Instant Attraction
Page 5
I chuckle. “I know what you mean. Art calms me too.”
“The only thing I love more than trying to understand the meaning of art is acquiring it.” He laughs in a sort of knowing way.
I toss him a curious stare. “Is that your dirty little secret? That you’re turned on by art acquisition?”
His voice rumbles. “Turned on barely begins to cover it. It is one of my great passions. I absolutely love the chase. I love being able to track down a fantastic piece of art and win it before others do.”
And that shiver that ran across my body? It turns into a full-blown tremble. Because this man is speaking my language.
I extend a hand. “I’m Valerie Wu. Pleased to meet you.”
He flashes a smile that makes my stomach flip and my knees weaken. “Valerie, I am Enzo De la Rosa. What an absolute delight to meet you.”
The new face for my company’s campaign.
I cannot, not for a second, consider pursuing something with this man. Not if he is connected to my business.
Just. My. Luck.
I’ll tuck all these naughty thoughts and delicious meanderings away in the lingerie drawer in my mind and then shut it tight, with nary a sexy silk strap peeking out.
Then he takes my hand and presses his lips atop my knuckles.
News flash: it is indeed possible to be turned on by a kiss on the hand.
Wickedly turned on.
Images now race through my brain—visions of the things I want him to do to me.
As a woman who spends days and nights striking deals, managing and moving billions of dollars around, making decisions that affect hundreds of thousands of employees, there’s little I love more in bed than letting go of all of that.
And the way Enzo looks at me with eyes that darken, with a manly, romantic confidence I haven’t encountered in my forty-eight years, I know he could be exactly what I need.
But he’s precisely what I can’t let myself have.
He’s a business partner.
I’m the CEO of a worldwide media company.
I simply can’t tango with someone in my employ.
So even as we make more small talk about art and the flames spark through me, I deny them and deny myself.
“And now I must go. I understand you’re the face of our new campaign. I’m so thrilled we’re doing business together.”
But he doesn’t relinquish my hand. Instead, he holds it tighter, saying, “And perhaps someday soon it will be more than business.”
On that lingering note of possibility, I turn and I walk out of the danger zone.
* * *
The next day, I bounce back and forth on my toes, wearing black shorts, a white sports bra, and my racquetball goggles. The blue ball whizzes at me at Mach speed. I slam it hard into the wall, and it zooms back quickly. Kingsley slams it right back at me. But I can’t let her win. I need to channel this frustration.
Especially since I was up late last night thinking of that handsome young man.
Thinking vastly inappropriate thoughts.
Thoughts I must squash.
Like this ball.
I lunge for it, determined to win the match against my good friend. She’s a fierce competitor though. One of the fiercest, and we have been playing racquetball against each other for years in our female CEO league.
With intense determination, I slam the ball one more time and win the game.
She curses. “You are evil, and I hate you.”
“I accept your hatred. And I’m thrilled that’s how you feel.”
She laughs and grabs her water bottle, downing a gulp. I do the same, take a deep breath, then set down my racket as I adjust my sneakers. “Can we have a quick advice session?”
“Of course. I’m always up for advice.” She places her bottle in her bag. “Fly in the ointment in a new business deal? How to handle a difficult employee? Which new markets to pursue next?”
“I wish it were that easy.”
Her eyebrows arch. “Uh-oh. You must have an unhappy supplier or someone who is about to cut you down in a terrible business deal.”
I sigh heavily. “And if it were any of those, I would know how to solve the problem.”
“What’s the issue?”
I picture Enzo’s face, his attitude, his confidence. “I met someone last night.”
Kingsley hums approvingly. “Well, I hope you sealed the deal, you dirty girl.”
“Ha. I wish. He’s totally hands-off.”
“And why’s that?
“He’s the spokesperson for our new campaign. Enzo De la Rosa. Kill me now.”
She waggles her finger back and forth. “And that’s a no.”
I nod in agreement. “A massive no. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘CEO Beds Male Model Employee More Than Twenty Years Her Junior.’ It would be terrible. Absolutely terrible.”
She shrugs a shoulder impishly. “You could fire him.”
I laugh heartily. “You know I won’t do that. But, God, when I met him, it was instant attraction.”
She stares at me with that’s obvious written in her eyes. “He is a stunning supermodel.”
I shake my head, because that’s not the issue. “It wasn’t his looks. It was his attitude. It was the way he talked to me. The way he dripped with confidence. And that wasn’t about his looks either. It was a confidence about his brain. To be that good-looking and that smart . . .” I exhale deeply, full of wishes I can’t fulfill.
“And you’re going to be a good girl and deny all your feelings?”
I nod solemnly; Kingsley has only validated what I’d convinced myself of already. Raising my hand, I vow, “Deny, disown, and ignore them completely.”
Interlude
Spencer
Ah, so we have a little chemistry brewing between Enzo and Valerie, but it seems this illicit office romance might pose more challenges than anyone suspected.
For now, though, let’s leave behind our couple pretending to be less and check back in with our friends pretending to be more.
Just a refresher—Gavin has just asked Savannah to play the role of his fake girlfriend.
This should be interesting.
Because pretend romances always go as planned.
They never become complicated by things like—gasp— feelings that surprise the fuck out of you.
10
Gavin
I adjust my button-down in the mirror, run a hand through my dark hair, and give myself a thumbs-up.
“It’s a little shocking to see myself in something other than a T-shirt, but I do rock a dress shirt,” I announce to the crowd of one.
“Dude, you look like a billionaire!” Eddie calls out from the couch. “They wear buttons all the time.”
I arch a brow. “Buttons? That’s the hallmark of a rich dude?”
“Yes. Obviously.” He flubs his lips as he searches my Netflix queue on his laptop. “I read all those books. Including the ones from a few years back with the alien billionaire in blue.” Eddie stares at the ceiling. “Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen that model in a while.”
“You remember models on book covers?”
“Leggy Lisa liked him. I made the effort to learn more about her hobbies.”
I laugh, shaking my head at him. “Remind me again why you’re on my couch? You don’t even live here.”
He pats the well-worn cushions. Well-worn from his ass parked on them all the time. “’Cause your place is awesome. You don’t mind if I crash here, do you?”
“No. But what if I did?” I ask rhetorically.
“Then we’d sit down and have a sesh, bro. We’d talk it out. Find some common ground.”
“Excellent. Just making sure you had a strategy.”
He taps his forehead. “I’m always thinking. And right now, I’m thinking you need to have some fucking fun tonight, man. You haven’t had much since you broke up with Denise.”
“Correction—since Denise broke up with me.”
He shakes his head vehemently. “I don’t see it that way. Sure, technically, it went down like that. But I like to think you broke up with her. Because that’s what you should have done months before. Like, right after you started up with her. She was no good for you.”
I shoot him a curious glance. “Why is that?”
“Because she wasn’t fun. She wasn’t funny. And she wasn’t friends with you.”
I consider his assessment. Maybe he’s onto something. “So you’re saying it was never right with her?”
“Never. I mean, she didn’t even laugh when I told her about the toilet plunger named Fred that I had to carry to work one day. And, admit it, that was best-story-ever level. Savannah cracked up when I told her about Fred.”
Eddie works for a company that shoots industrial videos for tradesmen. I smile, remembering Savannah’s reaction the night Eddie waxed on and on about his boss requesting he pick up a plunger for a photo shoot.
“Savannah did appreciate the story of Fred, true. She has a good sense of humor if she can tolerate you.”
He smirks. “Exactly.” Then he points to the door. “Now, get the hell out of here. Have a good time with the Sav-meister. I’m going to watch some Netflix on your TV.”
“Enjoy my place.”
He winks. “I always do.”
As I walk through the neighborhood on my way to meet Savannah, I think back on the last two years of working together, hanging out together, going to see music together, and grabbing a bite for lunch together. We were total buds, and I loved our friendship. But when Denise came into my life nine months ago, Savannah and I didn’t do as much of that any longer. Understandably, Denise didn’t want me hanging out with another woman.
Come to think of it, I did miss Savannah’s company for a while there. She’s lighthearted, easygoing, and we always have something to talk about.
Good thing I won’t have to worry about Denise’s opinion tonight. Eddie’s right on that count.
I head into the neighborhood bar to meet Savannah and work on our backstory. When I see her, seated on a barstool, her hair flowing past her shoulders, something hits me for the very first time.
Why have I never noticed how pretty she is?
Oh, right, because we’ve only been friends. And I had a girlfriend part of that time. And I’m a good guy and not an asshole, so I didn’t have eyes for other women. But now that I’m not with Denise, all I see are Savannah’s toned legs, her long hair, and those big blue eyes.
Holy shit, is my closest female friend a total babe and I never noticed it until tonight?
It’s possible. It’s highly possible indeed.
I walk up to her, clear my throat, and feel more awkward than I’ve ever felt before with her. “So, how long have we been going out?” I say, diving right into the reason we’re here.
She laughs. “Good to see you too.”
“Hey. Sorry. Also, you look nice.”
I want to say You look pretty, because she does.
Only I don’t, because all these thoughts are colliding at once and I need to figure them out.
She glances down at her outfit—simple jeans and a pink top. “Thanks, and I think we should say we’ve been dating for three months. Because that’s enough time where you might not have told your mom about me but not so much time that it will seem crazy.”
“And what do we like to do for fun?” I ask, after I order a beer.
“We like to play bocce ball,” she says, rattling off an activity that we’ve done a few times in the past. “We love to go see musicians play. And we definitely, really, totally dig trying to eat the spiciest food in all of Manhattan.”
A grin spreads easily on my face. “Hey, it sounds like it’s not even a fake story.”
She flashes me a smile. “There’s nothing fake at all about that story.”
And the funny thing is, it doesn’t feel the least bit fake to me either. It doesn’t feel fake to me when I pay for our beer or when we walk to the party. It doesn’t feel fake to me when I loop an arm around her waist as we stroll along the streets of Brooklyn.
And it doesn’t feel fake at all when there’s the slightest tremble from her as I touch her.
We get to the engagement party and everything feels ridiculously, incredibly real. Everything comes into focus at last. It’s as if I wore the opposite of rose-colored glasses around her, and they blurred her from the realm of possibility. Now the glasses are off, and I can see clearly what’s been right in front of me all along.
We grab two beers from the waiter, and I hand her one first.
She tips the bottle to mine and says, “Cheers,” and even that word feels different, like we have something to cheer about.
When that new girl band we signed plays on the sound system, I point to the speaker. “One of your favorites,” I say. “The Violet Rays rock.”
Her smile ignites instantly. “I love their music. And their lyrics hit me in the heart every time.”
“Yeah, why’s that?” I’m soaking up every detail, learning the inside story of Savannah for the first time, it seems.
“Because they’re so honest. They talk about love and heartache, about being broken but then overcoming it.”
I raise my bottle, toasting again. “To overcoming heartbreak.”
“I will definitely drink to that.”
The conversation rolls from one topic to the next as we catch up on stories in the news, places we dig in the neighborhood, and whether Glass Slipper should institute a bring-your-dog-to-work-every-day rule. We decide dogs in the office would be dope.
We’ve had convos like this before, but everything feels different now. I can’t believe I didn’t see her as more than a friend before Denise, but I definitely see her that way now.
Soon, my mom joins us and asks us the questions we prepped for. How long we’ve been together, how we met, and so on.
“You are such a delightful couple,” my mother declares, beaming between us with the hope that can only stir up that quickly in a mom. “So what’s next for you two?”
Savannah clasps a hand around my arm. “Gavin and I just like to have fun together. That’s all we’re thinking about for now.”
That effectively shuts off the questions from my mom, which is exactly what I wanted for tonight.
And exactly what I no longer want.
Because now that I’m seeing this woman in a new light, I’m seeing us moving out of the friend zone and into a zone I didn’t think I was ready to enter.
When I walk her home, I clear my throat and say, “Thank you for being my fake date. But I have a confession to make.”
She stops, tilts her head, and meets my gaze. “What is it?”
I jump into the deep end. No point doing anything else. “Not a thing about it felt fake.”
There’s a hint of nerves when she asks, “What do you mean, Gavin?”
For the last two years, I’ve been missing what’s right in front of me. Missing it because we were just friends, then missing it because I was involved, and lately, missing it because it simply didn’t occur to me.
But now, Savannah has occurred to me, and I don’t want to waste any more time.
“What I mean is, if I kissed you right now, I’d like it to be a real kiss,” I say, and her eyes seem to dance with starlight. “What do you think about that, Savannah?”
The smile that crosses her face is magnetic. “I think you should really kiss me.”
It’s the best response in the history of questions and answers.
11
Gavin
I slide a hand across her face, and she trembles as my thumb strokes her cheek.
A small rush of air escapes her lips, as if she’s sighing into the possibility of a touch. I move closer and press a soft kiss to her mouth, figuring soft and subtle is the way to start.
She seems to like it that way, and so do I. It works for a little bit, this gentle exploration, as I experience the flavor of her kiss.
Savannah kisses me back with fierceness and determination. I respond in kind, raising the stakes—more roughness, more heat.
Then I’m not sure if I’m kissing her or if she’s kissing me. All I know is her back is up against the brick wall of her building. My hands are in her hair, and hers are sliding down my body, grabbing my ass, yanking me closer. She seals her body against mine, letting me know she wants all the same things I do. My mind takes many, many steps ahead to where this could go, to what we could be.
In a heartbeat, her hands are on my chest, and she pushes me away.
I look at her, dazed. “Is everything okay?”
She nods, a little breathless. “I’m okay.”
“Are you sure? Because you just shoved me away. Generally speaking, that means you don’t want to kiss me anymore.”
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “I do want to. But I’m going to be totally honest. I don’t think you’re ready for it. And I also don’t want to ruin what we have.” She takes a deep breath like she’s prepping herself for something hard. “I think we need to focus on being friends.”
I try to reroute thoughts already racing ahead to what we could be next. But maybe she’s onto something. Maybe this is the way to demonstrate I’m not rushing into anything post-breakup. “So if we focus on being friends, would that prove to you how I really feel?”
She tilts her face. Her lips are soft; her eyes are vulnerable. “I don’t know. How do you really feel?”
I drag my thumb along her jawline, and she closes her eyes as if it’s almost too much. And then I speak the complete and utter truth. “I’m just beginning to figure it out tonight.”