by SE Hall
“But they’ve seen me there before. I’d take Devon dinner, or stop by on his breaks.”
“That’s all right,” I reassure her with a comforting smile. “You’re not undercover; I am. You can say it’s a way for you to honor Devon, keep doing what he loved.”
“All right,” it comes out a reverent whisper, accompanied by a single tear that seems to take forever to descend her cheek, “for Devon, I can do anything.”
The last thing I have to gauge so I can pro-act accordingly, I really don’t want to ask, because as much as he cared for her, deeply, I know a ‘yes’ from her wasn’t reciprocated by him. Not sure yet how I’ll gently bypass that one, but it still has to be done.
“Reagan?” She peers up at me, eyelashes wet, nose pink. “Were you in love with my brother?” My body braced, expression stoic, I force myself to hold her eyes as to detect the honesty of her answer.
“I was once, and will always love him,” she simpers factiously to herself, “but I forced any hope of romanticism away a long time ago. He didn’t love me like that and I knew it, so I learned to accept what we actually were.” She musters up the bravest, but still shaky smile she can.
“Which was?” Why, Graham? You couldn’t leave well enough alone.
“Open, accepting, compatible, close—if we were lonely, or pent up, or just plain bored,” this one was a genuine smile and laugh, “we both knew the other would snuggle or make each other feel good, with no awkwardness later, no weird jealousy if and when the other finally found someone. Don’t,” she points at me, voice and scowl harsh, “even think fuck buddies. It wasn’t cheap or casual; we meant something to each other, something real.”
“I know,” I reply instantly, meaning it. “Com’ere.” I open my arms instinctively and she leaps into them, her body shaking with sobs of so many different emotions, all culminating and exploding together at once. I rock us back and forth, kissing her hair and trying desperately to calm the pain I know all too well. As she lets me, I gradually recline and fall asleep there on the couch, holding her through the night.
I’M NOT PRACTICED AT THE art of…anything besides being with Hunter, sure, but this is ridiculous. I woke up every hour on the hour beginning at 3:00 AM, afraid I would miss my alarm and not get up. My nervous stomach’s in a continual state of rolling and now, no matter how many different outfit combinations I’ve tried on, there’s something wrong with all of them: one makes my ass look too big, another makes me look short and squatty, etcetera, etcetera.
By seven thirty, every article I own is flung across my bed and I’m still standing in my black lace bra and panties, no closer to making a decision than I was thirty minutes ago. Glancing in the mirror, I shake my head at my own ridiculousness. At least my hair looks nice and shiny.
Since our run-in Friday night at Bump, every possible scenario that involves him has played out in my head multiple times. I’ve come to the conclusion he probably isn’t dating Stormy; otherwise, she would’ve been throwing eye daggers or her fists at me when we returned from dancing hand-in-hand—but there was something else off too, something I’m missing.
The chemistry we had on the dance floor was captivating; the fiery charge passed back and forth between us when our bodies touched was undeniable, but for some reason, he became cautious and hesitant, then took off out of there as fast as he could. Maybe he thought starting something with his soon-to-be boss wasn’t the best idea…I’m not sure, but I plan to find out.
Other than my teenage crush on Hunter, I’ve never actively pursued a guy before, but the combination of my recently single status and the inexplicable, lust-driven cravings I suffer when around Bryce has me turning over a new leaf. The presence of my father and ex in the office will make it a bit more challenging. I can’t proclaim a full-blown sexual seduction of the man, or word will make its way around and he’ll be let go faster than I can blink, but at the same time, knowing I’m engaging in something rebellious and defiant of what I’m supposed to be doing makes the entire plan more arousing and invigorating. Thankfully, after seeing the way I looked at him on Friday night—and possibly hearing me moan his name later in bed—Alyssa is on board to do anything and everything to help me land this hottie.
Late to work, as I knew I’d be after the clothing debacle, my butt, which is covered in a beige skirt, finally takes a seat in my comfy leather office chair at a quarter past nine. Alyssa, being the respectable assistant and even better friend she is, hurries in behind me and sets a piping hot mug of coffee on my desk.
“Your hair looks great this morning,” she comments, studying my wavier-than-usual, naturally highlighted locks, “and your eyes too. You look fresh and revitalized.”
“Well, that’s good, ‘cause I slept like shit last night,” I reply as I glance over my daily schedule. “I kept waking up and staring at the damn clock.”
She flashes a knowing grin at me. “Nervous much about seeing loverboy today?”
My eyes snap to hers. “Shh! Don’t say things like that! Dad and Hunter cannot know about this, or it will ruin everything.” I pause to chew on the corner of my lip nervously. “Plus, I don’t want to jinx it.”
The pompous smirk transforms into a howl of laughter. “Jinx it? Really, Jocie? You’re twenty-four, not fourteen, and the dude is into you. If you couldn’t tell from the way he looked at you like he was at a dessert buffet, maybe the bulging erection he was rubbing up and down your ass should’ve been a clue.”
“Then why did he rush out of there like the place was on fire, huh?” I question. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I was giving back all the same signals.”
“Maybe he’s playing hard to get; I don’t know.” She shrugs her shoulders, still amused at my expense. “Maybe he remembered he forgot to manscape and didn’t want you to see his jungle crotch.”
“Guys don’t play hard to get. If it’s offered, they take it, plain and simple. Jungle crotch or perfectly manicured golf course, it makes no difference.” Even I have to giggle and crinkle my nose up as I say the words jungle crotch.
“Did I hear you ladies talking about golf courses in here?” Hunter asks as he barges in my office without knocking. “Has hell frozen over?”
Alyssa and I roll our eyes at him in unison. I’m still not sure how this ‘Hunter and I working together’ thing is going to pan out, Bryce or no Bryce. “Can I help you with something, Hunter?” I grumble in his direction. “And thanks for knocking.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, but your assistant wasn’t at her desk, where she belongs,” he snarls first at his younger sister, then redirects his smug face towards me. “Not to mention, the last time I checked, I’m still Senior VP around here, so I’m the boss to you both.”
“Oh my God! Your motherfucker meter is hitting all new levels right now,” Lys spits at him as she stomps out of my office, purposely shoulder-checking him on the way. “I can’t believe we share the same genes.”
Once the door closes behind her, he retrains his amused gaze on me, standing there with his arms crossed across his chest, looking like an erect peacock, all high and mighty. Part of me wants to scream at him that the only person I take orders from around here is my dad, and in case he’s forgotten, the company was named after yours truly, but it’s not worth my breath.
“Seriously, what do you need? It’s Monday morning and I’ve got a shit ton of work to do, especially with the latest round of Cerefore trials in.” Sorting through the files on my desk, I purposely don’t look at him as I speak, knowing it’s one of his pet peeves. “Dad says the final FDA approval will be a breeze, so we need the marketing team prepared to pounce. I’m hoping we can have it ready to launch this September, worst case scenario being November.”
“I wanted to ask you about this new Griggs guy you hired last week. What’s the story, and why didn’t you wait for your dad or me to return before making a decision?” His inquiry is more of a demand than a question.
I tense at the mention of Bryce; simply hearing his name re
ferenced puts my body in a state of frenzy, and I hope Hunter doesn’t notice the reaction. Inhaling a deep breath, I count backwards from five to ensure I remove any hint of peculiarity from my voice. I lift my eyes to his, praying I’m exuding a confidence I don’t feel. “The story is, Andrew in Patenting put in his notice the Friday prior, and Grady expressed the importance we get someone hired to train before Andrew left. I conducted a set of interviews and hired the person most qualified for the job. As a member of management and an officer on the Board of Directors, it’s well within my authority to hire people as I see fit.”
“But you could’ve waited—” he tries to argue.
“His contract was up with Phillips Taylor and he was actively searching. If I didn’t scoop him up immediately, someone else would’ve,” I challenge back. “Having firsthand knowledge on the ins-and-outs of how our biggest competitor does business is invaluable to JCC. I made the right decision.”
His face relaxes slightly as a look of acknowledgement passes. “I didn’t realize he was from Phillips Taylor, so in that case, good job. Make friends with him and find out what you can. I’ve heard whispers they’re developing something revolutionary in the cancer treatment sector. Get Lys to flirt with him or something; surely, you two can figure out how to make a regulations dork talk.”
Without another word, he spins on his overpriced loafer’s sole and leaves my office. It takes several moments for me to replay the conversation in my head, but once I confirm he’s instructed me to ‘make friends’ with our new employee, I begin to laugh out loud, a deep, hearty laugh that nearly brings tears to my eyes. Clearly, Hunter hasn’t gotten a look at Bryce Griggs.
Still simpering from the sweet irony, I stand up, smooth down my blouse, and run my fingers through my loose tendrils before heading downstairs to welcome Mr. Griggs on his first day at the company and invite him to join Alyssa and me for lunch. After all, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my boss.
I’M UP BEFORE THE SUN Monday morning with the building frustration and hair-trigger ill temper of a caged beast.
Reagan and I used the rest of the weekend to scour her apartment, moving her in with me, bringing all I might need of Devon’s here, and boxing up the rest for my mother’s impending collection. I’d taught the lil’ bro well; he was the owner of two laptops—one hidden beneath a false panel of floor under his bed, the other pushed extremely far back in the duct work of his closet’s ceiling.
This tells me unequivocally he had something to hide. What it doesn’t tell me are the passwords into the damn devices! I’d tried everything I could think of, locking myself out repeatedly, only to wait out the timer, attempt, and fail miserably again…all weekend. I’m so goddamn aggravated, I’m overanxious to get to work this morning, and anything else to think about would be welcomed.
Jocelyn said the dress code was business casual, and I’m sure for lackeys it is, but I’ll be damned if that glamourous, exquisite creature sees me slacking in any way. Not to mention, I already have enough read on her to bet my last dollar—she’ll be dressed to the taunting hilt today. In a crisp button down, tie, and pressed slacks, I grab my two phones and keys and head out for the first day of Bryce’s new job.
Parking my truck in an open, unmarked slot, I survey the lot. The front row has signs for each spot, a pristine Tesla already in the one assigned to ‘J. Craig, PR’. The rest of the elitist row is a ghost land, big wigs rolling in when they feel like it, but not Jocelyn, who’s unconcerned with her title and heritage, getting here on time like expected of others. My respect for her rises another notch and I chuckle at the mental “atta girl” I just sent her.
I’m stopped two steps inside the front doors by a very large security guard, deadly serious about his job. “ID,” he grunts in a monotone attempt at intimidation. Maybe it’s to compensate for his lack of gun, armed only with machismo and mace…oh, and a nightstick. Yeah, he perpetually feels inadequate.
“I’m new, just starting today,” I reply politely, tapering my smug thoughts so they wouldn’t show from my expression. “Bryce Griggs, Patents and—”
He abruptly cuts me off with no regard. “I have a Bryce Griggs here. Says he starts work today?” Guard Floyd Davidson, according to his name badge, snarls into the radio velcroed to his left shoulder. “Uh huh,” he eyes me over, “yep, I can do it. Follow me.” He jerks his chin and turns, walking away.
He was talking to me? I must’ve missed the direct eye contact or acknowledgment by name. I quicken my steps to catch and keep up with the formidable, tad-less-than-pleasant man. Taking me to HR, he barks, “Wait here,” and then he’s gone. Maybe he’s less frigid when dealing with someone who has a badge—we shall see.
“Mr. Griggs, welcome!” Mr. Bartholomew, Head of HR and top-notch interviewer, greets me. He’s a joke, as organized as a nine-year-old with ADHD, but at least he’s cordial, overly so in fact. I’d befriend him, but if anyone in this building is clueless of anything fishy going on and would be more a hindrance than help, it’s this guy.
The rest of the morning will unfortunately be spent with him—urine screen, mounds of paperwork to fill out, policies to sign, and two videos to watch. Hours later, at the end of the second tape on workplace blah-blah-blah, I finally stand, rub my palms over my weary eyes, then give a quick shimmy—of the manliest sort—to spring life into my stiff chair-ass and lower extremities.
Of course, absolutely the perfect time for a feminine snicker to resonate from right behind me—a beautiful sound I already recognize. I turn around slowly, embarrassment forgotten and replaced with anticipation.
There she stands, leaning against the doorframe with a saucy smirk, her russet eyes twinkling in amusement. “If there are ants in your pants, that’s a problem. I’ll need to call someone out to spray the building,” she jests. “Or were you simply treating me to the afternoon delight of your best moves?”
“Good afternoon, Ms. Craig.” I put off her jokes and give her the smile instead, the one guaranteed to regain me control of the atmosphere in the small room. “How are you?”
“Hmmm, I haven’t danced any jigs yet today,” she grins, “but the day’s still young. How are you? Everyone treating you well, I hope?”
I shrug, pleasantly surprised and challenged by her imperviousness to the smile, and laugh. “I’ve been in this room, that chair,” I point, “for the last two hours at least—thus my ‘jig’. My ass, uh…sorry, my backside and legs were stiff. The only two people I’ve encountered are Mr. Bartholomew, very friendly,” she chuckles with me as we both know exactly what I mean, “and Floyd, the gatekeeper, who’s not even close to what I’d call friendly. You need to get that man a chair, coffee…Prozac maybe?”
She waves a hand, “Floyd’s a doll. Now that you have a badge, he’ll be your favorite in no time, but the long wait in here,” she shakes her head, tuttering, “inexcusable. Should’ve been done when you were hired, or at least most of it. Two whole days for HR is inexcusable. I’ll speak to Grady.”
“Easy, killer,” I grin, stepping a few feet toward her, “don’t go making everyone hate me the first day.”
She tilts her head, eyes dazed in thought, and then she’s back. “All right, I’ll be subtle. Now, you hungry? Before all your belly-aching, I came to ask you to lunch with me and Alyssa.”
My gut instinct is to grab her, tickle her, and rub my stubble in her neck ‘til she squeals ‘mercy’ for the belly-aching comment, but I refrain—for obvious reasons. The foremost being I know firsthand that touching her is an aphrodisiac, infiltrating every nerve with the primal urge to take more.
“Sure, that’d be great. Thanks for thinking of me.” I mean it; I’m almost positive on-the-ball Bartholomew forgot I was in here. I’d have been left stranded with no clue if I could take a lunch break or where the cafeteria is, and I’m starving.
“Wonderful, I’ll grab Alyssa. Meet you at the front?”
I nod, and with one last dazzling smile, she pivots and leaves. I do love to watc
h her go. Her scent of lavender and femininity linger, but I shake it off and exit the room. He did forget me; nowhere to be found, Mr. HR had obviously already left for lunch, mindless of me, new and still sequestered.
Absolutely brilliant at his job.
My mood growing fouler the lower my metabolism drops, I walk to the front and wait for my two lovely lunch dates.
Simply following their lead, I’d ridden in the front seat while Jocelyn drove, Alyssa doing nothing to disguise her pouting at being downgraded to the back. I’d offered—believe you me—but one look from Jocelyn her way, which she thinks I didn’t see, and Alyssa practically leapt through the rear door.
On the drive, albeit casually and in a classically sexy voice, Jocelyn had given me the third degree—where I lived and for how long, where I went to college, hobbies, music preferences…you name it. Most I answered as Bryce, but hobbies and music, as Graham. Strangely, it felt good that she got acquainted with me, the real one…a complete chick thought and inconsequential since I barely know her and can’t do jack shit about a concerted effort to change that.
So it must be subconsciously, once I’d opened both ladies’ doors and offered a hand to help them out, that it’s Jocelyn’s back my hand finds the small of. Her almost silent but sharp inhale at the contact is the only thing that’s alerted me I’ve even done it. As she peers at me from the corner of her eye, a delicate, pleased smile curving her sweet little pink mouth, I leave my hand right where it is, maybe even pressing against her a bit harder.
Being shown to a booth, I wait, the last to sit…of course. They’d each taken a side and I pause, but with that smirk she’s trying to hide practically daring me to, I slide in next to Jocelyn—right next to her. Our thighs touch, hers shifting restlessly, the soft whisper of her breath strains in and exhales only for my ears.
The conversation is effortless and a merciful distraction, both ladies highly intelligent, friendly, and versed on any topic, it seems. We all order something different and mix bites from each other as though we’ve been friends for years. Alyssa, a self-proclaimed ‘bad orderer’ eats more of my blue cheese fries than I do.