better, and blah, blah, blah.”
Trish pursed her shimmery pink lips—even in sweats and a pink White Sox baseball hat, she didn’t neglect her lip-wear. “Sounds about right. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is, it’s all an enormous waste of time. He wouldn’t call. Or maybe he would, and we’d hook up again at some point, and maybe we’d even start a real relationship, and then it would eventually end, and what would’ve been the point of all the awkwardness, compromise, and obsessing that happened along the way?”
“You thought through all of that in the two seconds it takes to get into a cab?”
“I fleshed it out this morning. Last night, it was more like I just really didn’t feel like dealing with the guy.” Lyssa frowned. “I don’t think I’m meant for romantic relationships. But you know what? I’m totally fine with that. Especially when there are other options.” One corner of her lip curled, and she gave her friend a devilish look.
“Not the vibrator again. Lyssa!”
“Oh, stop. It may have been a drunken decision last night, but this morning I understand the true beauty of my new plan. Think about it—even if I’d invited him up here and we’d gone at it, there’s no way Real Sean could’ve been as good as Fantasy Sean. My imagination plus Vibrizzio is greater than a real man. Why should I settle for second best?”
“Vibrizzio?”
Lyssa flinched at her slip.
“You named it! Okay, this isn’t even close to healthy. We’re going to throw it away right now. Where is it?”
Lyssa flew onto her knees in front of her side table and blocked the drawer. “That’s ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is how panicked you look. Now I know I’m doing the right thing.” Trish shuffled over on her knees and pressed her fingertips into Lyssa’s sides, tickling and causing her to bend and weaken so she was able to push her aside and open the drawer.
She reached in but stopped short when Lyssa shouted, “I didn’t wipe it off last night!”
“Ack!” Trish slammed the drawer shut and looked at her friend, who now sat on the floor with her knees pulled to her chest.
Lyssa chewed her lip for a moment and then confessed, “It’s not only about sex. I’m done with real guys because I’m always half imagining what they are, anyhow, rather than accepting what they really are. No guy is ever going to live up to what I want him to be. It works in reverse, too—like with me and Keith. He wanted a geeked-out girlfriend, so I went along with his shows and his movies, pretending to be what he wanted me to be. When you think about it, aren’t all relationships manufactured and make-believe to some extent?”
Trish was now on the futon, sitting forward with her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her palms. Her silence and pursed lips indicated she didn’t buy into Lyssa’s theory.
“Okay, another example,” Lyssa said. “Did you know Sean had been looking at pictures of me and interrogating Chuck and Amy ahead of time? He went to the wedding with a pre-conceived notion of who I am, who he wanted me to be, and his mind was going to fit me into that mold no matter what the truth was. He was pretending, which is apparently total
ly normal and acceptable in the dating world. All I intend to do is take the pretending to a whole new level by cutting out the middleman—or in my case, any man.”
Trish shook her head. “Sean was a douche, and your breakup with Keith is still fresh. It’s fine to take more time before dating again, but don’t let those nimrods make you give up on real guys altogether. It’ll click for you one of these days.”
Lyssa exhaled. “Maybe.” She didn’t really believe that but knew her friend wouldn’t be swayed to endorse her new philosophy.
“And you’ll take it easy on your little friend in the drawer?”
“Sure. I’ll save him for special occasions.” She didn’t believe that either.
Lyssa and Hayden sat in yet another rectangular conference room around a long, polished table interrogating investment managers. This time, they were in Atlanta on the third morning of their journey. It was mid-October, and they were on a quest to do onsite visits with as many of Delicious Hawaii’s existing managers as possible before the November board meeting in Dallas. Several of the managers were in the Southeast, so they’d grouped them into one trip. Zinnia Management was their last visit before heading back to the Midwest.
Hayden had done an onsite with Zinnia a few months earlier for another project, so Lyssa had suggested a meeting wasn’t necessary, but Hayden insisted they should at least stop by while they were in the region. When Roni Wexman, one of Zinnia’s senior investment managers, glided into the room twenty minutes later than everyone else, Lyssa suspected she was looking at the reason why her partner had been so adamant.
As explained in her bio, Roni had been with the firm for nearly a decade. She’d come to Zinnia with previous investment experience and had earned an MBA with honors from Emory. But Lyssa was pretty sure it wasn’t the woman’s résumé that had Hayden sitting up straighter the moment the sleek brunette made her appearance. She was in her mid-forties, but she clearly never missed a monthly facial and could’ve passed for ten years younger. A fitted jacket and a pencil skirt hugged her tall, lean frame, revealing a tantalizing length of toned legs.
“Aha, you made it back earlier than expected,” Richard Zinnia said to the new arrival before turning to Hayden and Lyssa to explain. “Roni’s become our international spy. With overseas operations becoming more and more important to a lot of the companies we invest in, we’ve decided to dedicate more resources to onsite visits.”
Lyssa stood when Roni stepped over.
“Wexman, Roni Wexman,” the older woman quipped as she shook Lyssa’s outstretched hand.
Lyssa only smiled, mesmerized by this exquisite creature.
“This is Lyssa Bates, my new partner,” Hayden said. “She does actually speak.”
“Yes, hello. Nice to meet you.” Lyssa pumped the portfolio manager’s hand, then she and Hayden resumed their seats as Roni moved to the head of the table where she explained how her “detective work” would impact investment decisions.
Her presentation ended, and Hayden and Lyssa went through their list of questions. After this had gone on for a while, Hayden pointed out, “We have a little over an hour before we need to hop on MARTA to the airport, so we should probably get started on the tour. I know Lyssa would like a chance to talk to some of the analysts.”
After glancing at the clock, Lyssa noticed that Roni’s perfectly manicured fingernails tapped on the tabletop, making the large diamond on her left hand glitter as it jumped. It was the first time the woman had looked anything but completely composed.
“Hayden,” Roni said, “you’ve seen the operations enough times. I was hoping for a chance to show off the capabilities of my new analytical software. Could I steal you away from the others to show you a few things while your partner has a look around?”
A subtle smugness stole over Hayden’s face. He slid his eyes over to Lyssa. “That all right with you?”
“Sure.”
“Okay then, I’m all yours.” He locked eyes with Roni, and it took effort for Lyssa to rip her focus away from the practically visible steam that sizzled between the two of them.
The other investment professionals all stood, pushing their chairs back and wearing pleasant, oblivious expressions. Richard gestured toward the exit, and Lyssa wondered how she could be the only one to have caught the obvious innuendo.
On the train to the airport, she second-guessed her illicit conjectures. Hayden did indeed seem to have picked up quite a bit of information about Roni’s software…and yet, all the puns that could be made regarding the voluptuous vixen’s software wouldn’t leave Lyssa’s mind. It wasn’t until they were on the plane and halfway to Indianapolis that her intuition was vindicated.
“Everything seemed pretty solid at Zinnia,” she said, noting an involuntary flicker at the corner of Hayden’s mouth.
“Sure did.”
“Roni Wexman is interesting.” She tried to act casual and turned her attention to the magazine she held, but Hayden’s direct stare cut through her peripheral vision.
“Interesting? That’s the best word you could come up with? Face it, Bates, you suck at beating around the bush; say what you’ve got to say.”
She folded the magazine shut and turned to him. “There’s something going on between you and her, isn’t there?”
“Nice observation skills. Yeah, a little something goes on between us—whenever we happen to be the same town.”
“Which you both made sure you were today.”
“Why do you sound so testy?”
Lyssa chuffed, opening her magazine again only to completely ignore it and give him a hard look. “I put in a good word for you with Sabine, and I don’t appreciate being made into a liar.”
“Whoa. In what way does what happens between me and Roni make you a liar?”
“I told Sabine you were a good guy.”
“And having a mutually pleasurable, quasi-relationship with a gorgeous woman makes me not a good guy?”
“Not when the gorgeous woman is married.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell me you missed the rock.”
“Oh, that. She wears it for business purposes. It’s completely unnecessary if you ask me, but she claims men take a woman more seriously as a businessperson when they think she’s married.”
“And you buy that story?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Have you ever been to her place?”
His lips curled into a dirty grin. “Not our style. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“Mmhmm. Ever seen the movie Up in the Air?”
“George Clooney?”
“Yep.”
“No. Why?”
She turned back to her magazine and flipped a page. “I won’t spoil it for you.”
He was quiet for a moment and shifted in his seat. “You’re not going to say anything about this to Sabine, are you?”
“About you cheating on her?” She kept her eyes on the page.
“Bates, seriously, you’re way overreacting. I’ve only been on one date with your friend. It’s hardly cheating.”
“Are you going to go out with her again?”
“I hope so, but future happenings with Sabine don’t apply to anything I did today.”
“Then why don’t you want me to tell her?”
He exhaled his irritation. “Why do you think?”
She leaned her head back onto her seat and tilted her face halfway toward him, gliding her eyes half an inch farther to look directly at him. “Because you know deep down it was a scuzzy move.”
“To flirt with a pretty lady?”
“Is that all that happened?” She felt her fingers tense on the magazine, bending its edges, and knew there was too much hope in that question.
“Umm…no.” He shook his plastic cup, rattling the melting ice cubes at the bottom, and looked into it instead of at Lyssa.
She sat up, lowering the magazine. “You guys actually…how? I mean, when, where?”
“She’
s got a door on her office.”
“But you talked about the new software…”
He shrugged. “She considers that sort of thing foreplay. By the time she finished manipulating the stats and graphs, I had her half undressed and was manipulating—”
“That’s enough! I get the picture, and trust me, that is so not a visual I want to have.”
“I beg to differ. That woman has an ass that won’t quit.”
Lyssa wrinkled her face, again trying to block the visual. “What exactly does that expression even mean? An ass that won’t quit? Think about the primary function of an ass—I’d think that’s the sort of thing you might want to quit.”
His smug countenance faltered for a moment, and then he shook his head. “It was a beautiful experience. Please don’t try to turn it into something tawdry and cheap.” He tilted his head slightly forward and watched her, his blue eyes softening to something just shy of an apology. It was a valiant attempt to charm her back into their usual camaraderie.
It didn’t work. “Yeah right, cuz it was so expensive.” She snapped her gaze back onto her magazine, more chafed by the tryst than Hayden’s single date with Sabine should warrant.
“That…that doesn’t even make any sense.”
“I know.” Briskly flipping one of the pages, she made a genuine effort to read the article she’d landed on. A few sentences in, she took a deep, calming inhale. “Actually, Hayden, no worries about any of this. I should really thank you.”
“For what?”
“For confirming the brilliance of my recent resolution to swear off men.”
Chapter 9
APPROXIMATELY FOUR THOUSAND BUMPS in the road later, Lyssa and Hayden’s driver told them it’d be another mile or so to their destination. The two consultants sat alongside an older gentleman named Joe in his pickup truck. He’d been their arranged ride from Indianapolis International Airport and was now taking them to the offices of L.T. Bell, a private funds investor.
The asset allocation team had green-lighted Hayden’s idea for a pool of wild card managers, and L.T. had come to Hayden’s attention as a possibility via contacts in private investing circles. While they’d been given data on L.T.’s investment portfolios, neither Hayden nor Lyssa had been able to dig up much information about the investor or her operation.