by TC Matson
“If you don’t shut the hell up…” I trail off and pinch the bridge of my nose.
He releases a hefty laugh. We finish eating in silence, my mind racing on all things Zoey. Afterward, Zach tosses his box in the trash, gathers his things and grabs the flowers.
I eye the vase.
He grins like he’s got the best idea ever. “Maybe she won’t return them if I give them to her.” He lifts a shoulder. “Stay put, Casanova. You’ve never been good at this part.”
Twenty minutes later, the flowers are back on my desk and I’m laughing. Zach’s right. I’ve never had to pursue a chase. It’s fresh and new. She’s what I want and I’ll do what I have to do to break her walls one way or the other. I need a different angle. She’s not typical and neither should my plans be.
Zoey
Easton Langley, the infamous manwhore who decided I was his next intended target and gave me an earth-shattering orgasm without even having sex with me, has officially screwed my head up by finding a way to include himself into my every thought. He parades into my dreams. Everything I do, he exists. He resides here. Every footstep has my heart pounding. Every phone notification has my breath escaping me. It’s been like this since he made my eyes roll and firmly established every orgasm before that was inadequate.
I’ve cussed him ever since.
He’s stolen my privacy.
And my “great sex” memories.
Over the weekend he penetrated—no. Bad choice of words—he invaded my everyday living. His presence in my thoughts was so clear, I could feel him, like he was here, with me, watching and waiting to pounce. Apparently, he fingered my sanity away. About the second time I crossed the hall to Britney’s like a deer in hunting season I realized I was seriously losing it.
Just when I get myself together—my mind unfucked—I go to work Monday. That asshole duct taped a single rose to my desk. I laughed at the amount. I’m pretty sure it was a whole roll with a note lying across it.
I’ll be out of the office for a few days. DO NOT remove the rose.
I didn’t. I should have because yet again he made it completely difficult to think straight.
He’s torture. No wonder women want him. He’s impossible to quit.
This morning on the way to work, I stopped in at the coffee shop and grabbed a large caramel latte as a reward for making it through a few days without the edgy hunted deer feeling. I’ve plowed through the emails and am working on a presentation for a meeting he has coming up. I’m a rock star today.
The elevator chimes and startles the hell out of me. Easton steps off looking good, sooo tremendously good. He’s sharp in a crisp dark charcoal gray suit with a navy-blue tie and a marvelous smirk. Giddiness scampers my pulse—something I wasn’t quite expecting. He doesn’t speak, only casting a quick glance my way as he passes.
Oddly, I’m both relieved and a bit heart broken.
Ten minutes later, he calls me into his office and trepidation disintegrates my composure. He’s resting back in his chair, the beautiful Rockies draping the scenery behind him. His jaw is firm as he watches me enter with beguiling eyes.
“I’ve got the Hopes Gala tomorrow and—”
“I’m not going with you,” I blurt as my pulse slams against my temples.
A glint of gratification arches his brow as the corner of his lips faintly tick. “No. You’re not. I have a date,” he says, his tone caviler.
I snap my mouth closed, surprised by his answer. I have no idea what I was hoping for, but I didn’t expect the sting of hurt.
“For years, Chrissy never missed it. Now she’s not here, and I have an empty spot at my table that needs to be filled. She and David always went together. I’d like for you to take her place and start attending.”
“Tomorrow? Where do you expect me to find a dress with this late notice?” I bite bitterly.
He digs out his wallet from his back pocket and plucks a credit card before sliding it to me. “Take the rest of the day off and go shopping. Don’t worry about price. Lord knows Chrissy never did. And get with David on your way out.”
Part of me wants to scream at his jadedness. He’s confusing the hell out of me. But the sensible side knows he’s giving me what I’ve asked for. I nod and start to leave when he calls my name.
I glance over my shoulder.
He wiggles the credit card. “You’re forgetting this.”
I deflate, suppressing the ire and stupid girl-hurt, and take it.
After speaking with David and getting his dry confirmation he’d meet me in the lobby at the event, I push out the door and call Britney.
“I need your skills,” I groan when she answers.
“Relax your jaw,” she quips and it makes me laugh.
“I have to go shopping and find a dress for the Gala tomorrow. Can you take off the rest of the day and help? I’ll buy lunch,” I ask.
“You’re in luck, Cinderella. I’ve got vacation time and today is dead slow. Meet me at 16th and California. Be there in a few.”
“Yeah.” I hang up and head that way.
I knew Britney loved to shop, but what I didn’t count on was how many shops she’d drag me to. I’ve tried on so many dresses I’m sick of them—getting undressed, sliding them on, sliding them off and getting dressed again. I’m contemplating just not going.
“Try this one,” Britney holds out a bright crimson red dress.
I eye the fabric. “I want to blend in, not stand out.”
She rolls her eyes and groans to the ceiling. “You’re a buzz kill. Play princess for one night.”
“Cinderella didn’t have this much trouble finding a dress for the ball,” I jest.
She sniggers. “Because she had rats, Zoe. Look, the prince is paying for yours. Go try it on. Please.”
Playfully glaring, I take it and go to the changing room. The soft fabric slides over my skin and I adjust myself before turning to the mirror. It’s long, down to my toes with a daring v-neck that drops low between my girls and a slit slicing up the right to the top of my hip. It’s beautiful and stunning.
Britney’s brown eyes light up and she squeals, clapping her hands when I step out of the changing room. “That’s it. That’s the one right there. You have to get it. You have to,” she pleads.
“I do like it,” I tell my reflection, watching the silky chiffon dress form against me. I feel sexy, young and vibrant, and those feelings alone motivate me to buy it.
I’m sweating…all over. My legs are wobbly in my heels. My hands are shaking holding onto the clutch Britney let me borrow. Hopes Gala is extravagant, the epitome of elegant, and I’ve never been to anything like it, but here I am, about to experience it for the first time with a stranger while the boss I dream of being with brings his own date.
Super…
David comes through the door in a tuxedo with his naturally silvered hair slicked back. He didn’t bother to shave, leaving a salt and pepper stubble on his jaw. He’s tall but not fit, and from what I can tell, he doesn’t like to smile a lot.
I bet his wife is a hoot…
“You ready?” he gruffs looking over me.
“I think so.”
He leads us into the ballroom by my elbow. The room opens up and the mingling crowd swallows us whole. And in this moment, I’m thankful David’s here, even though he has the personality of a mowed blade of grass. I’m way out of my element here.
The men are all dressed in tuxedos and bowties, from slicked back hair to the “I threw away my brush years ago and I want to be a rebel” look. A mixture of colognes and perfumes lingers in the air. The women are elegant, beautiful and beaming. A low hum of voices subtly drowns out the music playing off in the distance.
We don’t make it far when David stops and strikes up a conversation with a few men standing together in a small circle. He quickly introduces me, and right after, I become a distant memory as he continues with his “shop talk.”
I stand here awkwardly, unsure if I should chime
in or not. A waiter carrying a silver tray full of champagne flutes strolls past. Quickly, I pluck one, offering a small smile and then guzzle half of it. It may not be lady-like, but I need something to make it through this hell of a night.
I pan the crowd over my glass, scanning for…well, him. And it’s as if the waters part, giving way to the very man who invited me, the same man I’ve dreaded running into.
His appearance alone is seductive. Sexy as hell in a tuxedo that clings to his body, teasing the crowd with his alluring, hidden hard body. His hair isn’t slicked back like everyone else’s, but instead tousled, and I’m glad. Rebellious is magnificent on him. Surrounding him are Zachary and Max, both handsome and dressed to impress with their dates attached to their sides.
That’s when I see her and my heart sinks. She grins as she steps in beside Easton, hooking her arm around his and looking up to him adoringly. She’s young, beautiful, and slim, her brown hair wavy and loosely forming around her face. The deep purple dress fits snugly against her slender hour glass body…she reminds me of a movie star.
Jealousy splinters my soul and I want to throw up. I rip my gaze from them and chug the last of my champagne, immediately seeking out another heroic waiter wielding my liquid valor.
David taps my arm and I jump, spinning around to him with a fake smile.
“We’ve got to get to the table,” he grumbles. “I’m thirsty.”
I almost argue and point out the many waiters, but before I can, he whisks us away to the last place I want to be.
The closer we get, the louder my heart throbs against the cage of my chest. David pulls out the chair for me, but he doesn’t wait for me to sit before he drops in his and sips his water. We sit in silence, not exchanging any words as the room around us continues to be full of life.
I’m starting to believe he’s just as miserable as I am to be here.
My pulse stops and my breath gets stuck somewhere in my throat when Mr. Playboy himself decides to bless us with his striking presence and attractive date.
His stare is intense, etching my face and overwhelming me with painful want. “Zoey, this is Jade,” he says as he pulls out her chair.
This is what I want, right? Right? Right…
Politeness settles on my lips, overpowering the pain. “It’s nice to meet you.” I lay it on sugary.
Jade’s perfect lips stretch and shows off her perfect freaking teeth. “Likewise.”
David instantly engages Easton about work, slightly easing the discontent encompassing me. I’m miserable. I never imagined all this would hurt the way it is.
I drag my fingers along the base of my glass, rounding the edges, feeling the smooth, slick lack of texture. I’m in another universe, forcing myself to keep it together. Here it doesn’t hurt. Here there isn’t any envy. There’s no perplexity, and I’m not off balance from him. It’s quiet, noiseless. I’m back at the well house watching the black birds forage for food.
A hand on my shoulder jolts me away from the tranquility and I look up to Easton’s soft features. “Let’s dance,” he says, his tone rich and sweet.
He takes my hand and pulls me up. Tucking me into his side, his hand rests on my lower back as he takes confident long strides to the large marble dance floor.
Sliding his hand from my back to my hip, he grasps my other hand and we begin to sway.
“You’re breathtaking.” His eyes eat me alive.
His words melt my heart. “Thank you.”
“Why didn’t you charge the dress?”
I scrunch my face. “How in the world did you already find out? I thought for sure I had a few days to come up with a good excuse.”
He remains stoic, peering at me.
“I can afford my own pretty things,” I add.
He licks his lips. “Yeah, but I’d like to shower you with them.”
I try to take a step away, but he squeezes me closer. “I don’t think this is a good idea. People may get the wrong idea,” I mutter.
“You’re perverse, Zoey. It doesn’t take us dancing for anyone in this room to see how much I want you.”
My breath shudders and I swallow. “Easton, don’t.”
“Compliment you? Rather me lie?” he challenges firmly.
I glance around. “Your date—”
“How’s your hamster?” he interrupts with a clever smirk. “Has she had her babies yet?”
Tittering, I roll my eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
He shakes his head, tightening his lips. “Not a chance.”
I bite my smile between my teeth. “She gave birth to eight healthy pretend babies. Six fake girls. Two boys. Mom’s fine. Beast has kept her distance although I know she’s casing the place,” I play along.
“And the father? Does he get visitations?” His tone is serious, the complete opposite of his eyes.
“Twice a week and every other weekend.”
He chuckles, but quickly sobers up. Gently he squeezes my hip and it shoots tingles ricocheting through my body. “Being out of the office so much lately forces me to miss you.”
“We work well together whether you’re here or not,” I play stupid.
“When I’m gone I don’t get to see your eyes or gorgeous smile.”
“Stop. Please,” I murmur, not believing my own plea.
“I don’t think you want me to,” he counters. “Unless you mindlessly draw circles at everyone’s hairline on their neck.”
Shit.
I tense, and move my hand back down to his bicep.
His chuckle gleams in his eyes. “Why do you fight u—”
“May I cut in?” Zachary’s question snaps Easton straight.
There’s no time to reply before Zachary takes me into his arms while sharing a hostile, murderous stare with Easton.
Zachary smirks down at me. “Having fun?”
“I am.”
“Hear me out. Just listen and keep dancing. Understood?”
I lean back leveling a pointed look. “You’re weirding me out.”
“He’s not good at this part, Z, but he’s trying. You’re either blind as hell or stubborn as shit. He’s crazy about you, so much, he hasn’t been busying himself with his normal extracurricular activities, if you catch my gist. He’s trying to prove to you he’s a good guy, but you’re blowing him off.”
I purse my lips. “I’m his assistant. This is my career. I can’t date my boss.”
“Says who?”
“It’s in the unwritten laws of having a job,” I reply. “Don’t sleep with the boss and definitely don’t date him. It’ll end in catastrophe.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I don’t want to figure it out, either,” I say.
His eyes narrow challengingly. “That’s what your mouth says, but your body is telling a different truth.”
“What are you doing?” Leeriness strangles my throat.
He brings his mouth closer to my ear. “He’s my best friend, brother even. You should give him a chance.”
“I can’t. Besides, he’s here with a date.”
A fondness sparkles, brightening his dark chocolate eyes. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”
“Sounds like you should be dancing with her and not me.” I try to put distance between our bodies, but he tightens his grip. “Okay. You’ve succeeded at weirding me the hell out. Are you trying to piss me off or him?”
He tilts his head from shoulder to shoulder thoughtfully. “More like trying to light his fuse. You know what he says?” he asks as he pulls my hand to his chest and cradles it. “That you have something out of his control.”
“Is this some sort of game?” I clip, ripping my hand out of his.
It provokes a charming grin. “I don’t have to play games to get what I want.”
“You’re intentionally putting me in an odd predicament. You’re screwing around with my future,” I snap and stop dancing.
“Just give him a chance, Z. He’
s trying really hard. Shit he normally doesn’t do.”
I scowl. “Did he put you up to this? Got his wing man to do his dirty work?”
He doesn’t answer me with words, but with an impish grin.
“This is a disgusting game. How dare you try playing me as a fool.”
I storm away, zig zagging my way off the dance floor and through the crowd. My blood is boiling when I slam a burning glower at Easton as I snatch my clutch off the table and then charge out of the room. Through the lobby, my heels click the floor, echoing the anger. How dare him. How freaking dare these two.
Easton calls my name from behind, but I don’t stop. Screw him.
He twists me to face him by my elbow, his eyes laced with concern. “What’s wrong? What did he say?”
“You two are sick and downright twisted,” I grit, yanking my arm from his.
His brows furrow. “Excuse me?”
“Was this an elaborate game you devised? It’s sickening,” I scathe. “What is it? Good cop versus bad cop?”
His nostrils flare, his face twisting with anger. “What the hell happened?”
“Is this part of it too, Easton?” Vexation tears from my throat. “He pisses me off so you can be the damn hero?”
Dragging his hand through his hair, he rakes it down his face. “I’m fucking lost here, Zoey. What the hell are you talking about? Did Zach do something? I’ll kil—”
Rage overcomes me and I slam my palms into his chest. Of course he doesn’t move, which fuels my anger worse. Blinking away the sting of my mad tears, I pull my shoulders back. “Don’t you talk to me,” I ground out each word.
His jaw ticks.
I thunder out of the door, leaving the manipulative asshole standing there.
Zoey
I’m sure I look grand, sitting on the train looking like a princess who lost her carriage ride. I’ve got no idea what my makeup looks like. I tried my best to keep my tears from spilling over and causing a mess on my face, announcing the nightmare I just had.