by Anya Sharpe
“Uh. Oh. Um. Fine. Sure. This afternoon, then.” I hate when Roger doesn’t give me the whole story.
Evan waves a swift two-fingered salute at us, and heads out the door in the expensive-looking charcoal suit I’d swear was ripped straight from celebrity fashion pages. Gotta say…the man exudes class.
Maya picks up a file folder from my desk and fans herself.
“Damn, I’m glad you’re the golden girl here at Ridley & Peters. Because I sure as hell don’t think I could stand working in close quarters with that man every day. I’d need to bring spare panties to work with me.”
Nailed it.
****
Derrick creeps in well after midnight. I’m pretending to be asleep and note the faint, but unmistakable scent of whiskey on his breath as he slides between the sheets and exhales. He’s never come home this late from a night at the office. Nor smelling like liquor. I roll away from him and peer at the digital clock—12:32 a.m.
Derrick’s cool arm slips around my waist, and he exhales again, relaxing. His lips place a soft kiss on my shoulder, but I continue to feign sleep.
“I’m so sorry, babe. I love you.” His heartbroken words are whisper soft. He mumbles something else which sounds a lot like, “What the hell was I thinking?” Within a minute, the steady rhythm of his breathing takes over. He’s asleep.
Maybe I’m a bitch for being angry. Silently, I forgive him and chastise myself for my selfishness.
It’s only a birthday, after all.
Chapter Two
Evan
The large conference room fills while Roger Ridley, one of two founding partners at Ridley & Peters Advertising, leans toward me to speak. I’m bringing him millions of dollars’ worth of clients, and he’s determined to make me happy here.
I jumped ship at Lovell Mackenzie because I was fed up with the politics and underhanded tactics of the CEO. In a few short years, I more than tripled their clientele list, lining their coffers with cash. I’m good. Their loss.
Ridley and Arvid Peters courted me with the promise of a future partnership. Their reputation in the advertising community is solid. Fair. With a stellar staff. One contingency Roger agreed to when I came on board was working with his best account exec.
Several women enter the conference room and take seats at the long, polished table. I’m sure she’s one of them. After sizing them up, I place my bet on the one with the soft brown hair—so light it’s almost blonde. A nice-looking woman. No. Nice is an understatement. She’s gorgeous. Yeah, not professional. But I’m also not dead.
The blue dress she’s wearing wraps around graceful curves—feminine and sexy, while totally appropriate for the office. What catches my attention most when she walks through the door are her legs. Toned, long, and ending in a pair of heels that make my heart pound just a little bit. Any guy in his right mind would be sitting here sporting a semi, day-dreaming about them wrapped around his waist, shoes digging into his ass. I’m certainly no exception.
Intrigued, I feign listening to Roger, as she sets a legal tablet on the table, clicks open a pen with her left hand (interesting—a southpaw, like me), and scribbles something on the top sheet. She glances around the room, her gaze settling on me for a minute. I get a polite smile out of her before she shakes her head and returns her attention to the pad in front of her. The dark-haired woman in a stylish, pale pink suit next to her says something in a low voice which makes her smile. The whole room brightens when she does. Nodding at whatever Pink Suit is saying, she continues writing. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was trying to avoid eye contact with me.
My gaze shifts to the rest of the people at the table.
Damn. I should have taken Roger up on his offer sooner. Not to be a dick, but the ladies at R&P are much easier on the eyes than Edith Rohan and Linda Keller at Lovell. From what I hear, more talented, too.
Roger ticks off highlights from my curriculum vitae as if they were MLB stats. I survey the room again as he speaks. Blue Dress is paying close attention to Roger, jotting something on her notepad every once in a while. Pink Suit and a few other women are giving me the once-over.
Not “checking me out,” checking me out…more like trying to figure out what gives. Well, maybe the blonde at the end of the table is curious about more than my place at R&P. Sadly, she won’t get anywhere. First, I don’t date from the work pool. Nothing good comes from that. Sure, I may look, but I definitely do not touch. Rule non-negotiable. Second, even though she could be the poster girl for female hotness, she’s not my type. She’s more my best friend Lance Jonas’ speed. Total fast lane.
Roger asks everyone to introduce themselves. I nod politely as we go around the table, taking in names and mentally gluing them to their faces. The first rule of advertising: Put faces and names together and never, never screw it up. I never do. It sounds smug, but I’ve always been good at that.
Pink Suit introduces herself: Maya Slaughter. Check. Next up, Blue Dress.
Erynne Sommers.
Bingo. That’s her. The top account exec here. The so-called “best of the best.” And now my right hand.
****
Curiously, Pink Suit—er, Maya—is halted outside Erynne’s office. All right, I’m curious. Silently, I walk down the carpeted hall. Pausing a few steps behind Maya, I overhear the conversation she’s eavesdropping on.
“…Do you have to cancel? You can’t give me one night?”
“Are you serious, Erynne? You’re turning thirty-two not twelve. Grow up. I need to take care of…a thing. I’m sorry, okay?”
What a dick. I noticed the block of ice on her left hand when she was writing, so I assume she’s getting the shaft from her husband. If it were me, I’d have to be a goddamned surgeon doing an emergency liver transplant to cancel a date with Erynne on her birthday. From what I’m gathering, he’s no surgeon. Not to mention he sounds like a real jerk.
The phone slams down and Maya slips into her office carrying a small box. I ease closer to the open door. Yeah, I wanna see how this plays out. Call me nosy. I slink around into the doorway as the two women hug. They’re good friends. I smile, even though I don’t know why I care.
After a few moments, I clear my throat. Don’t want them thinking I’m a creeper.
****
Later, Erynne and I are hip-deep reviewing client files. We’ve been hard at it for several hours. The woman is impressive. Smart with a good business sense. One of the traits I admire in a woman.
The phone on her desk rings.
“Excuse me.” As she stands, I take note yet again of how great that dress is on her. Subtly sexy, it hugs her hips and tits perfectly, while leaving a lot to the imagination. I try hard not to let mine off its leash. Not an easy task.
I take the time to stretch and peruse her office. Several framed photos are displayed on the bookshelf. A wedding picture. Huh. So that’s the douche. Another of them on some beach, her smiling happily at her adoring husband. In every photo they both appear to be very much in love.
Maybe the guy’s having a bad day and isn’t really a douche. I hope not. Still, after what I overheard, I have my doubts. Not that it’s any of my business. Why should I care?
I note the time on my designer wrist watch—it’s after five-thirty. Later than I expected.
“Sorry for the interruption. Sandra needed an update on one of the accounts she’s taking over while I work with you.” Erynne beams at me. God, the woman is beautiful. Her smile alone could light up outer space.
I spin through my mental Rolodex. Sandra—the stacked blonde at the end of the table whose leopard print dress fit like a second skin. Yeah, Lance would probably have already hit that in the custodian’s closet.
“No worries. I didn’t realize it was so late. I’m sure you’ve got some big birthday celebration tonight. We can wrap things up and regroup tomorrow.” I know damned well her plans are on the skids, but I figure she’d want an out on working late.
Her smile fades, and she
shakes her head slowly. “No. Those got canceled.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear that.”
She waves her hand as if it’s not important. She’s wrong. “It’s all right. Derrick’s busy with a big case tonight. He’s an attorney.”
An impulsive thought hits me. “I’m having dinner with Lance Jonas to talk business. Want to tag along?” For some reason, I hope she’ll say yes, even though the meeting part isn’t important, nor is it going to take long. It’s more of an excuse to get together for drinks and gossip.
“I…” She’s weighs the pros and cons of my invitation.
“It’s not necessary. You can meet him another time. I thought I’d ask.”
“Thanks. I think I’ll pass tonight. I’m pretty wiped.” A tired smile moves across her face, as she sinks into her desk chair and runs a hand through her loose, shoulder-length hair. I wonder how soft it is. “Go on without me. I have a date with a bottle of merlot at home.”
Now, that’s just sad.
****
My dinner with Lance is interesting. We go pretty far back. Like freshman year roommates at Columbia. Business is taken care of in about fifteen minutes and the rest of the meal is spent discussing football, baseball, and women—the usual itinerary for two horny bachelors living in New York.
“Want to hit Malone’s for a nightcap or are you in a big hurry to leave?” One of us never fails to make this suggestion. Tonight’s my turn. Lance doesn’t disappoint.
“You kidding? Of course, I’m up for a drink.”
We catch a cab to our favorite watering hole. It’s nearly eleven o’clock, and we both should head home, but a glass or two of bourbon is calling our names. Who are we to resist?
“Bar or high-top?” I ask as we stroll through the door. Malone’s is our favorite hangout. A little dark, but not so much you can’t read a menu or check out the clientele. The interior is updated and contemporary, yet comfortable. For a Tuesday night, the place is busy. Of course, in New York, most bars are hopping into the late hours, even on weeknights.
Settling in on bar stools, we order our drinks.
“So…R&P—how was the first day?”
We’re not discussing his account. We’re talking the job. The people. I give him the low-down on Roger and Arvid and Erynne. Of course, he’s more intrigued by her.
“She sounds sharp. So, a good match to work with, huh?”
“Yeah. She’s knowledgeable and confident, but not bitchy or know-it-all. Completely different than Raisa.”
“You hated working with Raisa, didn’t you?”
She was a big part of the problem at Lovell. The mention of her name makes me cringe.
“You think? She shot down every good proposal I had and replaced it with meh, and Ed Lovell let her. She cost us—me—plenty of clients. At least Edith was competent, smart, and on my side. It wasn’t necessary to tell her how to do her job. Raisa is an idiot in a Chanel suit.”
Unfortunately, Ed thought Raisa was the bee’s knees and relentlessly paired us on major projects. For me, the last straw was when she cost us the Peltzer account. We’d had that one in the bag. Even Ed wasn’t happy when they signed with our competitor. Not that he’d do anything to make waves.
“Raisa. Man, she’s a demon. What does Ed see in her?”
“Ed sees what’s under the suit. That’s what.”
“Ed’s hitting that?” He’s shocked.
“Yep.” I’d overheard plenty of gasping and groaning after hours behind Ed’s door. Cringing here again…
“No shittin’? Huh. Ed and Raisa doin’ the dirty. Who knew?”
“Me. Too bad Ed’s wife doesn’t. Claire would slice off his balls with a very dull letter opener and serve them to him for dinner if she did.”
Lance winces at the thought.
“Another round?” I change the subject. A few years ago, we’d be closing the place down, whether or not we had work the next day.
“Why not?”
Lance glances around the room. “Damn, Ev, check her out.” He surreptitiously tips his glass in the direction of a woman seated across the bar. Lance loves his redheads, and she is primo. Long glossy hair. She slipped off the jacket of her stark black suit, revealing a light-colored knit shell which clings to her shapely torso. Okay, she has amazing tits, and the top shows them off perfectly—who am I kidding? I peer at Lance. He may have fallen in love for the hundredth time this week.
“Put your eyes back in your head, perve-man. You’re not twenty-one anymore. Ready to go?” I toss a stack of bills on the bar.
“Yeah. Too bad she didn’t come in sooner,” he says.
“What are you talking about? Some guy just sat down with her. She’s not alone, dude.”
Lance lets out a discouraged sigh and shakes his head. “The great ones are always taken.”
There’s a lot of truth in that statement. The thought of Erynne flashes in my mind.
We walk past them on our way out. I glance at the couple. The guy seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him. I take another look as we get closer. He lifts Red’s hand to his mouth for a kiss, then holds it against his forehead, so I don’t get a good view. I’m compelled to glance away. Something about the scene makes me uneasy. No sense in being a creeper. Like I said, names and faces are my specialty. None come to mind immediately, so he’s probably one of those guys who reminds you of someone else.
I dismiss the couple as we hail our cabs.
On the way home, I wonder if Erynne indeed had cozied up to a bottle of wine by herself. For some reason, the thought bothers me.
Chapter Three
Erynne
I hum as I gather files from my desk and prepare for the day. I’m relaxed and rested for a Monday morning.
For the better part of a month, Evan and I have been practically joined at the hip. There’s a reason the guy comes with a stellar reputation. Despite my first impressions, he hasn’t taken on the role of office skirt-chaser. He shot down Sandra with nothing but professionalism. Oh, he looks—you’d have to be blind not to see Sandra’s assets—but he maintains personal space and is polite and professional, which I admire.
“Good morning.” Evan enters with a light tap on the door.
“Hey. How are you?”
“Not bad.” He strolls over to my desk.
“New picture?” Evan points to the frame I placed there this morning. He’s always so observant.
Derrick is standing in front of the Glacial Potholes at Shelburne Falls wearing the seductive grin I fell in love with years ago. Minutes before, he had wrapped me in his arms and kissed me silly. We giggled like teenagers caught in the back seat of a Chevy. I smile at the memory and even blush a bit as I recall what the kiss led to not thirty minutes later in our staid colonial room at the Sugar Tree Inn. That room may never be the same.
“Yes.”
“Where is this?” Evan studies the picture, rubbing a hand over meticulously groomed facial scruff. The look is good on him. But then again, the guy is sinfully handsome no matter what he does or wears.
“The Berkshires. Derrick and I went this weekend. To…you know, make up for…” He felt bad about canceling on my birthday, and the three days of arguments we had afterward. He was his typical easy-going self, which was nice to see again after all the stress he’s been under. He needed the break from the city as much as I did. I enjoyed his undivided attention, as well. Not one phone call or text interrupted us.
Evan glances at me and nods. Without another word, we dive into work. We’re so engrossed, I’m unaware of how much time has passed until I’m startled by a light tap on the door.
“Hey, babe.” Derrick strolls in and rests his hands on my shoulders, bending to place a kiss on my temple. It’s impossible not to admire his appearance. In contrast to Evan, Derrick’s clean-shaven with sandy hair and dark brown eyes. His black, tailored suit is sharp, and what’s beneath is sexy as sin. “You about ready to leave?”
I smile at him. “Leave?” I
’d been so involved, his presence momentarily confuses me. “Oh, right. The dinner-thingy.”
“Yeah. The dinner-thingy. Did you forget about the party, Erynne?” He gives me a patient smile and a loving wink, then turns his attention to Evan, extending a hand. “Hey, Derrick Sommers. You must be the new guy who’s working my girl to death lately.”
“That would be me. Evan Giamatti. Pleased to meet you.” Evan stands and shakes hands with Derrick, while I shut down the computer and grab my purse. “Erynne tells me you’re working some big case these days.”
“Yeah, it’s killing me, man.” Derrick’s wearing a tired, grim expression as he glances at me. “You ready to go, Erynne? I don’t want to be late.” Frowning, he studies me more closely. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with this?” My new plum suit is classy, and I’ve paired it with a lacy cream camisole beneath. It’s feminine and tailored, the skirt’s hemline is right above knee-length, and the whole ensemble fits me to a T. Although I had forgotten about the dinner party at his boss’ house, the suit is more than appropriate, considering a bunch of stuffy lawyers and their equally stuffy top clients will be there.
He shakes his head, but the frown stays. “Nothing. There’s no time to change…it’ll have to do.”
An embarrassed flush heats up my face, and I’m more than a little annoyed. Derrick’s never this rude—certainly in front of someone else. He’s never criticized my choice of clothing before either, which surprises me. I start to say something, but before I can, Evan speaks up.
“Are you kidding? Your wife looks fantastic in that suit.” Evan’s gaze sears me for an instant before shifting to Derrick, who stares back at me, his lips forming a thin, firm line. Then, his eyes travel up and down, quickly reassessing.
“It’s fine. Let’s go.” With those terse words, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. What the hell has gotten into him?
“Derrick.” I freeze in place, yanking my hand back. “Wait a minute.” Turning to Evan, I say, “I’m sorry to run out on you. Can we pick this up first thing tomorrow?”