CJ watched her go. She would miss working with Deanna. Maybe she could convince her to quit too. Maybe they could both have a career in food services.
“Celia,” Miles barked through her intercom five minutes later. “In my office. Now.”
CJ stared at the intercom, “In my office now,” she mimicked his words. She gritted her teeth. Despite facing a future of poverty, she heartily looked forward to not having to put up with any more of Miles’s bull.
Squaring her shoulders she headed toward the worm’s office, aware every eye was on her when she entered the common area.
“Close the door,” Miles snapped when she entered the shrine to his journalistic accomplishments, most of which he’d swiped from other people.
She glanced around, trying to hide her revulsion as she eyed the wall of certificates on her left. That in itself wouldn’t be so bad except he’d also erected shelves to her right; on those stood crystal phallic symbols—awards he’d garnered over the years—as well as framed magazine covers for all the publications he’d worked for. It was pretension at its worse.
“Good morning to you too, Miles.”
He stood behind the tennis-court-sized desk, flipping through his mail and ignoring her. She recognized the ploy. He’d used it on more than one occasion. It wouldn’t work. She took the opportunity to study him.
She supposed he’d had every reason to think she’d welcome his advances. She knew other women in the office did. It wasn’t fair. Women aged like grapes, getting all dried up and shriveled after they put on forty pounds. Men aged like wine; getting better and better.
“Sit down,” he finally deigned to say. “Or are you afraid that skirt of yours might split?”
He was referring to the black mini-skirt she’d bought this weekend in a fit of depression. Personally she’d thought the garment combined with her double-breasted, black jacket, and white silk blouse looked kind of cute. Leave it to Miles to say something snide.
And for the first time since going to work for him, CJ felt confident enough to say what she thought. Why not? It appeared she was about to get fired, anyway. “I wouldn’t worry, Miles. If something splits, the thong I’m wearing covers the important parts.”
His lip curled. “Thanks for sharing.”
“Just thought you’d like to know. By the way, from the…ah, looks of things, I bet you’re able to wear a postage stamp to cover your private parts.”
His eyes narrowed. “Still trying to lose that twenty pounds, Celia?”
“At least I’m not afraid of Crazy Glue.”
Direct hit. He stiffened, his hands clenching around his mail. “How’d you hear about that?”
She shrugged. “Who in this office hasn’t?”
That was news to him. She could tell by the way he held himself erect. It took him a moment to regain his composure, his jaw clenching a few times before he said, “I didn’t invite you in here to trade insults.”
“You didn’t? Darn.”
“Sit down,” he said, tossing his mail on his desk. One of the envelopes skidded across the surface and landed at her feet.
“Thank you, but I prefer to stand.”
“Suit yourself.” He took his seat like a king settling into a throne, then used the silent ploy again. CJ didn’t let it bother her. After nearly a minute of staring at each other in a battle of wills he finally said, “You’ve done it this time, haven’t you, Celia?”
“It’s Mizz Celia to you, Miles. And what exactly have I done?”
“You know damn well what,” he scoffed, “or do I have to recite the conversation I had with Mr. Hamilton?”
George Hamilton, owner of DRIVE Magazine, and a bigger jerk than Miles. Well, not exactly. Nobody could be a bigger jerk than Miles.
“Are you perhaps referring to my first appearance on national television?”
He smiled. “Yes, I am, though I confess I had my doubts about George’s speculation that you and Danvers were, ahh, lovers.” Once again, he eyed her up and down.
CJ gave him her own brittle smile. “If by that little dig you’re referring to the fact that I’m not his type, then you’re right, I’m not. But then again, he’s not my type either. Slimy little worms are the type of men that find me interesting, as you well know.”
His face hardened.
“Or have you forgotten about the supply closet?” She smiled sweetly.
His eyes narrowed. “Celia, making me angry isn’t going to help your cause.”
She pasted a look of contrition on her face. “Am I making you angry? Gee, Miles, I’m sorry. And here I was trying to be nice to you after all the asinine, idiotic, down-and-dirty things you’ve done to me lately.”
“I never did anything to you, Celia.”
“Oh bull, Miles. You’ve done nothing but make my life hell out of a petty sense of revenge. And to top it all off, you just sent me on an assignment I had no business going on.”
His expression turned into a glare. “I sent you on a job most reporters would have killed to go on—”
“Field reporters, Miles. Most experienced field reporters would have killed to go on. I’ve only been with DRIVE for a few months. You should have sent someone who actually knew something about off-road racing.”
“Well, I sent you,” he snapped, going around to stand in front of his chair. “But I should have known you weren’t capable of doing the job.”
“But I did complete the assignment, you little shit.”
“Only because you slept with Bryce Danvers.”
She took a step toward his desk, leaning close to him as she could stand. “It might surprise you to know this, Miles. Some men care more for what’s on the inside, than the outside.”
“Well, if he had sex with you, that’s patently obvious. But we don’t pay people to screw while on the job.”
“No, they just pay assholes like you to make passes at any and all female employees.” There was a time to swear, and then there was a time to swear.
“All right.” He banged his fist on his desk. “I’ve had enough of your insults. I was going to see if we could work this out. Put you on probation or something, but it’s apparent you could care less about this job.”
“Oh, bull, Miles,” she scoffed. “The only reason you’d go on letting me work here is to suit your own masochistic needs.”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is, and you know it. You need help, Miles. Go get yourself some counseling.”
“That does it. Get out. You’re fired.” He pointed to the door like a blustering, irate cartoon character; steam billowed out of his ears in great clouds, and his face turned fire engine red.
“My pleasure. And you can’t fire me. I quit. And the minute I’m out the door, I’m seeing a lawyer about a sexual harassment suit.” She turned away, opened the door.
“Good luck with that,” he called out. “Especially after how you handled your last assignment.”
“Handled being the operative word,” she said with a cocky smile even though inside she was starting to panic.
This was it. She was finally leaving DRIVE.
“Your key, Celia.”
She swung her chin up. “You want my office key? Really, Miles. Are you afraid I might break back in and paint spineless prick on your door?”
“Not even you would be so stupid.” He sat down abruptly.
THHHHHPUUUUUUUUT.
“What the—” Miles shot back up, turning back to the chair and picking up a red-plastic bladder.
“Did you do this?” he asked, holding out the Whoopee Cushion, his expression enraged.
No. No, she hadn’t. But she wished she knew who had, she’d kiss the person. And then she caught the brand name. Toyco. That was Bryce’s compan—
Slowly, she turned toward the door.
And there he was, staring at her with his blue, blue eyes and looking like an L.L. Bean model in his khaki pants and off white polo. “Hi, honey.”
His voice washed ov
er her; familiar and oh so achingly sweet.
Oh, God.
It was too late. She’d already fallen.
“Well, if it isn’t Mr. Heartthrob himself,” Miles said sarcastically.
She continued to stare at Bryce, study him, absorb him. He looked tired.
He also looked a bit perturbed with her, or maybe with Miles. She had her answer when he said, “And you must be Miles Van Dick, the man who glues condoms to his penis.”
Her ex-boss’s face turned a florid, angry color. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet; his brown eyes latched on to her. “You told him about that?”
Suddenly, she wanted to laugh, maybe it was nerves, or maybe it was happiness. She was suddenly giddy. “Of course I did.”
Miles blinked at her. “You little—”
“Ahh, ahh, ahh, Miles,” she interrupted. “It’s not nice to call ex-employees names.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.
His face grew even more thunderous. “Get out,” he hissed. His eyes latched onto Bryce. “You, too.”
“What? You mean you don’t want us to stay? And I was enjoying our chat sooo much,” CJ prodded.
He looked back at her. “Get out,” he repeated. “Neither of you have any business being here.” His lip curled. “Especially you, CJ, not anymore.”
“Believe me, Miles, I’m more grateful about that than you could possibly know.”
She turned to Bryce, but Bryce wasn’t looking at her, he was staring at Miles and it was safe to say he was infuriated.
“You’re the one who has no business being here.”
CJ felt her heart swell. He was defending her. Wow.
“Oh, yeah?” Miles clipped out.
“Yeah.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Take it however you want. And it may interest you to know, I made love to CJ because to me she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
CJ’s breath caught, that might be laying it on a bit thick, but when he turned to look at her and she saw the tenderness in his eyes…
And her breath caught.
“C’mon, CJ. Let’s get out of here.” He held out his hand and she took it.
That was when it hit her. She wasn’t afraid of falling in love with him anymore. Truth was, she’d fallen for him the moment she’d spotted him standing in Miles’s door.
“You’re through in journalism,” Miles called after her. “I’ll see to it that you never—”
The rest of his words were cut off as Bryce ducked behind her and slammed the door. His gaze met hers, “I learned that one from you.”
She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She wanted to kiss him to death. God, it was so good to see him. She understood in that instant how much she’d missed him. Grabbing his hand, she headed for her office.
The steady hum of keyboards clicking dwindled to nothingness. CJ could practically feel the eyes boring a hole in the back of her rayon jacket. She held her head high and all but dragged Bryce away. She needed to get her purse, then they could talk somewhere private.
Bryce didn’t give her the opportunity. The minute they stepped inside, he closed the door. CJ spun back to face him. And suddenly, she didn’t know what to say. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, wanted to apologize for being such a coward, instead she firmly clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back on her heels. “It’s good to see you.”
He stared down at her, his blue eyes unwavering. “You left me.” It wasn’t an accusation, merely a pronouncement. His husky, southern drawl washed over her like a caress.
She felt as low as foot fungus. “I noticed.”
He continued to stare, and the look in his eyes was changing, growing softer. “You didn’t even leave me your phone number.”
She looked away, blinking back sudden tears, but her eyes were drawn back to his in the next instant. “I know.”
He took a step toward her. “I tried everything to get it.”
She lifted a brow. “You did?” And as the ramification of what he’d said sank in, happiness blossomed inside her. The inside of her stomach fluttered like a butterfly. More dratted tears hovered.
He took another step. She clenched her hands at her sides.
“I, ahh, I thought for sure Harry would have it.”
“He didn’t.”
She swallowed again, suddenly realizing she was about to start blubbering like an idiot. “Oh.”
He took another step. “I finally called the owner of this magazine to get it.”
Her vision was blurring. Damn it, she would not cry. “Oh, Bryce.”
“He said the only way he’d give me your number was if I bought the magazine.” He met her gaze again, all the love in the world captured in his eyes. “So I did.”
“Did what?” she asked, feeling like she’d left her brain back in Miles’s office.
“Bought DRIVE Magazine.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You didn’t?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Just for my phone number?”
“You’re worth it, CJ.”
Her heart hammered in her chest at the look in his eyes.
“I love you.”
She loved him too. It seemed impossible, she had no idea how it had happened over the course of a few days, but she did.
“I don’t want to spend another day away from you,” he added.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. He opened his arms, she sank into them, her hands shaking, the world doing back flips. He smelled like pine. Beautiful, foresty pine.
“I love you so much.” His voice was hoarse with emotion. “I know it sounds incredible after we’ve known each other so short a time, but I feel the rightness of this in the marrow of my bones.”
“I know,” she murmured, pressing her cheek against his chest. “I feel the same way too.”
“Then why’d you leave me?” he asked, rocking her, holding her, hugging her.
“Because I was scared to death.”
He drew back, framing her face with his hands and swiping at her tears with his thumbs. “You little idiot.”
She swallowed back more tears. “I know.”
And then he bent down to kiss her and CJ felt her legs give out from under her, but it didn’t matter. Bryce held on like he’d never let her go, but that was fine with CJ, because she’d never let him let her go, either. He deepened the kiss and when his taste flooded into her mouth, she realized something…
They belonged together.
Bryce must have thought so too, because she heard him whisper her name, and then she heard no more. She was lost in the taste of him, in the touch of him, in the smell of him. Nothing penetrated except the persistent sound of music. The sound swelled and grew until finally she drew back and said, “What the heck is that?”
“What?” he murmured against her lips.
“The music.” She pulled away, turning to look out the window behind her desk.
Bryce’s kiss rattled her brain so much, that at first she didn’t believe what she was seeing. But when the images of a marching band in all its shiny splendor didn’t fade, she realized it wasn’t a hallucination at all.
The band stood in the middle of the parking lot, white and red uniforms glaring in the sun. A fuzzy-hatted conductor waved his baton up and down like a crazed artist painting on an invisible canvas. Through the window came the faint sound of “You Light up My Life”.
She turned back to Bryce suspiciously. “What is this?”
“What is what?” Bryce asked innocently.
But he couldn’t fool her. She gestured toward the window with her hand. “That,” she motioned. And then she saw a sheet of paper flutter down from the sky. It landed on a small bush just outside her window. Soon there was another, followed by another and another. “What the—”
They were drifting down like giant, white snowflakes. Hundreds of them, thousands of them, one even drifted in front of her face, but this one was held in Bryce’s hand.
CJ Randall, will you marry me? it said
She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. Slowly, she turned back to Bryce, barely able to see him through the sheen of tears clouding her eyes.
“Will you?” he asked softly, dropping the paper on the floor.
She blinked up at him, unable to think, unable to breathe, unable, even, to nod her head. And then all of sudden the tears she’d been holding back broke like a dam whose floodgates had opened. She bawled, just bawled her damn eyes out. Jeesh, it was humiliating.
“Ah, CJ, honey,” Bryce said softly. “Is that a yes?”
She nodded.
He opened his arms, smiling at her, a smile like she’d never seen before. Gone was Bryce the flirt. In his place stood Bryce the lover, Bryce the friend; Bryce the soon-to-be husband.
She loved them all.
He might be Trouble, but he was her Trouble. She flung herself into his arms, closing her eyes against the tears that refused to shut off. It was several minutes later that CJ murmured against Bryce’s very wet chest, “Bryce?”
“What, honey?” he asked tenderly.
She pulled back, smiling up at him impishly, and wiping at her tears. “Can we go fire Miles now? Because I know this perfect person to hire as editor—”
Epilogue
“There’s a huge crowd on hand today to watch the last leg of the Baja 1000,” the sportscaster’s voice blared through the television set, the camera panning over the crowd.
“That’s right, Dave, and it’s a beautiful day here in the California desert. Weather forecast is sunny and eighty degrees. A perfect day for the finish of this prestigious event. And the big story here is the Toyco team.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Ralph. Five starts, three wins, two seconds…an impressive record.”
“What’s even more impressive is the driver.”
“You’ve got that right, Ralph. A whole lot of sponsors would give a year’s income to latch onto a driver like that.”
“Word is there’ve even been an offer or two to steal the driver away.”
“Yeah, but all of off road racing knows the Toyco team is a family affair. I hear they even bring their four-year-old son to the races.”
“Well it looks like he’ll be able to join his parents in the winners’ circle today because the trucks have just emerged from the desert foothills, and it looks like the Toyco team’s still in the lead.”
Playboy Prankster: Extreme Racing, Book 1 Page 17