Fall for Him

by J.C. Valentine

  “But I’m new.”

  “Which is just another way of saying you’re fresh. You probably have more ideas than any of those people in that room because you’re new. Don’t let your inexperience on the job be misconstrued as ignorance. Do you have a learning curve? Yes, absolutely. But I’ve had a chance to review the Dominic’s website, and I like where you were going with it. Sticking to the classic Italian theme was smart.”

  Lowering my chin, I reply, “It was predictable.”

  Curling his finger beneath my chin, Rebel tips my head back. His obsidian stare is powerful and earnest. “It. Was. Smart.”

  I feel a pang in my chest at the intensity of his statement. With the sureness in which he speaks. He actually believes in me. I’m not sure what to do with that.

  Releasing me from his hold and his stare, Rebel turns the computer around to face him. “So what is it you’re having problems with? Be specific.”

  Drawing in a breath, I resituate myself so that I’m sitting parallel to him. From this position, we’re both afforded a view of the computer screen. “Well, as you can see, the new website as it stands now is pretty dull. I’ve tried to fancy it up with the header a bit, but I wanted to keep the look simple and clean.” The overall color scheme is a soft pink with the owner’s signature scrawled beneath the thick, bold letters of the shop’s name.

  “Where did you get the photos from?” Rebel asks, studying the few that Jenna inserted into the pages.

  “Some are original from the client, the rest are stock images. Jenna thought it would take up too much time and resources to have the company hire a professional photographer.” The face Rebel makes pretty much sums up my feelings on that subject. “Yeah, that was my initial reaction, too.”

  One dark brow arches up. “So you don’t agree with her then?”

  “Hardly,” I scoff. “I liked the idea of hiring someone to take pictures of each product so they would be true representations of what the shop has to offer, but Jenna shot it down pretty fast.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?”

  “Because I didn’t want to step on toes?” I say. “Like I said, I’m new, and I didn’t want to take over the project or act as if I were better or more knowledgeable than her while doing it.”

  “I hate to break it to you, pussycat, but that’s exactly what you are. Being a team player is just another way people like you dumb themselves down and prevent themselves from getting ahead. And you know how I feel about that.”

  Right. I seem to recall him mentioning that once. Right around the time he picked me up off my feet and told me he liked me just the way I am. I grow flushed at the memory. “Well, now you know what’s been going on,” I say, getting my thoughts back on track. “What do you suggest I do?”

  Studying the screen, Rebel grows quiet as he considers this. I wait him out, curious as to what he has to say.

  “I don’t want you to do anything. I’ll call a meeting tomorrow morning and broach the subject of bringing in a photographer, and we’ll take it from there.”

  “I don’t want anyone mad at me,” I tell him, worried that this will somehow get back to Jenna, and I’ll have to deal with some bullshit fallout that I’m not prepared to deal with. Nor do I want to. I just want a quiet, enjoyable place to do what I’ve always dreamed of doing: practicing my art.

  Closing the laptop, Rebel sets it on the table in front of us then clasps my thigh just above my knee. “I’m not sure that’s entirely avoidable.”

  Seventeen

  Monday morning is a bitch, made even more so by the fact that Rebel insisted on me traveling to work with him. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I arrived in style, I was also seen by half the building’s staff as I walked in side by side with one of the company’s owners.

  Needless to say, we attracted a lot of attention.

  Made worse still, Rebel kissed me goodbye on the elevator, which was seen by a small few on my office floor, one of which was a very surprised and enthusiastic Darren who simply told me “We’ll discuss over lunch” as I passed by his desk.

  As it has a tendency to do, word traveled fast, and by the time I made it to my desk, my coworkers were slanting looks in my direction. However, the only one that made me uneasy was Jenna’s, but I chalked it up to my guilty conscious from spending the previous afternoon talking about her. I wonder if her ears were ringing...

  Deciding that I couldn’t worry myself sick over it, I got straight to work. While I’m not crazy over the design plan for the website, I’m doing what I can to meld our different styles and make it look clean and professional. I only manage to get some of the layout moved around when my desk phone rings.

  “Josephine Hart.”

  “Mr. Scott has called a meeting and has requested you and Miss Murray’s attendance.”

  A slew of curse words fly through my head. A meeting? When he said he was planning to put one together, I assumed he meant between him and the rest of the board. I never imagined I would have anything to do with it. “What time?” I ask the woman on the other end of the line.

  “Now.”

  Of course. “Sure. We’ll be right up.”

  The line goes dead and I look up, seeking out Jenna. She’s already looking at me. “We’re supposed to go upstairs for a meeting.”

  Narrowing her eyes, I could almost swear she knows what this is about, but that’s impossible. That’s what the meeting is for. I can only pray that they’ve already covered the basics and are just going to inform us about the photographer, but I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that this day is about to go to the dogs.

  Less than five minutes later, Jenna and I are let into the conference room by the same pretty receptionist as last time. As I follow her over to the table and take one of the remaining empty seats, my eyes immediately find Rebel. Subtly, I raise one brow, hoping he understands the silent warning-slash-plea that he’s already dealt with the problem and won’t throw me under the bus completely.

  “Thank you for taking the time out to come meet with us,” Rebel says pragmatically. “Miss Murray, Miss Hart, how is the project coming along?” He asks both of us, but he’s looking at Jenna.

  “It’s coming along,” she replies vaguely. “In fact, we’re ahead of schedule.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Florence says from the opposite end of the table. “I knew when I put you on this assignment that it was in good hands.”

  Jenna smiles demurely. I, on the other hand, feel the stirrings of aggravation in my stomach. I don’t know whether to attribute it to having to look at Florence again or if it’s the project that’s creating this feeling.

  “As I’ve informed the rest of the board,” Rebel states, calling the room’s attention back to him. “I’ve taken the liberty of checking in on this assignment.” Beside me, I see Jenna’s shoulders stiffen from the corner of my eye. “It’s coming along great. I see a lot of promise, but I don’t feel that it’s where we want it to be yet.”

  “Excuse me, but how can you judge it if it’s not even done yet?” Jenna whips out.

  “You said it yourself, it’s nearly there. You’re ahead of schedule,” Rebel reminds her. A fraction of a smile begins to form on my face as I watch him go to work on her. He’s amazing. Subtle yet effective in directing the project where he wants it to go.

  Leaning back in his chair, Rebel looks every bit a ruler in his black and white ensemble, slicked back hair, and stone cold expression. He’s terrifyingly sexy in a way that inspires inappropriate thoughts to run through my head.

  With one arm extended, his hand resting on the blonde wood table, the hint of a silver watch around his wrist peeking out from his sleeve, he regards Jenna with a cool indifference that fosters nothing but ill feelings.

  “To be frank, Miss Murray, I found the design...lackluster. And if I couldn’t connect with it, how do you expect customers to connect with it?”

  “Well, I’m not the only person working on it,” she huffs
.

  Shocked, my head whips around, and I look at her with wide eyes. Is she really sitting here trying to pin her poor quality and lazy attempt at work on me?

  “You see, Mr. Scott,” Florence pipes up. “This is precisely why I was concerned about bringing someone so new onto the team. Nothing against you, Miss Hart,” she says, directing a fake, sympathetic smile toward me. “I can see by your credentials that you have excellent knowledge and potential, but what this company needs most is someone with experience in the field. Something you just don’t have.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Rebel cuts in. “What Miss Hart lacks in experience she makes up for in ingenuity. She has the same background and degrees as the rest of her team, and she has the added benefit of being familiar with all of the latest technology as well as a connection with the younger crowd.”

  “Forgive me, but I’m going to have to disagree with you here,” Florence volleys back. “While I don’t argue that she may be right for the job down the road, she’s not what we need now, and this just proves that. The Sherman project is one of our biggest and potentially most profitable clients yet. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we can’t hang all of our hopes on one person who has yet to prove herself.”

  “And this is where I’ll have to disagree,” an older gentleman sitting across from me says slowly. “I believe you both raise valid arguments. However, how do you expect someone to gain experience if you’re not willing to give them the chance to do so?” he asks Florence. I lift my chin, relieved to have another person speak up for me. “I might add that, while I don’t presume to speak for anyone else at this table, Jack Donnelly handpicked Miss Hart to serve in our design department. If he saw something worthwhile in her that he was willing to take the risk on, then I’m inclined to see it through.”

  Rebel raises his hand as if to say there you go. “Thank you, Elijah.”

  “Oh come on,” Florence snipes. “Jack Donnelly is no longer an owner of this company. His choices no longer hold any weight here.”

  “What would you have us do, Florence? Fire her?” Rebel demands to know.

  My gaze snaps up, worry filling them. I can’t believe that what started as a meeting has spiraled into a question of my qualifications and employment status. It feels unreal. My stomach quivers with nerves as I sit back and watch the circus continue.

  “If that’s what’s best for the company,” she says flatly.

  Rebel’s jaw clenches and unclenches as he stares her down. If not for the six-foot long table separating them, I’d be afraid for Florence’s well-being. Well, no. I take that back. I’d pop a bag of popcorn, sit back, and watch the show.

  “We’re getting off track here. The question wasn’t about who was or wasn’t more qualified for the job. What we need to do is implement changes that will lead it in the right direction for the client and this company.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m trying to do,” Florence says. Her gaze flickers to me. In that moment, I can see it in her eyes just how much she hates me. The question is how far is she willing to go with it?

  “This is a conversation for another time and place,” Rebel decides. “Gentlemen, I’d like to pose the possibility of bringing in a professional photographer to perform a series of shoots that will highlight the products our client has to offer.”

  “What are we working with now?” the man Rebel referred to as Elijah asks.

  “As of now, we have a few grainy images provided by the client and royalty free stock photos acting as placeholders. They’re good enough, but they’re misrepresentative of the actual products that customers will be buying. I’m sure you can appreciate my concern and will agree with me when I say that good enough is not the kind of label this company operates under.”

  Elijah and the other men nod in agreement. “This project is too important to cut corners,” one of them states. “I’m all for bringing the photographer in.”

  “As am I,” Elijah agrees. “Do you have someone in mind?”

  “My assistant has already gathered some potentials. I’ll have her start contacting them this afternoon and message all of you with the numbers by the end of the day.”

  Satisfied with his answer, each of the men stand and, one by one, head for the door. Only Elijah stops to shake Rebel’s hand. They exchange hushed words before breaking apart. So, I guess that means the meeting is over.

  Pushing my chair back, I feel exhausted. This meeting turned into an ambush. There was no need for me to be here other than to provide fodder for Rebel and Florence’s personal war. I’m fairly certain that if I weren’t in a room surrounded by two-faced assholes, I would dissolve into tears.

  As the room empties out, I head for the door, too, eager to get the hell out of here and back to my office so I can catch my balance and organize my thoughts. But it appears that it’s not in my future.

  “Miss Hart, a word please.” Rebel’s voice is firm and leaves no room for argument. As always.

  Sighing, I turn on a dime to face him. Jenna pauses, giving Rebel and Florence a brief look, checking to see if she should stay, too. Rebel waves her away, leaving just the three of us in the room. Alone.

  Everything is silent except for the racing of my heart. The tension, however, is palpable. I’m not sure what the reason for Rebel wanting me to hang back is, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one who’ll break the silence.

  “You were out of line,” Rebel tells Florence. Her mocking smile only seems to pique his anger more. “Don’t ever bring your personal baggage to this table again. What happens outside this building is irrelevant, and the fact that you brought your bullshit in here gives me mind to toss you out on your ass.”

  “If only you could,” Florence scoffs. “Go ahead, file a grievance with the board. Demand to have me removed. I’m sure they’d be thrilled to hear about how you fucked your stripper girlfriend on your desk after hours.”

  Holy shit! How the hell...?

  Rebel’s blank expression tells me he is just as stunned as I am. “Excuse me?”

  Rising from the table, Florence saunters up to him, a slow, calculating smile on her face. “You seem to have forgotten that I work late, too. That little show you put on was hot, but you and I always made a better team.” Her fingers trace down his silk necktie.

  Red fills my vision, and I imagine storming across the room and ripping off the offending appendage. How dare she touch him? And right in front of me!

  Stepping back and out of her reach, Rebel levels her with angry eyes. “If you’re trying to threaten me, don’t. You’ll regret it.”

  “I love you, Rebel,” Florence croons. “I would never threaten you or do anything that might hurt you or your career. Her, on the other hand,” she says, casting me a hateful look. “She’s got to go. I’ve cut you a lot of slack this last year, but playtime is over. It’s time to come back so we can get back on track and start moving forward.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” Moving closer to me, Rebel stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a downright confused expression on his face. I can’t blame him. I’m beginning to think that this woman is bat shit crazy. “You have Ransom now. Why aren’t you off somewhere telling him this?”

  “Ransom is great, but he’s just a poor substitute for what I really want.”

  “Great, I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”

  Florence waves away her concern. “I’ve already ended our relationship because you and I? We’re a team, Rebel. We’ve always been a team. And when we were dating, we were better than ever.”

  “We were fucking,” Rebel says cruelly, making Florence and I both cringe. Although, I think my reason is far different from hers. The idea of the two of them together in any capacity stings. I definitely don’t need a reminder. “You were nothing more to me than a convenience.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, but I do. I was young and naïve and horny. And you were there. A man in my position? A
way from home for days, weeks, unattached? You filled a need...until you didn’t.”

  Hurt tears across Florence’s face, and she wraps her arms around her middle, holding herself together. I see the instant that something inside of her snaps. I think she’s going to break down crying, maybe screaming and causing a scene, but she doesn’t. Her eyes flash with something I can’t name, and then she’s releasing her arms down to her sides and standing up tall. Resolved. That’s what I’m seeing in her.

  She’s stronger than I gave her credit for. I thought that losing Rebel would break her, but she’s resilient. She’s also a problem because I’ve seen that look on other women before. She’s not going to give up on him. She’s determined to win. How, is the question.

  “If that’s the way you want it.” Lifting her chin, she turns and stalks straight for me. Her eyes are laser focused on mine, and I know what’s coming before it even happens, but I’m powerless to stop it.

  My feet root to the floor, and I brace myself. When her hand connects with my cheek, I feel nothing except the breeze in my hair as my head whips to the side. Rebel releases a vile curse and storms across the room, but Florence doesn’t wait around. She’s out the door so fast you’d think the devil was chasing her. One look into Rebel’s blazing eyes, and I guess, in a way, he is.

  Cupping my cheek softly, Rebel winces as he inspects the damage. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I croak. I’m stunned, but I’m okay. More than okay, actually, because Florence crossed a line. She might have won this round, but she just proved to me that I don’t break that easily.

  “I see that look in your eyes,” Rebel comments, pulling me from my thoughts. “Don’t go making matters worse. Just let it go.”

  Pulling away from his touch, I shake my head as I rub away the sting in my face. The bitch probably left a handprint. “You expect me to let this go? You told me you would take care of things.”

  “I am, but it takes time.”

  “Well, time is up,” I inform him. “This isn’t just a matter of pictures being sent to my phone anymore, Rebel. That bitch put her hands on me. I’m not going to take this lying down. You either fix it, or I will.”