Aggie the Horrible vs. Max the Pompous Ass

by Lisa Wells

  Was he referring to their different social-economic standings in the community? Damn it. Could the guy not go one day without triggering her insecurities?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  At seven thirty-five a.m., Tuesday morning, a brisk knock sounded on Max’s door. When he opened it, his breath was wrenched from his lungs. Aggie, makeup free, wearing the tiniest pair of running shorts, the kind elite runners wore in major marathons, a pink sports bra, and what looked to be brand new shoes. No shirt of any kind. The outfit made her painting shorts look like a nun’s habit.

  The pithy greeting he’d planned failed to launch. Sweat broke out on his brow. “Almost right on time.”

  “Are you ready to do it?”

  He nodded, refused to think do it meant do it, and headed toward the elevators while mentally flipping through the multiplication’s table, starting with nines, to keep his brain off of what it wanted to dwell on. Kissing every inch of her bare skin.

  She followed.

  In the elevator, they stood along the back wall. He forced his eyes to stay on the door. Tried not to inhale her sweet scent, but it soaked through his nostrils, and the tempting scent all but convinced him it would be okay to fuck her right here, right now.

  He dragged a hand down his face. It’s not like he hadn’t already known she had a killer body—he’d known since the first day they met.

  Knowing it and seeing so much of it naked sent him into a tailspin of lust. Now it wouldn’t only be her lips he daydreamed of ravaging.

  “It’s a beautiful morning for a run.” Her voice sounded rumbly.

  “How far do you want to go?” He glanced at her. Big mistake. Nine times seven…sixty something.

  She slid her gaze over his body. “How far do you normally go the first time with a new partner?” Her voice husky.

  Eight times eight… “Six to ten miles.”

  “Oh.”

  With his gaze on the light reflecting the floors going by, he waited for her to expand. She didn’t. Twenty hours later, the elevator door slid open, and they exited the building. “Want to stretch first?”

  Her eyes gave him another thorough inspection. “I did before I came, but you can. I’ll wait and watch.”

  “I’m good.” He turned toward a hill. “I like to get this climb over in the beginning.” He fell into a slow jog. “You set the pace. I don’t want to go too fast for you.”

  “Setting the pace is my favorite.” She picked up the speed, moving out in front like a true competitor.

  He followed, watching in amusement as she maneuvered the hill. Thirty steps in, his insides were bursting with bottled-up laughter. Aggie Johansson’s arms were swinging outward like a downhill-careening child, and her knees were pointing awkwardly inward, and her feet came up off the pavement at an angle and…

  His laughter faded. Damn it. He was being pranked. For certain this time.

  At the top, she stopped. Bent over and gasped for air.

  He wiped all hints of laughter out of his voice. “Are you okay?” She was, of course, pranking him, but maybe he could get the upper hand in this charade if he pretended ignorance.

  She looked up at him. Her face was red, and real sweat rolled down her cheeks as she barely nodded.

  Maybe this wasn’t a prank. “That hill can be a little tough the first time around.” A lie. It wasn’t over three-tenths of a mile and not that steep. “If it makes you feel better, there aren’t any more hills.” Of course, if he ran like she ran, he’d be out of breath as well.

  She stood. “Your turn to set the pace.” Her words came out on little individual gasps. Definitely not pranking him.

  He took the lead. She lagged far enough behind he couldn’t see her with his peripheral vision. But he could hear her breathing. Pretty sure people in England could hear her breathing. A car honked at them. And as it passed, the passenger shouted, “Go, Phoebe, go!”

  What?

  “Fuck you,” Aggie shouted.

  Max stopped running and glanced at her. “What was that about?”

  “Assholes being assholes. Phoebe happens to be a kick-ass character from the sitcom Friends whose running style is a combination of a toddler and a baby giraffe. Which is a perfectly legit way to run.”

  He nodded as if he totally agreed. “Shall I chase them down and kick their asses?”

  She gave him a squinty-eyed stare, as if measuring his level of sincerity. “I’m done with this. You can finish running on your own.”

  “Aggie—”

  “No.” She turned and stumbled back the way they’d come.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home to take a shower and then to work.”

  Damn it. “But…I thought you enjoyed running.”

  She turned and glared back at him. “I do. But not with my boss.”

  Figuring out Aggie the Horrible was like trying to understand Quantum Mechanics as a toddler.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Wednesday, near closing time, when Max returned to his office after spending all of Tuesday with his bankers, and most of Wednesday with clients, he pulled up short.

  Nothing was as it had been when he’d left Monday evening. Obviously, he hadn’t given Aggie enough to do with her time. When would he learn she could do at least twice as much in one day as his usual assistant?

  “Aggie?” The last time he’d seen her, she’d been in those tiny running shorts, striding away from him.

  “Oh, hey, boss man.” She gave him the smile he was beginning to know as her get-out-of-jail-free smile. The one that made every part of him go tense and yet excited at the same time.

  “Oh, hey, assistant lady.” He loved how she didn’t hold a grudge. He’d been brought up, when someone did you wrong, you cut them out of your life. Like he’d been doing with his father for years. Was her approach better? Get mad. Get even. Get over it.

  She moved out from behind her desk, holding a feather duster. A fantasy starring her and that duster flashed through his brain, escalating the ever-present desire he endured in her presence.

  “Before you blow a gasket,” she said, “let me explain why I’ve done what I’ve done.”

  He stood at the door and counted to three. He really hated for anyone to touch his things. Always had. Not because he didn’t like to share, but because…Mom taught him not to share. When things got shared, things got broken. Broken things had no value. He’d probably been around six at the time.

  “I’ll hold back my gasket blowing until after you’ve explained why you’ve changed the layout of our office without seeking my permission.”

  She pointed the duster in his direction. “Actually, I’m not in possession of a fabulous reason for not asking your permission, other than you’d say no. But I do have a kick-ass reason for the changes.”

  Aggie Johansson subscribed to the adage it’s better to ask forgiveness than seek permission. He, too, believed in the benefits of living by such a rule. It’s hard to get mad when someone flipped it on you. “I’m listening.”

  “Okay then. Have you ever heard of Feng Shui?”

  “I remember it being mentioned in one of my college classes. Why don’t you give me a brief refresher?”

  She floated in front of her desk and leaned against it. “It’s an ancient Chinese system of laws. In its basic explanation, Feng Shui says the spatial arrangement of a room affects the flow of energy in the room. And what allows for favorable energy should be taken into consideration when arranging a space, or in your case, when re-imagining new uses for old buildings.”

  Did the spatial arrangement of his thoughts affect the flow of energy in his life? “How does having my desk facing a door instead of a window-with-a-view affect the energy in the room?”

  She crossed her legs at the ankles, drawing his attention to today’s death-trap heels. They were
black with a lot of straps. “According to lore, when your back is to the door, you’re inviting in energy that allows for things at work to be done behind your back.”

  “Like you rearranging my office without my permission?”

  She beamed.

  Today her hair flowed down her back, inviting a man’s hands. His hands.

  “Exactly,” she said. “I did, however, place a mirror on your desk so you can see the view out the window.”

  What would it be like to spend his life with someone as free and easygoing as her? It would be a life of unpredictability. Some unpredictability was good, but he didn’t think he could handle a constant barrage of it. He needed more control. More certainty. There’d been enough uncertainty in his life already.

  “And the new plants?” He pointed to a tree in the corner.

  “This beauty,” she said, running her hand lovingly over a branch, “is a lucky bamboo. It’s considered a wealth plant.”

  He’d like her to run her hands over him like that.

  “A wealth plant?” His voice came out thick, not unlike other parts of him at the moment. Maybe control was overrated. Would it be so terrible to try someone else’s approach to life? He could always go back to predictability if he didn’t like the change. Just like he could change his office furniture back if this arrangement didn’t work.

  She braced a hand high on the windowsill, as if posing for a magazine cover. “Having wealth plants helps to anchor your intention for the room. And, correct me if I’m wrong, but your intent is to make money, right?”

  It was hard to argue her points when his thoughts were all over the place. “Father once told me I’d be lucky to earn thirty thousand a year at the top of my game.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  He’d never told this story to anyone. “I bet him I’d accrue my first million by the time I’m thirty-one.” Father didn’t net his first million until he was thirty-two. He had to do him one better.

  “What happens if you lose the bet?”

  He rocked back on his heels. “Tell me about your duster.”

  The look she gave him said she saw right through his diversion attempt. “First, tell me about the bet?”

  He eyed the wealth plant and then her legs and then her duster. “If I lose, I sell him my company and go to work for him. The duster?”

  She straightened and wiggled the duster at him as if she could read his wicked thoughts. “A clean workplace fosters a clear mind.”

  He swallowed a whole bucket full of lust and walked to his desk. “And the weird smell?”

  As if trying to push every sexual button he possessed, she sauntered over and perched on the edge of his desk. “Weird? I find the scent soothing.”

  “What is it?”

  She slowly crossed her legs. “I’m burning sage to do a space clearing. It will lighten the feeling in here and clear the negative vibes we’ve had between us.”

  He forced his gaze to travel upward until it finally met her amused grin. “Aggie…” He said her name because he needed to remind himself who she was. His employee. Not his current lover. “Are you seeing Richard?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  He took her hands in his. “Good.”

  “Because you want me for yourself?”

  Need stroked the flame inside him that had lit the moment they met. He wanted to lay her on the conference table and strip her naked. “I honestly don’t know.”

  She leaned forward and briefly touched her lips to his. “Let me know when you figure it out.”

  Fuck. He forced himself to nod and dropped her hands. “We’ll leave things as they are…for now.”

  She hopped off the desk. “Look at you, trying to admit you like me.” She threw herself into his arms and full-body hugged him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his tie. “I like you, too.”

  Inhaling her scent, he disengaged himself from her arms. Was he crazy to want to get to know her better? “I think your sage burning is working. Now, get to work.”

  For a moment, she didn’t move. Other than her tongue darting out and licking her perfect lips. “Whatever you say, boss man.” She turned and slowly, hypnotically, purposefully sauntered toward her desk. Like she had on so many other occasions in this office.

  Shaking off the “Aggie effect,” he dropped into his chair. God, he wished he kept whiskey in his desk. He opened the right drawer to put away his phone. The calendar he used to mark off the number of days until his permanent assistant returned caught his attention.

  He pulled it out and marked off one more. Twenty-seven business days left. When he started marking the days, he couldn’t wait for the end to come. But now…now he found himself liking Aggie’s quirkiness. Envied some of her free spirit approach to life. Didn’t look forward to the final X. He slid the calendar back in the drawer under a stack of folders. “Aggie…”

  She poked her head out from behind her computer. “Yes, boss man?”

  “Weren’t we supposed to cook dinner tonight before our Bridge practice?”

  “Didn’t Ms. Grace tell you? Meemaw picked up an extra shift tonight, so it’s been postponed.”

  “Does Ms. Hazel work a lot of extra shifts?”

  Aggie worried her bottom lip. “Not as much as she used to. She said something about having an unexpected expense this month, so she wanted some extra income.”

  “In that case, would you like to have dinner with me?”

  “You mean a date?”

  “More like a business event.”

  “Oh. You need me to work late?”

  “Just over dinner. Unless you have plans?”

  Her lavender-blue eyes sparkled from clear across the room. “I don’t have any plans. Can I pick the place for our work…date?”

  His breath got stuck in his throat, so he just nodded.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  One hour later, Aggie and Max stood outside Pappy’s Barbeque, an infamous hole-in-the-wall bar in a seedy part of Kansas City.

  “We’re here.” Aggie stared intently at Max. She wanted to capture his response.

  He swallowed, and his Adam’s apple moved.

  She’d learned over the past few weeks that sexy little bump in his throat always came out to play when a situation left him feeling out of control.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked.

  “Many times.” Just never with a guy like him. She was about to find out if he was the type of guy who would try and fit into her world.

  A biker strode by with his helmet under his arm and a skull cap on his head.

  “I’ve been to safer-looking places.” He tugged at his ear as he spoke.

  “Me too.” She tried to look at her surroundings through his eyes. The gravel parking lot consisted of monstrous motorcycles and old pick-up trucks. The windows to the rundown establishment had bars over them.

  She heard a soft chuckle and turned her attention back to him. “I’ll give you this,” he said. “You’re never predictable.”

  Even though the corner of his lips was lifted in a smile, all she had to do was glance into his eyes to see his worry-wart wheels spinning. Strangely enough, she liked that Max didn’t try to impress her and act like it was no big deal to walk into a bar like this.

  “It’s a lot like your posh country club.”

  “In what way?”

  She looped her hands through the crook of his elbow. “Both are picky about who they welcome. But once you’re welcomed, you’re safe.” She waited for his verdict. Would they stay or would they go? She really wanted him to give it a try. Not be turned off by her roots.

  “And out of all the places I would have willingly taken you to tonight, this is the place you chose for our business dinner?”

  That wasn’t a no. But not exactly a yes. “This is my o
ld stomping ground. I hung out here on the weekends as a child while Meemaw served beer. They have the best barbeque in town.”

  He grinned. “According to whom?”

  “The owner. You’re not scared, are you?” The ever-constant fear of being rejected whispered in her ear to tell him never mind. Tell him she wanted to go somewhere else. She didn’t listen to the voice.

  He glanced back at his car then at her. “Let’s do this.”

  “Really?” When it came down to it, she’d expected him to refuse to go inside. To insist they go somewhere with five-star reviews on Yelp. Had he done that, then she would have known for sure she could never fit into his world, because he would never want to honor hers.

  She resisted an urge to plaster another impromptu hug on him. Once per contract was probably enough. “Thank you for trying something from my part of Kansas City.”

  “Thanks for trusting me enough to bring me here.”

  How sweet of him. He got it. He knew he was being tested, and he didn’t mind.

  Like a man who’d been taught manners, Max opened the heavy wooden door. Score one for gentlemen. Inside, a thin crowd occupied the low-lit room, most of them watching a Royal’s game on the big television hanging in the corner.

  “Aggie, long time no see,” the owner, Sally, said. Her voice boomed over the conversations taking place in the one-room establishment.

  “Too long.”

  Three more bikers wearing leather, chains, and skullcaps stood propped in a row against the bar, watching the game. Not sitting, because escapes were quicker if you remained standing.

  Sally made the trio lift their elbows and their drinks so she could wipe the counter down with a wet rag. She glanced back at Aggie. “You been in jail?”

  The word jail jarred the biker’s attention away from their game and onto Aggie and Max.

  “Well, I’ll be a son-of-a-bitch, if it ain’t our lil’ Aggie,” the biggest of the bunch said. His name was Albert, but everyone called him Bruiser. “Never thought about you having gone to jail. Must have broken Meemaw’s heart. What did they get you for?”