by SE Hall
Everything’s comfortable and carefree until…Jocelyn drops her napkin under the table. I know fake women, shameless tarts, and she’s neither; it truly was an accident. I halt her descent with a gentle hand on her arm. “I’ll get it.” I smile, then dip below the table.
Ducking down here purely to retrieve the napkin, my traitorous eyes land on her long, toned, bronze legs as they cross and then uncross, and I’m mesmerized, wanting more than words not yet even invented could express, to gently glide my hands up them. Right as I’ve determinedly shaken off the daze of desire, refined, ever-elegant Ms. Craig lets her legs spread open just a crack, giving me a clear view of the black lace barely concealing her treasure.
I blink my eyes, hearing the snap of the camera in my head, praying for a photographic memory to develop for later. I lean in, careful not to let any part of me touch her, and indulge in a silent, long inhale.
She smells divine, the perfect, heady mixture of woman and want. Goddamn, she’s making this so difficult! I come out from under the table, place her napkin at the end of it for the waitress to replace, and twitch a brow at her.
A pink flush of excitement, embarrassment, or a radiant combination of the two graces her cheeks as she offers innocent doe eyes peering up from under her lashes. “Thank you,” she rasps out.
“Alrighty,” Alyssa loudly bursts our bubble, “I’ve got to visit the ladies’. Try not to set the tablecloth on fire while I’m gone kids.” She snickers, scooting out of the booth.
“Am I imagining this?” I ask, low and not looking at her once Alyssa’s out of ear shot.
“Only if I am too,” her soft reply comes with an unsteady hand on my thigh.
“Might be tricky,” I grumble, pissed that it’s true.
“Might be worth it,” she tightens her hold.
I chuckle, half shake of my head. “No doubts there. Jocelyn, you’re—”
“Ready?” Alyssa reappears, her question as loud and intrusive as her timing. “I’ll pay, meet you both at the door,” she grabs the ticket tray and her purse, then walks away.
I rise then extend my hand. Jocelyn slides her tiny, soft one into it and lets me help her out. “I would’ve paid for lunch,” I offer, feeling like quite the cad.
“No,” she tosses a dismissive hand, “company’ll take care of it.”
“Well, thank you JCC of the LLC.” I laugh at my corniness.
Her brow crinkles, something unknown flitting across her face. “You’re welcome, Bryce.”
The car ride back is awkward, silent, and stifling, a mysterious shift in Jocelyn’s mood setting the icy tone. Once she parks, she immediately turns back to Alyssa, her voice and a message sent through her eyes that I can only imagine, brooking no argument as she tells her, “I’ll see you upstairs.”
“Gotcha. Bye, Bryce, and good luck.” She’s laughing as she gets out and shuts her door.
“So,” I rub my hands up and down my thighs, no freakin’ iota of an idea the right or wrong move here.
“I’m more than my initials, Bryce. I work hard, usually the first one here, and I know the name of every employee, every pay-scale inside that building,” she murmurs, her low voice resounding with defensive…shame? Sadness?
“Hey,” I pivot my body inward and grasp her chin between my thumb and forefinger, “all that, I know without a doubt. I didn’t mean anything by it, J, I swear.”
Must’ve done the trick, her face lights up like a million stars, eyes once again devastatingly vibrant, her smile multiplying her beauty. “You called me J,” she whispers.
“Oh, um, I just—”
“I liked it, very much,” she interrupts my backpedalling.
A warm smile of my own escapes, and I use the thumb I never removed to rub along her jawline. “Then I’m glad. Know what else I like?”
Her eyes widen, brows rising in excited curiosity and unspoken question. I shouldn’t do it—Lord and I both know—but her natural allure is damn persuading. I dip my head, mouth brushing the shell of her ear. “Black....my new favorite color.” I raise my head to give her a wink, see the moment it clicks in her mind that I’m hinting at the color of her lace panties, then hightail it out of the car and into the building before I gorge on every single inch of her and end up unemployed.
The remainder of the day drags ass—two more videos, a tour from Grady that I’ve already had by a far more appealing hostess, and enough handshakes, names, and faces thrown at me to almost douse my raging libido.
Almost.
By the time I enter my apartment and slam the door behind me, my mood is grizzly to say the least. Reagan pops her head around the corner, her worried expression strumming a chord of guilt inside me.
“Bad day?” she asks.
“Eh.” I shrug, toeing off my shoes and loosening my tie. “You get all moved in? Your stuff set up how you want it?”
“Yep, except for the bed. I still need you to put it together,” she gnaws her bottom lip nervously, “wh-whenever you have a chance.”
Taking a deep breath, I try to exude some semblance of kindness. “Right after my shower and dinner, promise.” I smile for her, and she visibly relaxes and nods. “What about your transfer request?”
“Withdrawn,” she answers.
Walking to my room—the couch—I remove my socks, tie, and unbutton my shirt, letting my head fall back against the cushions. “And how’d it go at the clinic?” I ask blindly, my tired eyes squeezing shut.
“Good, I start Wednesday…and I called your mom like you asked. I told her I spoke with you and would get all the boxes shipped to her this week.”
“Thanks for doing that, Reg. I just can’t lie straight to her yet.” Which reminds me… I check the laptops, still locked up from my last case-cracking attempt.
“She asked why I didn’t come to his funeral.”
I turn now, her shamed whisper and dipped head twisting my gut. “I get it, Reagan. You were scared, confused. I’ll talk to her, when I talk to her. No worries, okay? We’ve got enough of those.”
“Yeah,” she nods, “I’ll make you something to eat. Go grab your shower.”
NEVER BEFORE HAVE I LOOKED forward to going to work like I do now. Not to say I don’t love my job, because I do. I’m blessed to work for a company that produces a wide range of medication to help people who are in need of treatment, but now, the added bonus of seeing Bryce each day increases my eagerness tenfold. He’s most definitely the icing on my cake…buttercream.
After our lunch together on Monday, which left me more than a little overheated and unsatisfied, I haven’t seen him around much, only in passing a few times, and each time either he or I were involved in a conversation with someone else. Alyssa has assumed the role of my new life-coach since my split with Hunter, and she’s given me strict instructions to give Bryce some breathing room; allow him to come to me. Apparently, I was all but offering him my body atop the table while she tried to eat lunch.
I’m doing my damned best to leave him alone, knowing he’s adjusting to the new job; plus, I don’t want to alert Hunter nor my father to my not-so-professional interest in him. As long as they think my concentration on him has to do with gathering information about our top competitor, they’ll continue to encourage a relationship. I know I should care to pick his brain about the inner workings of Phillips Taylor, but there are many, many other things I’d rather do with him when I get him alone, and none of which have to do with his brain.
After my longer-than-usual workout Wednesday morning, a botched attempt to release some of my pent-up sexual frustration, I quickly shower and get ready before heading out the door. Once I’m at the office, everything seems to be running smoothly until Hunter calls an impromptu meeting of all department heads at 11:15 to discuss the production timeline of Cerefore. Everyone, myself included, believes this is the drug that’s going to make JCC a household name for many years to come.
With his usual suffocating arrogance, he speaks to all of us like we’re id
iots as he runs through a quick PowerPoint presentation, bringing everyone up to speed. After the final set of trials, which should conclude in the next several weeks—assuming there aren’t any hiccups—we should be ready to present to the FDA for approval in a couple of months.
Hunter seems confident there won’t be any issues fast-tracking it through, which I find a bit perplexing, knowing all government agencies move at a snail’s pace, but that’s not my issue. When the drug is ready to go into production, my marketing team and legal department will be ready to move forward on a moment’s notice.
When the meeting comes to an end, we all stand to leave and my stomach growls loudly, reminding me I forgot my morning granola bar in my rush to leave the house.
“Miss Craig, may I have a word with you for a moment in my office?” Hunter calls out across the boardroom just before I walk out the door.
Pivoting on my heel, I spin around and glare at him. “Sure thing, Mr. Pierce,” I retort in my best attempt at professionalism. “Shall I bring my notepad too?”
His eyes narrow and lips purse angrily. “That won’t be necessary, nor will your smart-ass attitude. Be there in five.”
The few people still lingering about all take notice of our exchange, their heads swiveling back-and-forth between the two of us like they’re sitting front-row at Wimbledon. If word of our break-up hadn’t made it through the gossip vines of the office yet, there’s no doubt it will now. Maybe they’re wondering what took me so long, or perhaps they think I’m an immature brat, who knows. But I’m feeling downright snarky, his condescension over me and everyone else not unusual, but the way it now rushes up my every nerve ending in heated annoyance is very much new.
Instead of telling him to ‘fuck off’ like I want so badly to do, I opt for the next most juvenile thing I can think of: I roll my eyes with great exaggeration and stomp away. Once I’m alone in my office, I take several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the irritation coursing through me. I really can’t believe I ever saw anything decent in that pretentious asshole.
“Jocie, Hunter’s asking why you aren’t in his office,” Alyssa buzzes through the phone.
“Tell him I’m on my way,” I grumble, knowing I have to keep my emotions in check for the sake of the company…and my father.
So begrudgingly, I make my way to his office.
“That was quite a little show you put on back there for everyone,” Hunter says as I approach his desk, where he sits all high and mighty. “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“I am actually. I thought I held it together rather well,” I snap.
Shaking his head, he sighs with frustration and leans back in his chair. “Really, Jocelyn? Whether or not you like me, we have to—”
“What do you want, Hunter?” I cut him off. “I don’t need a lecture from you on how to behave. I get it; we have to work together and get along for the good of the company. So what do you need from me that has to do with JCC?”
He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, his face relaxing somewhat. “I was wondering if you’ve been able to get any information from the new guy, the one from Phillips Taylor?”
Information? Yeah, I found out he turns my insides to molten lava at the slightest touch and likes my black panties. “Not much yet,” I lie, trying to hold a poker-face. “Lys and I took him to lunch on Monday, but I didn’t want to start peppering him with questions right out of the gate. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him much after that; I guess he’s been busy getting acclimated to everything here, and I’ve been working with marketing a lot this week.”
“That’s good; at least you’ve made a little contact,” he says with a forced smile. “Make sure to tell Alyssa to flirt with him; get him comfortable with the two of you and he’ll start talking. I still haven’t had a chance to meet him, but I’ll try to get around to introducing myself soon. Keep me updated with anything you find out.”
“Okay. Anything else, or am I dismissed?” I snarl. I hate him talking about Bryce.
“No, that’s it. You can go.”
I turn to leave the office more annoyed than when I came in, and right before I walk out, I hear him mumble something about, “…little bitch.”
Without even bothering to turn around, I say loud and clear, not caring who hears me, “Fuck off, Hunter.”
Later in the afternoon, I make my way downstairs to try and find Bryce. Seeing him will undoubtedly improve the bad mood Hunter put me in. After finding his office empty, I begin to walk around the third floor, hoping to run into him. Smiling and saying hello to several other employees as I pass, I approach the area where Devon had worked, and I momentarily forget about Bryce as a sadness sweeps through me. I still can’t believe he killed himself.
A ruffling of papers and a muffled voice from behind the wall startles me. Unsure of why anyone would be in there, I peek my head in the doorway to investigate and am surprised to find the exact person I was looking for shuffling through the file cabinet.
“Bryce!” I exclaim. “What are you doing in here?”
He jumps back a foot and snaps his head around to look at me. A fleeting look of guilt crosses his face, but is quickly replaced with assurance. “Oh hey, Jocelyn,” he greets me with a wide smile, causing my belly to somersault. “Grady sent me to look for some certificates of authenticity, and I can’t seem to find them.”
“Aren’t you working on the Harbitrol patent? Devon wouldn’t’ve had anything to do with that, so why’d he send you in here?” I question, my confusion apparent.
He continues to thumb through the files as he nods. “Yeah, I am, but he said I should use the same template that…what did you say his name was again?”
“Devon,” I reply in a subdued whisper.
Bryce closes the drawer and raises his searching gaze to meet mine. “What’s wrong? Did I say something? Should I not be in here?”
Shaking my head softly, I swallow back a lump of sorrow. “No, it’s just…Devon was an intern here who died recently, and I still have a hard time believing he’s gone.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize,” he murmurs, taking a step towards me and reaching out to gently rub both of my arms. “Were you two close?”
I lean into his touch, welcoming the sincere comfort. “No, not really. We only spoke a few times in passing, but I always thought he was a nice guy. It’s such a shame—he was way too young. And Alyssa,” I examine the floor, resolving a flash of guilt, before lifting my head to him again. “Well, Alyssa had a thing for him. She was really upset about it.”
He doesn’t say anything else; no words are really necessary. We both stand there for several minutes, probably a little closer than we should, especially in the office, but right now, I don’t care. The stroke of his hands up and down my arms is an intoxicating comfort I’m unwilling to forfeit for all the rules in the handbook.
“Sorry to be a Debbie Downer,” I finally say, breaking the charged silence as I step back from him. “I was actually down here looking for you. Alyssa and I are meeting a couple of our friends after work tomorrow for happy hour at Marcelo’s Bar, and I came to extend the invitation to you.”
His eyes brighten at my offer. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thank you. Hopefully, I’ll get through with all of this by then.”
“Here, let me help you,” I suggest, sitting down in front of the computer. “All of that information should still be on the hard drive.” I boot up the PC and enter my master password only to find the entire super-user file to be blank. Bryce hovers over my shoulder, watching as I try again to enter Devon’s files. “This doesn’t make any sense,” I mutter, completely perplexed.
“What is it?” he asks. “It looks like it’s all empty.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t understand what’s going on. No one should’ve touched this computer; all of the Cerefore data was on here.” I power it down and stand up, accidentally bumping into him in the process. His strong hands grasp onto my waist to keep me from falling, se
nding a jolt of electricity through my body. I make a mental note to be a little clumsier around him so he can catch me more often, but first, I need to figure out what’s happened to all of the missing files.
“I guess I’ll tell Grady I couldn’t find anything in here—that it’s all been cleaned out,” he says, letting his hands linger at the small of my back a few extra seconds.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out too.”
One of us should probably walk out now, conversation over, long day behind us, but neither of us move. I know my breathing’s audible and his chest is definitely rising and falling at a rapid pace, our eyes fusing in connection.
“Bryce,” I manage, voice quivering much like my legs.
“I know, me too,” he reaches out and takes my hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth across the underside of my wrist. “Sudden, but damn strong,” he muses aloud, speaking my thoughts.
“Very,” I nod.
“Ever felt this before?” He asks and I immediately shake my head no. “Me either. But we can’t, I mean here, I-” he growls, dropping my hand to run his own through his hair in frustration.
“Shhh,” I smile, hating the now rigid cast of his shoulders, understanding exactly how he feels. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” I say, then turn and head back up to my office, leaving him standing there perhaps a bit brash but necessary to eliminate the temptation…for now.
And, the uncomfortable tugging in my gut impossible to ignore, pleading for my attention. I’m more than curious about what happened to those files and don’t plan on letting it go until I find out. I’m not sure what it is yet, but something is off.
“SON OF A MOTHERLESS, shit-faced—”
“Good day at the office, honey?” Reagan mockingly interrupts my tirade with a cool-as-a-cucumber smirk on her face, leaning casually against the doorframe.