by Kayla Oliver
“Okay, and what’s the damage with his agent?”
Our drinks came then, prompting me to down the rest of my first one so that I could start on my second. I sipped at it as I dished.
“Marnie got that big account, remember?”
Liz nodded.
“Well, it was Harvey’s account. It was a whole big deal—I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty of it, but there was some competition involved with another publisher. Tarvish Press. Anyway, I’m trying to help her get the account by dealing with Harvey and his agent.”
“So… this is a business thing?” Liz lifted a skeptical eyebrow.
I shrugged. “No, but it started out that way. The account was what Marnie needed to make partner. I pulled every string I could to get that damn account.” I hesitated before slowly adding, “Including making a deal with Malcom.”
Liz’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, her face splitting in a grin. “Oh, a deal, eh? And what kind of deal was it? What fancy-shmancy schmoozing did you have to do? Tell me it was something dirty, kinky, and or totally skanky.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be crude. I promised him a favor.”
She was still grinning as she asked, “Has he cashed it in yet?”
I spit my tongue out at her like we were back in college. Then I sat back in my chair. “No, that’s actually part of the problem.”
“Now I’m confused. What?”
I took a longer sip from my drink. “We’ve been talking since Marnie got the account. And texting. And emailing.”
“But?” Liz prompted.
“But that’s it. We haven’t met in person. I don’t even know what this guy looks like!”
Liz’s grin dropped as her eyebrows rose high up on her head. “What? Are you crazy?”
I blinked. Probably,I thought, but all I said was, “I hope not.”
Liz ignored my answer and pushed forward. “You’re getting worked up over some guy you haven’t even seen before?”
I winced. “Um, kind of?”
Liz muttered some things under her breath that I couldn’t catch, then downed her drink. She signaled the waiter for another, which likely meant he’d bring another for me. Not that I would mind. I was starting to think I’d need more than a few tonight.
“Jesus. Okay, before I list off the million reasons why you’re being dumb right now, I’ll ask you this: why not just meet him, then?”
“I’ve tried,” I blurted, not even caring that she was going to tell me what an idiot I was being. Hell, I probably needed someone to tell me. “We’ve made plans to go out for drinks, to have coffee, to grab brunch. Every time he cancels on me. Something comes up. His fucking dog dies, whatever, and I’m left with no plans and no idea what I’m doing wrong.”
There was a pause, then, “Did his dog actually die?”
I rolled my eyes. “No! I don’t think he even has a dog. It was just an example.”
“Oh, good. Because that is a 100 percent legitimate excuse. Like, I would forgive someone for blowing me off over that.”
I waited impatiently for her to get to her point.
“Sorry,” she apologized, then leaned back and considered me. “So you’re upset over some dude you’ve never even met in person?”
I nodded.
“And he’s blown off meeting you several times.”
I nodded again.
“And you’re still stalking your text messages waiting for him to respond?”
“Um.”
“‘Um’ is an admission of guilt,” she informed me, her tone and pose superior. “To which I have only this to say: what the hell happened to that ball-busting, take no prisoners, hell-on-wheels girl I know and love?”
The corners of my mouth tugged down in a pout. “I am not a ballbuster.”
“Not anymore!”
“I never have been.” When she just stared at me, I added, “I’m just selective.”
“You mean sardonic. Pessimistic. Angry at men.”
“Realistic,” I countered. “Cautious.”
She shrugged her slender shoulders. Sitting there in the soft lighting, her hair so pale it was almost white and her limbs so long and elegant, it was no wonder how she became a model. She had to be born for it. “Whatever. Point is, the old Court never would have let herself get all wound up over some guy.”
I frowned. There was a thread of truth there that tugged at me. I didn’t think of myself as a “man hater,” though obviously my friends leaned that way. I just didn’t like to bend over backward for some guy. And now, I was starting to think that was exactly what I was doing.
When did I get so damn pathetic?
“What are you suggesting?”
She smiled silkily at me. “Dump the prick.”
“What?”
“You heard me, dump him.”
“But we’ve really connected.”
She laughed at me. Loudly. Several people from other tables actually glanced over at us when they heard her. It made me wince, but I tried to convince myself it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable.
“What?” I demanded when her laughter was dwindling to chuckles.
She wiped dramatically at her eyes. “Nothing, it’s just… have you heard yourself? I mean, you sound like the kind of girl we always used to laugh at. Connected, seriously.” She shook her head. “Fact is, connection or not, if this thing with him was really meant to be, you would have already met. It wouldn’t be this difficult, you know? Relationships should be organic, not forced, and it really sounds like this guy is pulling back on the reins.”
I sat silently for several moments. My stomach churned and it wasn’t because of the fruity, sugary alcoholic beverages we were consuming. I had a bad feeling all of a sudden, because there was a big part of me that knew Liz was right. I shouldn’t have to fight to get him to so much as meet me. If he didn’t want to meet me, then I shouldn’t have to fight to convince him otherwise.
Despite the bitterness that was crawling up my throat, I forced a smile at Liz. Then I held up my glass to her. “You’re right. To organic relationships,” I toasted.
“To man haters, the only ones who have it figured out,” she countered.
I laughed, and then we downed our drinks. A moment later, the waiter came with our refills. Liz told him to keep them coming. We were going to get completely trashed. Liz gave the waiter a card with the number of her preferred taxi and said that when we were ready to go, he should call them. The waiter easily agreed.
Then we drank.
Chapter Four
Trent
I tapped a pen idly against the edge of my desk as I reclined back in my chair. I was trying to think of what greatness I was supposed to bring to life on my computer today. Unfortunately, I was drawing a blank. Ideas might as well have been raindrops in the damn Sahara. Few, far between, and evaporative as hell. There was no inspiration that morning, which was why I was thinking of Courtney Hughes, sexy secretary.
Or maybe there was no inspiration because all I could think about was Courtney Hughes. Either way, she was on my mind.
I slumped forward and put my hands on the keyboard. Words flowed from my fingertips at a hearty eighty-eight words per minute until I had half a page full of them. Then I decided they were complete crap and erased the whole damn thing.
“Fuck,” I muttered to the screen.
I tried again, my fingers hesitating for a moment before the words started to come.
Her eyes were cold, guarded, but I knew that warmth lay beneath them. I’d seen it before. Warmth that turned into fire as she opened up to me. Heat spilled from the ruby-red plumpness of her lips, slipped from her pink tongue, until she was breathing fire. A fire that consumed me. I watched as that fire slipped down her slender throat, over those delicate shoulders, and down. Down beneath the fabric of her dress, dipping between her breasts to form that line of cleavage that led to the promise of spicy sweetness.
I longed for a taste of that—
&nb
sp; My fingers paused on the keyboard as I realized what I was doing. My novel wasn’t really a romance. There were a few spicy moments for the sake of character development—and because a little fucking never hurt anyone—but it wasn’t about love. It was a murder mystery about a guy dealing with an existential crisis as he considered the possibility that his father was a serial killer.
Not exactly the kind of novel that needed extended details on a woman’s cleavage.
What was worse, I knew that the woman I’d described wasn’t Kelly, my female love interest. No, the woman I’d just been writing about was Courtney. Her perky breasts. Her full, red, red lips. Her ice-cold eyes.
“Damnit.”
I deleted the whole section, knowing I wouldn’t be able to use it. Worse, knowing that it was going to give me a raging hard-on that I wouldn’t be able to make go away without envisioning her in some compromising positions.
Sighing, I shook my head and got up. I needed a break from that damn computer.
Stretching first, I tried to figure out what I was going to do. Not about the novel—that would either come together or it wouldn’t, just like always—but about her. She wanted to meet, but if I let that happen, she would not be happy. She was expecting Malcom Resner, but she was going to get Trent Harvey. But I couldn’t leave things as they were either. She wanted more. I could practically taste it in her text messages.
And honestly, I wanted more, too. I wanted to touch her and taste her and feel her in my arms. I was a physical person, and it was killing me to do this through text messages. Especially when I knew what she looked like.
Fucking sexy.
What am I going to do?
I paced around my office, trying to come up with a solution to the mess I’d created. But I had nothing. There was no getting out of this short of a face transplant, and I didn’t think I wanted to try that John Travolta movie thing anyway.
I slid my hands over my smooth head, trying to come up with an answer.
If she would just give the real me a chance, I know I could win her over.
At least, I thought I could. There was a part of me that acknowledged that her hatred for me seemed to run pretty deep. But I was confident. She obviously liked my personality, or she wouldn’t still be texting Trent.
I was thinking myself into circles, and it was exhausting. Deciding that I needed a break—from thinking about Courtney and from working on my damn novel—I headed downstairs in search of coffee and food. Maybe I’d go to that café I liked.
Or, well, pretended to like. It was more for show than anything else. It was one of those hip places that authors like me were supposed to be into. And I knew that sometimes the best way to sell yourself was image. Look the part. Cafés helped me look the part.
I grabbed my phone as I headed downstairs. Rule one of writing: turn off or silence all electronic devices that weren’t actively being used for writing. Meaning my phone was not in the picture when I was working.
As I turned it on, it told me that I had several missed calls. They were all from Marnie.
I didn’t bother to listen to the voicemails. I could guess.
“What’s taking so long?” and “Do you take anything seriously?” and my personal favorite, “Get the damn manuscript done or it’s your ass.” All in that lovely tone of pissed-off redhead.
No, I definitely didn’t need to listen to the messages.
Once I sifted through the missed calls, I noticed that I also received several text messages. These I was much more invested in. They were from Courtney.
Two in the morning, she texted me this:
Fuck off.
Two after two in the morning, I got a second one.
I don’t need your stupid ass.
Five after two in the morning, I got a third message.
If you aren’t interested in a piece of my lovely self, then I don’t need you.
And finally, eight after two in the morning, I got a final message.
Did I mention I don’t need you? ’Cause I don’t.
“Jesus,” I muttered.
I had a feeling she’d been drunk when sending those messages, but that didn’t mean that she hadn’t meant every one of them. Especially the not needing me part. I felt panic well up inside me, and it was that panic that had me dialing her number before I could talk myself out of it.
The phone rang twice before I heard her pick up. “Hello?” Her voice sounded gruff, sandy. Like she had just woken up or was still hungover.
Before she could say anything else or hang up on me, I launched into the fray. “First, we’re going to fucking meet. For real this time. No bailing, no jokes, no sometime in the fucking futures. I want to see every bit of you, damnit, and I’m tired of waiting. Second, you have to stay for the entire date. You owe me a favor, and I’m cashing in on it.”
That favor was going to be my salvation—and probably get me fucking killed at the same damn time, but I didn’t care. It was my only shot, and I’d make it work.
It had to work.
There was a long stretch of silence, and I almost thought she’d hung up on me. Then, I heard her answer. “Fine. Don’t fuck this up.”
She hung up before either of us could say anything else. But I didn’t care.
She’d stay for the whole date, meaning I had one night to convince her that Trent Harvey was the man she was falling for. Somehow, I knew this was a recipe for disaster.
Chapter Five
Courtney
My date with Malcom was set for that Friday and I asked Marnie beforehand if I could leave a little early.
“Early? Are you feeling sick, or have you just lost your mind?” she asked incredulously.
I hadn’t so much as shown up five minutes late in the years I’d worked for her. I could see why she was a little surprised.
I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. It was Monday, so I was giving her as much notice as I could. If Malcom had set up this impromptu date a little earlier, I’d have let her know then, but I decided a week was plenty of time to let her know I was getting off a little early. Seriously, she could live without me for a couple of hours.
“I have a hot date,” I informed her with a smile.
Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline. “Seriously? When the fuck did this happen?”
Marnie knew tentatively that I’d been in contact with Harvey’s agent. She didn’t outwardly disapprove, mostly because I didn’t think she knew how serious it was. Hell, I didn’t know how serious it was anymore. And since Harvey was working for S&W Publishing now, it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest or anything.
She never needed to know that I’d been planning on still talking to Malcom even if Harvey decided to go with Tarvish.
“It’s actually been going on for a while,” I informed her. “We’ve been talking and texting and—”
“Wait, so is this a real date or a virtual one?”
I shot her a glare. “A real one, thank you very much.” Finally, I thought but didn’t add. I didn’t need to tell her that the guy had only just manned up enough to meet me in person.
Marnie considered me for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
For once, she sounded a little hurt, and I felt bad. For about 2.5 seconds.
I gathered up my papers and shoved them into the oversized tote bag that could have fit a body if I chopped it into pieces first. “Oh, please. You had already slept with Callum by the time you told me about what was going on.”
She winced. Point to me. “Okay, I’m sorry. You’re right. I just… don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things, you know? We’ve been friends for ages.”
I softened slightly, then nodded. “You’re right. I wasn’t keeping this a secret—I just wasn’t really sure where it was going. I didn’t want to be the asshole who thought the marriage was around the corner when I didn’t even have a first date secured.”
Marnie grinned at me. “Good point.”
“And speaking of friends for
ages, Liz missed you last night.”
Another wince and another point for me. “Shit, I’m an asshole.”
I nodded in agreement. “Especially since you bailed for a little sexy time with Callum.”
She scowled at me. “I did not.”
All I did was raise a single eyebrow at her in skepticism.
Sighing, she half nodded. “Okay, fine, sort of. I just needed to talk to him, and one thing led to another. I didn’t mean to bail on you guys for sex. It just sort of happened that way.”
I actually laughed at her. “That explanation totally wins you points. Accidental sex excuse. I like it. I’ll use it sometime.”
She shoved playfully at my shoulder. “Oh, shut up.” She glanced at the delicate watch on her wrist. “Are you headed to lunch?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m going to take some work with me and make a few calls, because some of your clients have gotten it into their head that if I’m at lunch, they can dodge me.” I waggled a finger at her. “Such is not the case.”
She grinned at me. “This is why I love you.”
“What would you do without me?”
“Crash and burn, I’m sure.”
I waved goodbye, and she headed back into her office.
***
Friday rolled around at what felt like a snail’s pace. I didn’t want to admit how excited I was about my date, but the truth was it had been a long time. A long time since I’d had much of anything in the form of a social life, much less romance. Marnie was my best friend, meaning work and social went hand in hand. And forget about dating. I’d sworn off guys since the last asshole in my life. Malcom was the first chance I’d been willing to take in years.
Which was why I wasn’t just excited, but anxious, too.
What if things went wrong? What if he was a dick in real life? What if I met him and I just wasn’t attracted to him?
I didn’t think of myself as overly shallow, but there was no denying that physicality was an important part of my personal relationships. I didn’t need Brad Pitt, but I needed someone that pushed the right buttons and set off the right signals in my body. Sure, I was all about this guy’s personality, but what if we just didn’t mesh physically?