“So you are having sex in the office? You sicko!” Lacy’s voice rose in equal measure to the blazing in her eyes. “Can you even help but self-sabotage every opportunity that comes your way? This was a good one. It’s a temp job. It gives you a prestigious reference. You’re even making decent money for the first time in almost a year. But that isn’t enough for you?” She grabbed a handful of the chips Andy had pulled out and crunched angrily.
“It’s not that it isn’t enough for me. It isn’t tha—” Andy began to rebut.
“Oh, my God.” Lacy covered her mouth to finish chewing, eyes wide. “You don’t think you deserve this. That’s why you’re ruining it. You poor thing. How did I not see it before? Your self-esteem is shot, so you no longer even recognize your own potential. Honey, I’m so sorry.”
She stood and wrapped her long arms around Andy before continuing her consolation. “We need to look at your benefits package. Many employers offer counseling as part of a standard package these days. The stigma that used to be attached to depression really isn’t there anymore. He humiliated you, and you didn’t have the strength not to crawl back. It’s like a country song. Why are you laughing? Dear God, are you bipolar now?”
Andy couldn’t hold in her giggles any longer at her sister’s complete misreading. The protectiveness Lacy always inexplicably had for her older sister was almost condescending—and way off the mark. “I’m sorry—you’re being so sweet—but that’s not it, either.”
Lacy smiled in a way that was both sympathetic and disapproving. “I’m not convinced. It’s the only way to explain your sudden fit of insanity.”
Andy shook her head. Of course her sister would jump to the insanity excuse. Admittedly, the arrangement with Blake did seem a bit crazy. Or at the very least, unorthodox. Andy would never have gone for something like that with Max. The differences between Blake and Max, though—well, so maybe they did share a lot of the same surface attributes. Not looks. Blake was infinitely more attractive than Max Ellis could ever hope to be. More than that, Blake’s inside-ugly wasn’t so ugly once she’d gotten to understand it. It was charming, in fact. Adorable, even. Just sort of unexplainable.
After eight years of getting to know Max, however, Andy knew his insides were still as ugly as ugly got.
The fact of the matter was that whether the situation was strange or not, it made Andy happy. It also made her job easier.
Perhaps it was too much to ask Lacy to understand. “Look. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but I tell you everything. Please try not to be so judgey.” She offered the chips again.
After a long moment, Lacy took a few and leaned back. “I’ll listen. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree.”
“Fair enough. What it comes down to is that I think I was right. After we, um, did it—shut up! I don’t like saying sex words.” She waved a hand at Lacy’s snorting. “After it happened, he really calmed down a lot. We had a nice talk, shared our lunch break, and he seemed to truly relax for the first time around me. It was like I could see someone other than Blake Douche-ovan in there.”
“Douche-ovan. That’s funny.” Lacy was definitely mellowing.
“If it’s a reflection of my self-esteem at all, that should look pretty good right now, because my theory is being proven correct.” Andy grabbed a chip for herself.
“Okay, I’ll reserve my judgment for the time being. But we are hardly through discussing it. It’s possible I’ve had a bit too much wine to think this through properly.” She looked at the bottle, where it stood, empty, next to Andy’s full glass. “Did you do that on purpose? Did you just get me drunk so I’d stop arguing?”
“Psych One Oh One, yo.” Andy shrugged at her and took her first sip of wine. It was tasty. Her one evening as a bartender had really paid off; the quality of juice she was bringing home would no longer horrify Lacy’s fancier dinner party guests.
“You’re good. I forget that sometimes. Now, shall we get down to business?” Her little sister leaned across the table. “How was the sex? Don’t spare any of the details. I’m living vicariously through you now.”
Andy blushed. “It was good. I liked it.”
“Good? You liked it? That tells me absolutely nothing. Did you…? Did he give you an orgasm at least?”
Even if she were comfortable with talking about the details of a sexual tryst, Andy had a feeling she still wouldn’t share more with her sister. This thing with Blake—maybe it wasn’t really much of a thing at all, but whatever it was, it was hers. It was private.
She flashed a tight-lipped grin. “I’m taking a shower. You can finish my drink.” She pushed her chair back and headed off against Lacy’s protests.
“This is so not the end of this!” was the last thing Andy heard as she closed the door and leaned back against it. She allowed herself one silent squeal and wiggle before pushing the thrill of the afternoon down again.
I cannot believe we actually did it!
* * *
I can’t believe we’ve done it, like, seven times already!
She did a mental count: the first time, of course, and then the time against the wall, the time behind his desk, the time under his desk, the time with the tie—a personal favorite—then the time they re-created the time with the tie, and the time with the lamp stand. She still couldn’t believe she’d done that last one.
Or, wait, was it eight times?
She could never decide if the stairwell counted or not. It probably did count. She’d finished, but poor Blake hadn’t gotten a chance before the sound of an open door from the floor above them had interrupted their coitus. He’d quickly tucked himself away, just in time for his head of foreign developments to pass them. Andy was still impressed how well Blake had managed the ensuing conversation about some contract snag as if he hadn’t just been whispering obscenities into her ear. The two men shook hands at the end of their encounter. If only the employee knew where his employer’s hand had just been …
It was nine times! How could she have forgotten the time when she’d played naughty secretary? He certainly seemed to like their sex to be a little bit raunchy. So did she, she’d realized with a surprise. Funny, though, there was very little submissiveness that took place on her part. She wondered—when Blake found the type of woman he’d been searching for, would he actually enjoy that type in the bedroom?
Well, that wasn’t really any of her concern. If he did find a match that didn’t quite live up, he could always look back fondly on his affair with Andy. She knew she would.
Andy glanced over at Blake now as he ordered their lunch. She looked away as he caught her eye, ridiculously concerned that he could read her mind somehow. Although the blush creeping up her face could have given it away.
“You do like uni, yes?” he verified and continued to race through the menu with their server. Andy wasn’t actually sure if she liked uni, but she wasn’t about to tell Blake that her sushi experience was limited to the items that cost a buck apiece during happy hour. She would bet money that Mr. Fancypants had never downed sake-bombs at two in the afternoon on a Tuesday.
Although if the sex wasn’t enough to pull him out of his shell, surely that would. She made a mental note to keep that idea on hold in case of an emergency.
Date emergency? What a ridiculous job.
On the subject of dates … “You have a dinner date tonight,” she reminded both Blake and herself once the waiter had bowed and left them with hot hand towels. The candidate was one that Andy felt particularly hopeful about.
“Yes, yes. Eve.” He delicately dabbed the towel on his strong hands. It was a dichotomy that made her smile, how he dwarfed everything around him, and yet understood fragility. Well, everywhere but the name issue, that is.
“Jane.” She grabbed a towel for herself and rubbed her fingertips decidedly less elegantly than her lunch partner.
“Oh, come on, I was close this time.” He flung his towel at her.
“Blake!” Andy was shocked at his breach of decorum.
“You weren’t even remotely close, either.”
“Oh, you know, Dick and Jane, Adam and Eve. I had one half of a famous couple. It was close.” He caught the towel she tossed back in midair.
“Pssh. Agree to disagree. Do you remember anything about her?” She loved the easy way he spoke when they weren’t in work mode, as if they were actually friends. She relished it, but it pained her at the same time. She’d noticed that enjoying something often gave her the same feeling in her chest as missing it, as if she were always waiting for it to end.
And this—this definitely had an expiration date.
“Of course I do. She’s a graduate from NYU in something uninteresting. Oh, yes. Music. She plays the harp. And she enjoys causes. Causes I approved of and not the stupid ones.”
She shook her head at the causes I approved of remark, remembering how Blake had made her research Jane Osborne’s charitable interests before setting up the date. Also, she was glad that Blake did indeed remember things they’d gone over, even if he couldn’t get a name right.
“Jane Osborne.” He grinned, pleased with himself.
“How come you can remember her last name, but not anybody’s first?” She grinned back despite herself. Maybe it wouldn’t end. Maybe once he’d found his wife, they could transition to something platonic.
Though that felt weird to think about. And awkward. How could she be friends with a woman after she’d both banged her husband and arranged their marriage? Yes, there was definitely an expiration date, and not one she wanted to think too hard about.
“I don’t know. I’ve always been able to remember surnames. It works in business, because you can use a man’s last name, and the occasional woman’s, and it’s a mark of respect and affection, depending on the circumstance. I rarely find myself needing first names.”
See, we could be great friends. Maybe his wife never had to know.
“What about your secretary?” She’d heard him use her name before, hadn’t she? Come to think of it, Andy couldn’t remember the woman’s name herself.
Blake leaned in confidentially. “I only hire secretaries named Sarah. Don’t you dare tell a soul. It’s a common enough name that I can always find one qualified.”
“You are awful,” she breathed, impressed despite her words to the contrary.
“Awful, am I?” Blake sat back, a smug expression overtaking his features. “I didn’t hear you complaining earlier.”
“Because you were shouting my name.”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling in that way that always made Andy have to cross her legs. “Was that what I was saying? Honestly, I think I lost consciousness for a minute there at the end.”
“It was what you were saying. Over and over.” Thinking about it now sent a shiver down her spine. “I think there were some Oh, Gods and Don’t stops thrown in, but mostly it was my name.” She was thrilled with herself for discussing their intimacy without blushing and ducking.
Well, it had been Drea he’d been shouting, but that counted, didn’t it? Actually, now that she thought about it, and now that she understood how infrequently Blake addressed people correctly, the nickname he’d given her didn’t seem quite so demeaning. It was even sort of … sweet.
Hmm. Blake—sweet. That was certainly never an adjective she’d thought she’d add to his character profile. Funny how initial perceptions could be so wrong once you got to know a person. Apparently even for someone who was supposed to be especially good at initial perceptions.
The waiter returned then bearing steaming bowls of miso and interrupting Andy’s moment of reflection. He set one in front of each of them. “Careful, please,” he warned in his choppy English. “Soup very hot.”
He bowed again before leaving.
“Blake, wait a min—” Andy began when he reached for his bowl.
But she was too late. “I burned my tongue,” he complained after his first slurp.
“If you had waited for a minute, it wouldn’t have happened,” she scolded him before blowing across her own bowl.
“I didn’t want to wait.” His tone had deepened, and she looked up. “I understand the principle behind delayed gratification and all, but sometimes, you have to take what you want when you want it.” His eyes were dark, and she didn’t think he was talking about the soup anymore.
Experimentally, she kicked off a shoe beneath the table and slowly ran her foot along his.
He didn’t respond.
She moved higher, over his calf and onto his thigh. Besides a narrowing of his eyes, nothing. Her toes reached the spot between his legs and verified his arousal as he gasped.
It was Blake who quickly summoned the waiter back. “We’ll take that sushi to go, please.”
Chapter Fourteen
Blake couldn’t stop his foot from tapping as he rode the elevator carrying the to-go order of sushi. It had been Andrea’s idea to come and go separately when they dined together as to not give the wrong impression to his other employees about their relationship. Or, rather, the right impression. Besides the fact that it wasn’t anyone’s business, managers weren’t allowed to date their subordinates. Though dating wasn’t what he and Andrea were doing. Did the fraternization policy contain any wording regarding banging? He’d have to check.
Regardless, Blake approved of the separate entrances, but why was he the one who always had to go up last? And how did he end up carrying the food every time? He supposed it was appropriately chivalrous to attend to the baggage. The delayed arrival, however, proved to be … uncomfortable … on more than one occasion. Like when Andrea had gotten him thoroughly aroused before leaving for her trip upstairs. Like now.
Maybe it was a good thing he was carrying the food after all.
When the elevator finally stopped on his floor, Blake had to work not to run to his office. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a bit of gusto to his step. Especially as he got closer and saw that his door was closed. Andrea always worked with it open. What was she doing in there? Naughty things? Was she waiting for him, perhaps, undressed, spread out on top of the lateral file cabinets?
Whoops. He shouldn’t have imagined that. Now his stride slowed due to, well, necessity.
Blake was so focused on his destination that he didn’t notice the man sitting in his waiting room until he’d reached his office door.
“Excuse me?” The man leaped up from his chair. “Mr. Donovan, I need to speak with you, please.”
Blake furrowed his brow as he tested the door handle. It was locked. His pulse picked up. Andrea indeed had to be planning something.
“Mr. Donovan?”
Blake threw a glance over his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m unavailable at the moment. Schedule something with my secretary.” He shuffled the lunch orders in an attempt to dig in his pocket for his keys.
“Your secretary appears to be out for lunch,” the man said.
Of course she was. Dammit. No, it was a good thing Sarah was at lunch since Andrea tended to get a little loud. He loved that.
“Mr. Donovan?”
Oh, yes. There was someone speaking to him. He gave another look at the bothersome fellow. It was an employee of his, he realized now. A manager in his project development department. Something or other Jennings. Bruce? No, that was the famous amputee cyclist. Or was that Bruce Jenner? He always mixed the two up. It wasn’t Bruce anyway. Something like that, though.
Whatever his first name was, Jennings had been in his office only a few weeks before to try to convince Blake to give a promotion to one of his team members. It had already been in the works, but still had yet to go through. That was surely why he was here now.
“Jennings, the paperwork has been submitted for Fullman. She’ll get her promotion soon enough.” Blake turned back to inserting his key into the door handle.
“That’s just it, Mr. Donovan.” Was Jennings always this pesky? “I’d like to revoke my recommendation. May I come in and talk to you about this?”
Hell, no. Except he didn�
�t have any excuse. He’d have to improvise. “Later. Right now my sushi’s getting cold.” He cringed. Sushi didn’t get cold. God, what an awful ad lib. “I mean…” But he couldn’t think of anything else to say. Too much blood flowing to the wrong part of his body.
“It’s really important,” Jennings pleaded. “Just a few minutes of your time is all I need.”
Blake cursed under his breath. “Very well.” He turned and set the takeout on his secretary’s desk. “Talk.”
Jennings looked at him skeptically. “Out here? I really think this would be best discussed in your office. In private.”
In private. That’s exactly where Blake wanted to be at the moment. Only he wanted to be in private with Andrea Dawson, not no-name Jennings.
Brad!
That was his name. From the expression on his face, Brad Jennings wasn’t leaving until they got this over with. With a sigh, Blake opened his office door slightly and said in an overly loud voice so that Andrea would hear him, “Of course we can meet in my office. We’ll go right in.” He paused to give her an extra moment to scramble into her clothes if need be. Blake tried not to groan at the missed opportunity.
When he’d delayed as long as he could without seeming like he’d gone completely bananas, he pushed the door open the rest of the way and cautiously stepped in. To his surprise, the room was empty.
Well. That was a concern he needn’t have worried about. But if Andrea wasn’t here, where had she gone?
It wasn’t the time to wonder. Blake gestured to Jennings to take a seat then shut the door behind them before he circled his desk to sit in his chair. “Now you say you want to revoke your recommendation for Fullman’s promotion?” Honestly, Blake was surprised by the request. Jennings had been quite enthusiastic about his endorsement a few weeks before.
Jennings cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. Ms. Fullman is not pulling her weight. She’s always late, when she comes in at all. She’s distracted and unfocused. Todd, Jerry, Susan, Aaron—all of us are left to clean up her mess.”
Movement across the room pulled Blake’s attention. As nonchalantly as he could, he peered over Jennings’s shoulder toward Andrea’s area. And there she was, her head popping up over the edge of the desk from where she was hiding on the floor behind it.
Miss Match Page 17