Players

by Rachel Cross

  “Why don’t you finish your assignments, and we’ll do a working lunch to discuss what you’ve completed.” Tiana ducked her head behind her computer.

  Straightening her lanky frame, the intern nodded and quietly left the room.

  Nathaniel, however, remained by Tiana’s workspace, legs spread and arms folded. Not that it mattered that he stood uncomfortably close—his own desk sat only eight feet away. She sighed and drummed her fingers on the desk, remembering her mother’s favorite saying. When the woman wasn’t drunk or drugged, she’d say, “God works in mysterious ways.”

  Does he ever. Tiana had been delivered from the hands of her ex-fiancé/coworker Greg into the hands of her ex-grad school nemesis Nathaniel. She’d been surprised seven months ago when she saw him on the interview panel for the vacant position at the agency. She nearly marched out of the interview when she saw him again, but she really wanted the position at the much-revered agency. And to get the hell out of Atlanta and away from Greg. But damn, it had been hard to digest that she would be working with her old classmate again.

  The man who’d stolen the highlighters she’d used to color-code her lecture notes, leaving silly ransom notes that declared “the most handsome man in the class” was holding them hostage.

  She’d never asked him for the highlighters back. That would only, in his egomaniac mind, confirm that she found him attractive.

  And she did. He was gorgeous, and he knew it. Smooth, brown skin with a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee that didn’t connect. Dark, fathomless eyes, and a voice made for late-night radio.

  But she’d never tell him that. She’d never give in to her baser needs. He was too unpredictable, too loud, and too dangerous. Nathan was the classmate who’d always poked holes in her well-researched answers. The know-it-all teammate who sidetracked their cohort by yapping away about politics, sports, and women, and yet still managed to deliver outstanding work for his piece of the project. The man who accused her of stealing the highly coveted internship by seducing their professor. As if I would stoop so low.

  Not only were they coworkers, but God had seen fit to have them share an office. Even six months after leaving her home in Atlanta and starting the job in New York, Tiana still hadn’t gotten over the irony of sharing an office with her enemy. The best course of action was to ignore him. No more office romance gone wrong like with Greg. No more poor Tiana when the guy took credit for her ideas that led to his promotion. Or when he cheated with another co-worker. Or worst of all, when he’d embarrassed her by unknowingly making it seem like she was the other woman. Side piece. God, what an awful thing to say about someone, but that’s what she’d overheard one of her coworkers say when Stephanie, Greg’s other fiancée, had told the others that Tiana had seduced Greg.

  “Let’s keep our relationship a secret, sweetling. You don’t want people to accuse you of sleeping with your trainer.” Tiana and Greg had never publicized their relationship, so it was her word against the company’s golden girl. Bitterness and pain stung her chest at the thought of Greg’s many betrayals. Oh hell, no. Never again would she put herself in that situation. Ignoring Nathaniel was the best solution.

  Ignore his scent. Ignore his nearness. Ignore his sexiness.

  No time like the present. Pulling a pair of hot-pink headphones from her desktop organizer, she opened her playlist and turned up the volume. She clicked on the speaker icon again, confused that her soothing neo-soul music wasn’t playing. She looked at Nathaniel, whose lips fought a smile. The delinquent had sabotaged her ear buds.

  She almost cursed, but then remembered the little surprise she had in store for him during lunch. He’d be praying to the porcelain gods if her plan worked. God, she hated that he brought out the childish side of her. But he started it! The crazy man had somehow pulled her into a prank war. He’d stolen her food, attached an air horn to her seat, but the final straw had been when he pulled up a stupid clown fetish forum on her screen right before the boss came around her desk.

  Praying for patience for the sure to be annoying encounter, she pasted on a fake smile and through thin lips hissed, “Yes, Nathaniel?”

  His tongue slid across that luscious lower lip. “Mornin’, Peaches,” he said in a deep, succulent voice like a man eager to take a bite of her forbidden fruit.

  Tiana crossed her legs. Silky smooth fabric crept up her thigh. Tugging at the hem of the rising skirt to keep it in place, she needed her hands to stay busy. Nathaniel didn’t need to know how restless she became around him. He didn’t need to know how he always made her insides quiver.

  “Stop calling me Peaches.”

  He moved closer and leaned across her desk. “I see my little Georgia peach is feeling feisty this morning.”

  “Move away from my desk. You’re crowding me.”

  Lord knows she didn’t want to be a part of the office’s gossip mill again. She’d once walked in on a whispered conversation among coworkers, debating whether or not she had finally given it up to Nathaniel. Like it was inevitable. Their co-workers thought their prank war was foreplay, but she’d never date him. Not even if he was the last man on Earth.

  “Fine.” He leaned back with an unapologetic look on his face. “I’ll leave you alone if you answer my question.”

  Reclining in her chair, she waved her hand. “Ask.”

  “In between painting the town red with your friends this weekend,” he said in a you-gotta-be-kidding-me voice, “you didn’t happen to find time to work on a counterproposal for the sports car account, right? Because you know Isaac has practically given the account to me.”

  “Perhaps.” She lifted her shoulders. She certainly had worked on a bid, not that it was any of his business. Marketing a sexy car, one that was endorsed by a professional athlete to boot, would give her a much-needed boost in snagging a director’s position. She planned on wowing their bosses Isaac and Richard tomorrow afternoon, a few days before presenting the final pitch to Fiete.

  As Nathaniel stood, his full lips thinned into a frown. “That account is mine, Tiana. I’ve worked with similar clients and led campaigns that were wildly successful and under budget while you sold doggy biscuits.”

  She slowly clapped her hands. A sarcastic clap was better than a swift slap to his handsome face. “Good for you. Now, I’m going to get back to work.” Pulling a key from the desk, she opened a drawer to retrieve her spare headphones. “Then I’m going to polish my proposal that’s going to, if I may boast, kick your testosterone-filled, high-five-bro, greasy-bikini-clad-women marketing plan’s ass.”

  His nostrils flared, and she couldn’t gauge if he was pissed off or turned on.

  “Game on.” He leaned over her desk. “But be warned, I play to win.”

  She tilted closer, her lips nearly touching his ear. “Come and get me.”

  She didn’t know what possessed her to whisper something so suggestive, but she did know she wasn’t backing down. His head jerked back, and those sinful eyes seared her with a silent promise. Her heart stalled like a faulty engine.

  He would most definitely be up for the challenge.

  Chapter Two

  A soft rap on the glass door caught Tiana’s attention. She glanced away from her screen, briefly irritated by the interruption until realizing Isaac Goldberg, agency president and CEO, was at the door.

  “There are my two rising stars,” he greeted in a faint New England accent.

  “Mr. Goldberg.” Tiana waved from her desk while Nathaniel stood and gave the boss a firm handshake and friendly smile.

  “To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Isaac?” Nathaniel asked.

  He always addressed the older man—whose Christmas-white hair was so thin on top it showed a peek of his shiny pink head—by his first name. Tiana wasn’t quite ready to call the nearly seventy-year-old man Isaac. It wasn’t a matter of inferiority, but rather her southern upbringing.

  “I know you both are working on the proposal for the new sports car by Fiete. Bu
t . . . I just spoke with the owners, and it looks like there is a change of plans for the celebrity endorsement.”

  Tiana grabbed her desk with a tight grip, the only outward display of her alarm. She’d put in hours of work researching the football player Devlin Howard. The proposal was customized around his exuberant personality. Changing endorsements would drastically alter the plan.

  Her gaze gravitated toward Nathaniel, whose stiff shoulders and slip in smile showed he, too, was not pleased by this news.

  Mr. Goldberg, hands stuffed in the pockets of his charcoal gray slacks, shook his head, seeming to commiserate with their silent anxiety. “I know. Not the best news to hear on a Monday morning, but not to worry. They have someone else lined up. And luckily, he lives right in our neck of the woods. Jacob Ross, the pitcher for the Yankees, has agreed to endorse their new sports car. He’ll do commercials, print and online advertisements, the works.” He waved his arm.

  Loosening her grip, she relaxed all over.

  Jake Ross. They couldn’t have found a better replacement. She’d been around the star pitcher numerous times. Jake and Mel had pretended they were in a relationship a few months ago to make her roommate’s now-fiancé Damien—Jake’s former publicist—jealous. Thankfully, everything had worked out, and Damien, Mel, and Jake had remained friends. Tiana’s hands itched to pick up the phone to call her bestie or her friend Charlotte, Damien’s media coordinator, to get the scoop on Jake’s background. Tiana might know the pitcher, but she needed to research him to figure out what made him tick.

  “That’s fantastic, Mr. Goldberg,” she gushed, unable to hide her enthusiasm, and then turned her attention to her office mate. His baffled expression, she assumed, was from her sudden burst of optimism. Her smile grew wider. He didn’t have a chance in hell of beating her now.

  “That’s a fantastic way to view this opportunity, Tiana. But I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that Jake is a handsome devil.”

  Tiana nodded. “And very talented.”

  “Which is why he is a better choice for Fiete.” Mr. Goldberg sighed. “I hate to do this to the both of you, but they still want our ideas next week. You’ll have to send a draft to Richard and me by Thursday and, after our comments, be ready to present to our internal teams by the following Monday. Our meeting with Fiete is still scheduled for next Tuesday.”

  “I’m looking forward to the challenge, Isaac.” Nathaniel finally broke his silence.

  Of course you are, you freaking brown-noser.

  Mr. Goldberg raised his fisted hand to cover his mouth as if he were thinking through what to say next. “I’m sure you both know a director position is still up for grabs. We haven’t posted the job online as of yet, but we’d like to promote from within.” He cleared his throat, straightening his thin and slightly hunched shoulders. “I want you both to know that Richard and I feel you’re great candidates for the position. We expect your applications.”

  Tiana’s spine tingled as she gave him a small smile. She’d heard what he said, but what he hadn’t said resonated louder.

  He wanted them to know this proposal and, most importantly, impressing the billions of dollars in revenue-generating company Fiete would be a feather . . . no . . . a goose-down comforter filled with feathers in their caps. If they won this business, the Goldberg Group could probably afford to promote both of them to director. That’s just how huge Fiete would be for their business. But the penny-pinching agency wouldn’t do that.

  When Mr. Goldberg left, Nathaniel and Tiana stared at each other.

  “You applying for the job, Peaches?”

  “Of course.” She crossed her arms. “And you?”

  His deep chuckle filled the office. “You know it.”

  Tiana could almost taste the competitive spirit that filled the air. Powerful . . . potent . . . intoxicating.

  Taking a deep breath, she unwittingly inhaled his scent. Cologne, slightly diluted from the brisk walk he took to work every day after his morning boxing routine, entwined with his delectable natural scent. The only thing she needed to do to complete this sensory overload was taste and touch. And her vivid imagination, like a sixth sense, showed her just how yummy his warm skin would feel and taste on her tongue. She hadn’t felt this sensation in a long, long time.

  A low rumble that sounded almost animalistic cut the silence. Her gaze snapped to his lips. Is that how he’d sound when he came? From my mouth?

  Nathaniel’s knowledge-filled eyes seemed to know just where her thoughts had gone.

  And like a power plug yanked from a socket, the hazy, almost drugging desire ended.

  Thank goodness.

  He returned to his desk, but not before purposely brushing himself against her outstretched legs to check on absolutely nothing at the printer nestled on the table behind her desk. His touch was a promise. A promise she intended to ignore. Been there, done that, got the crappy T-shirt and broken heart to prove it, courtesy of Greg Wilkinson.

  Tiana clicked open her email and immediately sent Mel and Charlotte a message to gather intel on Jake. She needed to get her mind back on track. Knocking this proposal out of the park—pun intended—could mean a promotion and an opportunity to work on an exciting account. And I can finally put my MBA to good use. No more marketing dog food in middle management. She could finally live up to the admiration her younger twin siblings had for her career.

  The campaign would be flawless. Perfect. Something never done before. Besides, her previous proposal wasn’t totally useless. She had background information on the company. Sports cars typically appealed to males ages eighteen to eighty. She laughed to herself. Unfortunately, most of the eighteen- to thirty-five-year-olds couldn’t afford Fiete’s steep prices.

  An hour later, Melanie responded to Tiana’s emails with exciting exclamation marks and smiling emojis. She loved that her enthusiastic friend was happy to help her connect with Jake the Great, as her best friend called him. The ever-efficient Mel also included a zip folder with interviews and a complete profile chock full of professional and personal questions answered by the pitcher himself. Tiana executed backflips, mentally of course, from the little goldmine her friend had provided.

  This cut back hours of research work she would’ve normally done. She glanced over at Nathaniel, clicking away on his keyboard. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  • • •

  Tiana wore a sexy smirk better than a Victoria’s Secret Angel strutting down the runway. Nathan had seen that expression a million times during grad school and knew what the look meant. She’d found something, most likely related to Fiete, that made her happy. Something better than the birthday-cake ice cream he knew was her only food weakness. In grad school, she’d down a few pints while studying for finals and finishing projects in the wee hours of the morning, despite knowing she’d make top marks.

  He shook his head at the recollection. The little trip down memory lane reminded him of when he first saw her at orientation. He’d just moved to Atlanta and had sampled quite a few of the ladies. But when he saw Tiana, he felt like a heavyweight boxer had sucker-punched him in the gut.

  She wore light makeup. Was her dark chocolate skin as flawless as it seemed? Her shiny, pink gloss invited him—hell, probably the entire male portion of the class—to devour those lustrous lips.

  Tan tailored pants covered mile-long legs. A cream shirt clung to a shapely frame, and an orange scarf hung between large, pert breasts. Yes, I remember. And everything else about her, as he’d filed those tidbits away in a brain that had the freakish ability to recall images in great detail. Back then her hair had been a bit longer, resting along the middle of her back.

  But what had stopped his exploration and admiration was when he gave her the look. The look that made most women blush and then duck their heads or maybe boldly return his gaze with a promise of much, much more. She’d felt his stare. He knew because she’d stiffened her shoulders and turned to face him.

  She didn’t smile. She didn�
�t frown. She was just . . . frigid.

  And at that moment, he’d categorized Tiana Holliday as an ice queen, and had no intentions of freezing to death in her arms.

  But he was wrong. Tiana could be warm and willing when it benefited her. Just like it had when she and Professor Hoffer had schemed for her to win the internship, awarded to one student from their class, by claiming that Tiana had come up with his idea. From the heated stares the professor gave the ice princess, he had no doubt she had him wrapped around her fingers.

  Anger slammed past his rib cage. Women like Tiana, like his mother, were the definition of Bell Biv DeVoe’s ’90s classic, “Poison.” His mother had trapped his Pops with a smile and promise of forever. But years later, his mother, who he’d called Renita without affection rather than “Mom,” had shown her true commitment to her career as a fashion expert in the wedding industry. Between galas, traveling internationally for fashion shows, and as editor-in-chief of a top wedding magazine, she had no time and no desire to be there for her family. A mass of ice settled over his chest. He wouldn’t get pulled in by Tiana’s sultry appeal. He had no time for someone who was too career-obsessed to care for others.

  Besides, he hadn’t had time to chase women, especially complicated women, back then. He needed to kick ass in grad school. When he’d had the urge to relieve stress, he’d just scrolled through his list of conquests and picked according to his preference.

  Did he want a yeller? A moaner? Someone wild in bed or someone he’d have to coax and later dominate? He had varying tastes and had yet to find a woman that could be everything he needed.

  Tiana’s rhythmic finger tap on her desk interrupted his thoughts. Did she realize she did that nervous tic every time she deliberated a big decision?

  So what big decision did she have today? Looking at her, sitting regally in her large black leather chair, looking perfect and prissy at the same time, he wanted to march over and ruffle her hair, clothes, and lips.