by Lucy Lambert
Her eyes glinted with malevolent glee.
An unexpected jealousy jolted me, tightening my throat and making my stomach hot. I knew it shouldn’t matter to me that we both knew I wasn’t pretty enough for Vaughn Ward, especially after my little speech there. But it was important.
I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly. This amused Trish, who crossed her arms beneath her breasts and shook her head at me again.
“Trish, I’m going to say this slowly and in small words so that I know you’ll understand me,” I started. “You will not take this job, or anything else, from me. Ever. I don’t care who you sleep with, it’s not going to happen.”
I wanted to continue from there, to really lay into her, but that edged over from righteous indignation to outright cruelty. Basically, becoming Trish. And that wasn’t going to happen ever, either.
The smile dropped from Trish’s face, which clouded with anger.
“Whoa, you definitely aren’t cute when you’re angry,” Anne said.
Trish’s breath caught, and she sputtered, “You… her… Don’t know who you’re…”
I took more pleasure than I should have when I shook my head at Trish the same way she did to me.
And Anne also managed another zinger, “Hey, why don’t you take a deep breath and count to five before you speak? It works for my niece when she gets flustered. She’s in kindergarten.”
Trish jabbed her finger at the pile of papers that had spewed from the folder. “You better have those layouts finished by tomorrow morning, or you’re fired.”
Anne pushed up from her chair, “Hey, you don’t have the authority…”
Trish interrupted, “No, I don’t. But I’m in good with the people who can. You better remember that. Both of you,” she said, shooting us both looks.
She turned to storm out, yanking the door open. Before leaving, she turned back to us again, “And get some new glasses. This isn’t 1963.” She made sure we saw her roll her eyes before she stepped out, slamming the door behind her.
For a few moments, all I could hear was the gentle hum of the computers. Anne went over and shoved all the papers back into the folder, then came back and plunked down into her chair. “Guess I’ll be up all night.”
“Hey, I like your glasses.They’re cute,” I said, my insides switching between compassion for my friend and shock that Trish would say any of that.
“Yeah, it’s cool. Still feeling bad about having to work with the 17th most beautiful person in the world?” Anne said, pushing those black-framed glasses back up the bridge of her nose.
“No,” I said. It was only a little bit of a lie. I still had misgivings about working with Ward. But now I had one more reason to throw on the “Do It Anyway” pile. There was the promotion, the respect, and now the rubbing it in Trish’s face aspect to consider.
“What is her problem, anyway?” I said.
It was more a rhetorical question than anything, but Anne nodded like she expected me to ask. “It’s jealousy. You’re so much better at this than she is, and she can’t take it. That, and she thinks she’s prettier than you and doesn’t know why that’s not enough to get ahead. It’s kind of sad, when you think about it.”
“Sad? Trish?” I said. I’d never put those two concepts together before. Trish always seemed so self-assured.
“Yeah, sad. Don’t let her get to you, though. She’ll get what’s coming eventually… So, when do you start?” Anne asked.
I looked down at my watch again and cringed. “In about 15 minutes. If I can make it to Back Bay that quickly.” Not only had Trish trashed what little good mood I had left, she had also made me potentially late.
“Oh! Get your butt in gear, then! Don’t worry about me.”
I smiled at her and went to the door, pulling it open when Anne said, “Give him a kiss for me!”
I was glad I was facing away from her so that she couldn’t see me cringe at the suggestion. Although part of me bet that Ward was a good kisser. He had such nice lips…
“I hate you,” I called back, both of us laughing as the door closed behind me.
***
The GPS on my phone took me to the address I’d been given by Mr. Callaghan’s secretary. I stood on the sidewalk in front of the stoop for too long, just looking up at the brownstone that Vaughn Ward had apparently bought on a whim.
It was something of a miracle that I made it in the time that I did, right in the middle of rush hour.
I had to admit that it was somewhat awing that a person could have the kind of money to do that sort of thing.
Of course, it also seemed something like an underhanded insult. He hated the hotel suite I’d had booked for him so much that he literally went and bought a house rather than stay in that room a bit longer.
“Be professional,” I told myself. You don’t have to like him. You just have to work with him. Remember, your career is on the line, here!
I grimaced at that little internal pep-talk and walked up the stoop. When I rang the bell I half expected another hastily-clad model to appear in front of me again.
Instead, Ward answered the door himself. “Quinn!” He seemed taller than I remembered. And the natural light of day on his face warmed his smile, which appeared genuine enough.
“Mr. Ward,” I said, trying to ignore the cool rush of excitement in my chest that accompanied my suddenly rapid pulse. Professional!
“I’m glad things worked out so this could happen,” Vaughn said.
Worked out? I thought. He didn’t seem to have any clue that because of some whim of his my whole career was on the line. His smile deepened, and my chest fluttered in response.
Stupid Anne, why did she have to tell me that beautiful person thing? Now that I knew that, I could see it. When Vaughn’s smile wasn’t crooked, both corners of his mouth terminated in the most adorable dimples. His eyes were sharp and clear, and his angular cheeks and chin sported the perfect amount of stubble.
“C&M is happy to accommodate all your needs,” I replied, trying to pull this back to nothing but a business interaction.
It helped to think about the trail of broken hearts that littered Ward’s wake. Sure, he might be handsome and rich and all that, but he went through relationships like a smoker goes through a pack of cigarettes, burning people up for whatever temporary fix he needed.
We both realized at the same moment that we’d spent at least thirty seconds standing on his stoop, looking at each other.
He scratched at the back of his head and looked up and down the street, which was more brownstones on either side with lots of high-end cars parked along the curb. “Come in. I’ll give you the tour.”
I stepped inside and my breath caught. It was a beautiful home. Warm wood paneling met a hardwood floor polished to a high, smooth shine. Pieces of modern art accented it all.
It was a great blend of modern styling cues meeting retro-chic. They could do magazine spreads on this place. My brain was already working on a layout and a few choice phrases.
“You like it?” Ward said, watching me take in the space.
And the thing was, it sounded like he really did want my approval. I tried to ignore the flattery of the sentiment, tried reminding myself that we were here because apparently the five-star hotel I’d chosen for him wasn’t up to his expectations.
“It’s nice. Warm,” I said, “Now…” I started meaning to ask if we could get down to work, but then I caught a whiff of it. The unmistakable smell of fresh espresso. And, before I could stop myself, I continued, “Is that coffee?”
It had been something of an exhausting day. Mentally and emotionally, at least. My brain craved caffeine.
“Ah,” Ward said, his eyebrows lifting, “I recognize a fellow addict. Come with me.”
“Wait, we should…” I started, but Ward wasn’t listening. He started down the hall, and before I could help myself I followed. He just had that sort of aura of easy authority around him that following felt right.
> We ended up in a kitchen that could also have been on the cover of various home decorating magazines. Granite countertops, an island with a wine cooler in it, skillets hanging down from a rack suspended from the ceiling.
And an espresso machine with enough chrome accents on it to make any hipster red in the face.
Ward went to work quickly, and I heard the hiss of steam and a low buzz as the machine made some fresh-ground espresso.
My mouth started watering. He makes his own espresso?
“You know, I had you pegged as an order-everything-in kind of guy,” I said, the relaxed and warm atmosphere throwing me off my guard.
I knew that I should tell him to stop. That I didn’t want or need his coffee. It stepped over that professional line in the sand that I had drawn.
“Happy to surprise you,” Ward replied. “But also somewhat puzzled. I have a pretty wide array of talents. You don’t get to be where I am being good at only one thing.”
Bravado. Boasting, my mind warned. However, I felt inclined to agree with him. Looking at him now, I saw he wasn’t much older than I was. And yet he’d built himself quite the tidy empire.
When he handed me the latte he’d just finished and I took a sip I could feel the surprise spreading on my face. “This is good!”
“Again with the surprise. That wounds me, you know, that you find it so surprising I could be good at something like that.”
I took another sip, unable to resist the urge from my caffeine-deprived brain. I perked up right away. Then I sipped again, the scent of the fresh-ground espresso beans filling my sinuses.
When I lowered the cup I saw Ward watching me. “What?” I said, realizing how ridiculous I must look. Suddenly I felt self-conscious. Were there stray hairs coming out of my bun? Did this blouse work well with these pants? Did I have those dark circles under my eyes this morning and if so did I remember to cover them up?
His smile widened. “You have a mustache.”
Mortification ran up and down my spine. “Excuse me?”
“From the foam. On your upper lip. What did you think I meant?” Ward replied. “Here, let me.”
He grabbed a napkin from a dispenser on the island and started reaching for my face. I recoiled at the last second. “I can do it, thanks.”
I had to turn around and face away from him while I dabbed at my mouth. It felt like he had the upper hand so far. I hadn’t just crossed that invisible line, I’d rubbed it out of existence.
And I hadn’t even shown him any work yet.
Chapter 7
VAUGHN
I leaned back against the countertop, the espresso maker hissing and pinging gently to my left.
Ever since Quinn had arrived, I couldn’t stop smiling. I felt like an idiot. Or maybe a kid. But I couldn’t stop myself.
I knew that she didn’t really like me. In fact, if someone pressed me on the issue, I would say that she’d rather not even be in the same room as me. The same building, even.
I chose to fall back on my cat theory. I wanted her because of the fact that she didn’t want me.
I let my eyes run up and down her body. She wore a sensible pantsuit, her hair up in an equally sensible bun, just like before. And just like before, I wanted to know what that hair of hers might look like loose around her shoulders.
She turned around and put her espresso cup on the island a little hard. Some of the liquid splashed onto the granite top. She had trouble dragging her eyes up to meet mine, but she made herself do it.
She definitely had a fire in her. If only she’d let it out.
“Can we get to work please, Mr. Ward?” Quinn said, so desperate to maintain that professional distance.
“Yeah, sure. Show me what you have,” I said. I kept looking at those freckles on her cheeks. I saw the way she tried covering them up.
And then those cheeks of hers started to flush and I realized I was staring. However, I couldn’t tell at first whether it was a flush of embarrassment or anger.
“We’ll need a computer,” she said, trying to prompt me to some action.
I took her up to the second level where I had a study set up. As with the rest of the house, it was one of those blended classic and modern areas. Warm wooden bookcases, huge desk with an overstuffed chair in the kneehole, that sort of thing.
“This is nice,” Quinn said, standing in the doorway, “But where’s the computer?”
I stood behind her, looking into the room over her head. I caught the barest hint of some fresh, clean scent and knew it was her. I had the urge to wrap my arms around her, clasp my hands just below her navel, and pull her back against me so that I could nuzzle my lips against her neck, right where it met her shoulder.
“Oh, it’s in here,” I said. I put my hand on her shoulder, intending on asking her to let me go past. She stiffened at my touch and I withdrew.
Before I could say anything she turned around and looked up at me. This time I knew that red flush in her cheeks was anger. At me.
“Mr. Ward,” she said, stressing that title so as to maintain her professional distance, “This is nothing but business to me. It will never be anything other than business. I’m good at my job, and I’m sure if you put aside whatever this is, you’ll see that. Do you understand?”
I struggled to refrain from making some remark about how good she looked when she was angry. Really, I did. It wasn’t natural for me to not speak my mind.
However, I also got the sense that she was, in some way, expecting me to say something like that.
So I leaned against the door frame, thumbs hooked in my pockets, and nodded. “I know you’re good at your job. Why? What other reason could I possibly have for demanding that you be the one to handle my account?”
That put a damper on her righteous indignation. I watched her try and rally her anger again and fail. She frowned once, then again, unprepared for that remark.
“Well…” she started, “It’s because the last time you and I were together you said you wanted to kiss me…”
“Oh, that, right. I’m thinking more of how you handled yourself in that meeting. Answering all my questions, not being scared of me. Callaghan’s just a yes man. Trust me, I know them when I see them. You’re not one.”
She cocked an eyebrow at me, her defenses still up but not at full power. “I’m not a man, for one.”
At last, some humor! I thought. There was a tiny sparkle in her eyes. It was that fire inside I’d noticed earlier. That heat that wanted to escape if only it got the chance. A tingle of excitement ran down the front of my stomach.
“Definitely not,” I said, smiling at her. It was a good smile, I knew. It had been on magazine covers. I knew exactly what effect it had on women.
The heat came back to her cheeks and she dropped her eyes from mine.
Ah, there we go. I figured I had her. Beautiful brownstone, good coffee, the general warmth of the room, some charm and some flirting. The perfect recipe to loosen her up.
“Are you finished?” she asked, and I saw that the warmth in her cheeks wasn’t from my skillful flirting but rather another shot of anger directed at me.
I unhooked my thumbs from my pockets and held my hands up in surrender, “Yes.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, wondering whether this was another joke or if I was serious. The thing was, I wasn’t certain of the matter myself.
It would certainly be easier to call it a day with her. I had another invite to some high profile movie junket tonight. Plenty of starlets would be there.
Except I found I liked the challenge. No woman had challenged me like this since college, and it got my blood pumping with the unexpected thrill of it.
So I brushed past her, inhaling her scent again as I went. It made me throb deep inside.
“So, about that computer?” Quinn said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a jump drive.
“You didn’t say the magic word,” I said.
Her face brightened again and I loved it. It also
surprised me how she otherwise managed to maintain her cool.
“May I please use your computer?”
I touched a hidden button on the desk and the computer monitor folded up out of the top, right above the kneehole. It was one of those composite things with the USB jacks and all that built into it.
When the screen finished folding out, a minimalistic keyboard and a touchpad also came up. I pulled the overstuffed leather chair out and offered it to her.
She squinted at me again, once more questioning the purity of my motivations. I took my hands off the chair and stepped away. She sat down and went to work, plugging the jump drive in and browsing through the files.
“I spent the weekend thinking about the upcoming release of your latest app. The art’s just a mockup for now. But I think this is just the thing you need. This is a still that will run in all the major software publications: Wired, PCWorld, and the like.”
I leaned over, putting one hand on the top of the chair for support. I had to squint a little to read it, some of the text was small on the screen. It took me a second to feel her eyes on me.
“That’s good!” I said. And it was. The colors were eye catching, the tag line grin-inducing. Funny and witty. Just the sort of thing I wanted.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Quinn’s shoulders sag with relief. Then she launched in the other material, telling me where she got her ideas from. What made her think of certain things.
I could see the passion she had for her work, and how much of herself she put into it. And I have to say, that was a turn-on for me. I liked people who knew what they wanted and how to make it happen.
She loved the challenge of it, and took joy in creating.
After perhaps a couple minutes I couldn’t keep my sight on the screen anymore. I just couldn’t stop myself from watching how animated she became. The way she smiled and the way that smile made a dimple in one cheek but not the other.
Definitely the girl next door, I thought. The kind of girl who was so damn hot without even knowing it, without even trying it. Hell, it looked to me like Quinn actively tried to dull her looks down.