Players

by Rachel Cross

  He didn’t know why he always had the urge to agitate the unflappable Tiana. But when she looked at him as if he were dirt clinging to those sky-high heels she always wore, he decided to ignore his caveman need to drag her to bed and screw her into next week. No, it would be more satisfying to break that statue-like posture and liven those cool eyes with taunts, challenges, and insults.

  Nathan had long ago figured out what made her mad. Taking her stuff all the time and making fun of her fear of clowns by dressing up as one for Halloween made her come alive. She didn’t sit back and take his barbs and antics. She fought back, and he loved it. He admired her spirit. Those cool eyes of hers could burn him up with one look. It would make most men’s dicks shrivel, but not his. If anything, it spurred it to life.

  These days, he had to cover himself up with file folders, notebooks, or a laptop every time those eyes and those heels and that ass in those skirts turned him on. He needed her eyes on him again, not on the damn computer.

  Mouth dry, he swallowed and cleared his throat. “I don’t know why you’re so happy all of a sudden. It’s not like your proposal is going to win.”

  She turned her cool hazel eyes on him, and he silently congratulated himself for getting her attention. But now he needed to make them burn.

  “Oh, Nathaniel. You silly, silly man.” She shook her head sadly. “I’ve never known you to delude yourself.”

  “I’m not the deluded one, Peaches. I’m just sorry that you believe you have a chance at winning. After all, I’m the demographic they’re targeting. Who better to market to them but one of their own?”

  Her eyes became an inferno. “Just because I don’t have the right equipment dangling uselessly between my legs doesn’t mean I don’t know how to market to men like you.” She pointed her red-painted fingernails in his direction.

  There it was. The fire. He fed off it like a cold, weary soul seeking heat. “Damn, Peaches.” He mimicked her sad headshake. “I’m not sure what men you’ve been dealing with, but I can assure you that I know how to use my equipment.”

  Her tawny eyes pierced him again. He thrived off the silent challenge. “This isn’t the appropriate place to talk about your equipment and how many times your equipment has been in use.” Ice dripped from her voice. “But if it were, I’d guess that your equipment has seen more action than a neighborhood Laundromat.”

  Stretching her lips into a thin line, she looked down, as if berating herself for losing composure.

  Nathan smiled again. With every day that passed, the mask she wore like a shield slowly cracked and crumbled.

  “Stop bothering me. You’re getting in the way of me creating my winning proposal.”

  He stood. “All right, Peaches. I’m tired of your smart mouth. Time to ante up.”

  Her eyes sparked, and her mouth quirked at the corners. “And how does one ante up, Nathaniel?”

  He put his hands in front of his pants. His dick twitched whenever her pompous voice called him Nathaniel even though he’d repeatedly demanded she call him Nathan or Nate in grad school. “Let’s place a wager. Whoever lands the account wins.”

  “Fine,” she agreed easily. “I’m going to win, anyway. What are we betting?”

  He pretended to think her question over, but he knew what he wanted—to knock her down from her ivory tower and have her live amongst the commoners. “When I win—”

  “You mean when I win.”

  “When I win,” he repeated, unwilling to say that she would be the victor. “You have to do things you wouldn’t normally do.”

  She looked uncomfortable for the first time since they’d started the conversation, squirming just a fraction in her seat. “And what does that mean? What are the guidelines?”

  Guidelines? He smirked to himself. Of course the little control freak needed guidelines and rules and order.

  “You’re going to win anyway, right?” He leaned over to place his hands on her desk, getting a whiff of her spicy scent. “So what does it matter?”

  “I won’t be bullied into going into this bet blind. What do you mean by doing things I wouldn’t normally do?” Her voice was hard as steel.

  “I’m not going to have you do illegal activities or anything that would require you to ask God for forgiveness.” Unfortunately. “I’m just going to expand your horizons and have you do my dry cleaning, those sort of things. Trust me. If you don’t want to do it, a simple ‘no’ will suffice. Although, I will completely lose respect for you not honoring our wager, should you decide to agree.”

  She shook her head. “No deal. You send me the fine print, and then I’ll decide. Now, if I win . . . hmm . . . let me think.” She drummed her fingers against the desk and then scrunched her nose. “Excuse me, when I win, you will be my slave. I kind of like the dry cleaning idea, so I’ll add that too. And let’s put a timeframe around our wager. Do you agree to a week?”

  “A week?” Nathan snorted and shook his head. “Don’t be a wuss. I need a month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and thirty—”

  “I got it the first time, Rain Man. A month is fine with me. Now do you agree with being my slave for a month when you lose?”

  He stuck out his hand. “Agreed.”

  “Wait.” She stared at his outstretched hand and then back to his face. “Don’t you want to know what I meant by being my slave?”

  “Nope. Besides, you’re too much of a prude to make me do anything too crazy.”

  “Excellent.” Pushing herself up from her chair, she stood and thrust her hand out for a shake.

  He grasped her soft, slim hand and stared into her molten eyes. “Deal.”

  She had no idea what she’d agreed to, but he planned on winning far more than a chance at leading the account and snagging the director role. He wanted to show everyone—from the directors in the operational departments to his coworkers who assumed he’d gotten so far in his career by his good looks and charming personality—that he was the best person for the job. And this time, she doesn’t have a lovesick professor in her corner to give her the advantage.

  Despite winning nearly half a dozen marketing awards and accolades and graduating top of his class, he still fought for respect. He’d show everyone, and he’d show Tiana, that he was damn good at his job. Oh, yeah. He looked forward to bringing her to her knees.

  Chapter Three

  Tiana looked up from the spread of Post-its, pictures, and printouts when she heard the door to her Chelsea apartment open.

  Melanie huffed, dumping a laptop that Tiana would eventually have to pick up from the floor. Her best friend’s large sandy brown curls bounced as she kicked off her shoes which, Tiana again, would have to place neatly in Mel’s room.

  “Hey girl,” she greeted Tiana then went into the kitchen.

  “Hey. Thanks again for the resources.”

  “Of course.” Mel reached into the fridge for a bottled water and took a deep gulp.

  Shaking her head, Tiana squelched the urge to make her friend pour the water into a glass. She’d accepted long ago that the girl would always do the exact opposite of what her southern debutante training had taught her.

  Mel waved at Tiana’s teal satin short-set pajamas. “You’re a little sexed up to be pulling an all-nighter for your proposal thingy.”

  Tiana rolled her eyes and returned her attention back to the screen.

  “I’m just saying . . . you look like you’re going to a college frat pajama jam party.”

  “I wear sexy PJs every night. Your officious remarks do nothing to dissuade me.” Tiana smirked, knowing her friend couldn’t pass up the opportunity to play the word game they’d begun as teens.

  “Oh, word of the day!” Mel squealed and clapped. “Ten points, Tiana. But don’t worry, I’ll use it in a sentence soon.”

  “You do that. Meanwhile, I have a question about your Jake the Great.”

  “Go for it. And for the love of God, please don’t let my fiancé hear you say ‘your Jake.’ He’s still sensitive a
bout the fake relationship.”

  “From interviews and your notes, it seems like he’s a family man, which is the total opposite of how the rest of the media treats him.”

  “Yeah.” Melanie furrowed her brow. “It doesn’t help that he changes chicks more than he changes jock straps.” Walking to the couch, she sat opposite Tiana, sitting with her legs stretched on the floor. “But he’s definitely a family guy without the wife and kids. You should see him with his nieces and nephews. Two girls and two boys who come up to visit their Uncle Jake all the time. I swear he enjoys the kids more than his siblings, and he’s super close to them as well.”

  “Hmmm.” Tiana tapped her fingers on the coffee table. “How do I reconcile the baseball player, the ladies’ man, and the family man, all in one sexy sports car?”

  Mel swiped the neighborhood paper from the table. “That’s why they pay you the big bucks, lady. But one thing I would steer clear of . . . he doesn’t like to be objectified. He hates when people only focus on the outside. It’s okay to acknowledge his good looks, but don’t make it the center of attention.”

  Tiana stood and paced the floor. Little pieces of ideas fell into place. Jake Ross wasn’t your typical jock. He was . . . versatile. And why couldn’t he be all of those things? Just like the Fiete T-8 series.

  The T-8 was beautifully built, with speed, control, and quick reaction time. Sleek and sexy and speedy, its safety ratings were best in class. Something Jake would want to ensure if he drove around his nieces and nephews. Tiana pumped a victory fist in the air, returned to her makeshift pallet on the floor, and grabbed her laptop. I know exactly how to showcase the car and its celebrity.

  “I’m guessing from your Serena Williams victory dance you figured something out.”

  “I did. I’ll show you the proposal later. I want it to shine.” Tiana smirked. “I am so going to enjoy Nathaniel being at my beck and call.”

  “What?” Mel didn’t look up while she flipped through the newspaper.

  “Nathaniel and I made a deal.”

  Now her head jerked up, mirth flashing in big brown eyes framed by black glasses. “I’m guessing it has something to do with the car campaign?”

  “Yes.” Tiana folded her legs underneath each other. “Mr. Goldberg told us the new direction and basically pitted us against each other, dangling the director position over our heads.” Tiana rolled her eyes. “So, we were going back and forth about who would win, and then Nathaniel dared me to make a wager.”

  Mel clapped her hands. “I love it! What did you guys bet?”

  “Not that I’ll lose, but if I do, I have to do things I wouldn’t normally do. I’m guessing something crazy like skydiving. When I win, he becomes my slave.”

  Mel gasped but was clearly faking her dismay from the smile that overpowered her face. “What kind of slave? A looovee slave? A sex slave? Oh, you should make him wear skintight leopard undies! And he has to fan you with a giant feather and feed you grapes. Or you can remake that scene in the movie Coming to America, and he can bathe you in a giant tub as big as a pool.”

  “There will be no baths or grapes or sex. I’m going to get him to do things like get lunch, type notes during meetings, and handle dry cleaning.”

  Mel gave Tiana a dubious look. “Like you’ll trust Nathaniel or anyone else to take notes or do dry cleaning.”

  Tiana thought about her roomie’s comments for a moment and shuddered. Nathaniel seemed to thrive in chaos. No, she’d have to give him simple tasks that even chaotic people could perform.

  Mel stared at her for a bit. “So you’re not going to admit it, huh?”

  Tiana massaged her stiff neck. “Admit what?”

  “That you like him!”

  Tiana narrowed her eyes. “I do not like Nathaniel. He is not my type.”

  “But—”

  “Even if he were my type, dating Nathaniel would be in direct violation of one my new life rules . . . absolutely no dating or fraternizing with coworkers.”

  “Fraternizing, really?” Mel rolled her eyes. “You and your life rules. You’ve been doing this since you were a teenager. How many rules do you have now?”

  Sixty-six. “More than a few, but it doesn’t matter. What’s important is that I don’t make the same mistakes. Dating a coworker, being the center of gossip, and labeled a “side piece” is a pretty damn good reason for my rule.”

  “Look, Tiana. Greg and his psycho girlfriend—”

  “Fiancée, remember. He took back my ring, told me he was resizing it, and gave it back to Stephanie because let’s not forget it was her ring originally.” Tiana pushed away from her makeshift desk. “I can’t believe that asshole regifted an engagement ring. Who does that?” She took a deep breath, which did nothing to calm her down. “And then Greg and Stephanie somehow made me out to be the psycho ex-girlfriend. The mistress.”

  Unknown to Tiana, Greg had had an on and off again relationship with their coworker, Stephanie. During their “off” time, Greg had pursued Tiana. A year later, he’d asked Tiana to marry him.

  The shit hit the industrial-sized fan when Greg had stolen a quick kiss from Tiana in his office. Stephanie had walked in on what Tiana had thought was a precious moment. But no, Stephanie yelled, screamed, and accused Tiana of seducing her man. A crowd had gathered near the door as Stephanie hurled one painful and fictitious insult after another.

  Tiana didn’t feel sadness anymore. Only anger. Rage. And each memory of laughing, whispered conversations, the stolen promotion, and outright cruelty bubbled over like hot scalding water in a pot. No matter how far she ran and how much her life had changed, she would never be the same. Tiana clutched her stomach as if she could staunch the venom. Looking back, she realized Greg had played them both.

  “I can’t believe I was so naïve.” So stupid.

  Mel slid to the floor and sat beside Tiana, then leaned in and gave her a side hug. “None of this is on you, T.”

  “I know but I . . . sometimes I think back to the times where it should’ve been obvious. The late night meetings with clients. The oh-so-secret project he and Stephanie had worked on, but he could never divulge the details of. And the cherry on top—the ring.” She shook her head and laughed, but it lacked humor. “The damn thing never fit because it was never for me. The ring had been Stephanie’s all along.”

  Melanie shook her head. “We’re not doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Giving Greg the power to make you feel small. You trusted the man you intended on spending your life with . . . it’s not a crime. Yes, he sullied that trust, but you cannot let him affect your life. You’ve got to move on . . . and you are. You’ve gotten away from a toxic environment and moved to New York. You have an awesome job, they value your work, and you are on your way to a kickass promotion.”

  Mel’s encouraging words pierced through Tiana’s cloud of funk. Her anger dropped to a slow simmer. “You’re right.” Rolling her shoulders, she returned her attention to the screen. “I need to focus on the present and get back to creating my brilliant campaign proposal.”

  Mel stood. “All right, Damien will be over soon, and I need to hit the shower.”

  Tiana nodded, focused on the screen. “Thanks again for the info. Good night.”

  • • •

  Nathan checked the mirror in the boxing gym locker room one last time before leaving for the three-block trek to work.

  His reflection stared back at him. Although he looked like a pretty boy, he wasn’t. Today was the day. In two short hours, he and Tiana would battle it out in front of Richard, Isaac, and the rest of the marketing and creative team for the Fiete account.

  The campaign he’d propose was good—damn good—and he would enjoy putting little Tiana back in her place as the new, not quite ready kid on the block. When he won, he would be gracious in front of his bosses and team, of course. But behind closed doors, he would enjoy rubbing his victory in her face. He wouldn’t be passed over again as he had be
en in grad school.

  “Bad Tiana.” He grinned at his reflection and then grabbed his bag. Striding out of the locker room, he waved at his sparring partner. “All right, James. See you tomorrow, man.”

  Still beating the hell out of the slip ball, the bald, dark-skinned young man gave him a chin nod. “Yeah, man.”

  Before stepping into their office, Nathan changed his breathing pattern from his nose to his mouth to avoid Tiana’s alluring and spicy perfume. Damn, I’m becoming a mouth-breather. No time for Mr. Happy to make an appearance. Today required his A-game. Thinking about how her legs would feel wrapped around his waist would not help him focus. Once he won the account and could relax, he’d call up Shelly. Shelly would smile and do anything he asked.

  Anything.

  Tiana wouldn’t ever relax or be dominated. She was too alpha. It would be fun to try to break her, but she would never cede control.

  “Hello, Peaches.” He tried to focus on her face instead of the forest-green skirt clinging to slender thighs. “You ready to lose gracefully?”

  “Absolutely not,” she fired back, scowling at her computer screen.

  He smiled, happy that she was up for the challenge even though she would be the loser.

  Nathan powered up his laptop, reviewed his notes, and made a couple last-minute finishing touches.

  His calendar reminder pinged on the fifteen-minutes-to-the-meeting mark.

  Tiana’s head popped up. She narrowed her eyes at the smile that spread like butter on his face.

  “You ready for this spanking I’m about to give you, Peaches?”

  Tiana cocked her head, eyes igniting, reflecting a fiery pool of determination. “Nathaniel, honey,” she purred better than Eartha Kitt, “you couldn’t spank me with a seven-foot-long switch.”

  But I could with my hands. His rod spurred to life. Damn. He didn’t need this right now. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on the fourth quarter of last night’s basketball game. The Knicks should’ve won the game. Johnson was wide open for that three-pointer.

  “You okay over there? Not getting nervous, are you?”

  He cleared his throat, finally back in control. “Not at all. I’ll see you in the conference room.” He removed his laptop from the base.