by Jani Kay
Determined to keep it strictly professional at all times, I swallowed my smile and the warm glow that had spread through me. It was going to be tough. Something about Tyler Sinclair was intoxicating, affecting my body and my damn brain. I had to stay on track at all costs—too much was at stake here for me to go all gaga about a sexy-as-sin man and the way he melted my panties. Dammit.
Tyler’s face hardened, the tick in his jaw drawing my attention. I'd pissed him off—again. Somehow, my being in his presence annoyed him. And he wanted us to share an office? Awkward.
"Let's get started then. I’m working on a proposal for one of the top private construction companies in the country. They want to list on the stock exchange. But it's complex because they have branches all over the globe, including China." The passion and excitement in his voice was unmistakable. Even his gestures became animated. "Their Chinese partners are opposed to listing in the US, so we need to sweeten the deal somehow and get their approval. I've been working on the numbers all morning—until you interrupted." The momentary scowl was quickly replaced by a grin. "You can help by double-checking my figures. Your math is above average, I assume, since you passed your degree cum laude."
My eyebrows shot up, but I pursed my lips to prevent a snide remark. I didn’t want to have the scowl back on his handsome face.
"Miss Bennett? I said something?"
I shook my head. "Oh, it's nothing. Please continue," I said, trying to placate him. "Yes, my math skills are above average." And then I did it. I couldn’t fucking resist. "You said never to assume."
He laughed. "Touché."
I laughed nervously. "You aren’t mad?"
"No. At least you listened." Was it admiration I saw in his eyes? If it was, it was so fleeting that I could’ve imagined it.
A hard knock at the door interrupted us. The scowl immediately returned.
"Yes?" His voice boomed.
Ms. Oakes appeared in the doorway with two guys behind her. "Where do you want the desk, Mr. Sinclair?"
He indicated to a spot not far from his own desk. Good Lord, I didn’t want to be this close to him all day long. I'd hoped he’d place me in the furthest corner, somewhere I could stay out of his way until I got moved into my own office when Mr. Spencer returned.
Two burly men grunted as they carried in the desk. It wasn’t as big as Tyler’s, and it was dark cherry wood that didn’t look too out of place in his sleek office. At least the red blended in with the sofas. I'd wondered about those while I’d been sitting idly waiting earlier. I’d known that higher management was accustomed to having huge offices, but this one was ridiculous in size and furnishings. Especially by New York standards where prime real estate was an overpriced commodity.
Mr. Sinclair had good taste, but I had to wonder about choosing red leather. It was ultra modern, decadent and bold, and a contradiction to what I’d expect to find in a financial executive’s office where formal and boring was usually the standard, as if the occupant of the office was defying the norm.
"Please show Miss Bennett where the restrooms and kitchen are. Introduce her to everyone on the floor. Stock her up with stationary too, so we can get working straight away. Oh, and a new computer . . . did Mr. Spencer arrange for one?"
"It's all been taken care of before he left." Ms. Oakes smiled stiffly. "I’ll have it transferred."
"Excellent. Get it done so there are no more interruptions." He looked at his watch. "Get Miss Bennett something to eat, and have her back here in an hour."
She nodded, smiling kindly at me. I was hoping we could be friends, as I needed an ally. Someone to hang out with when being cooped in an office with a workaholic boss got to me. Not that I was afraid of work; I'd never skirted my responsibilities.
Then what was I afraid of?
Maybe it was the way he looked at me with a puzzled expression. Maybe because he’d already filled my nights with sexy dreams. Maybe the fear of distraction at a time when I had to focus on my goals. I was going back to Australia in six months; romance was not on my agenda.
But sex? Raw, carnal fucking? Hmmm . . . I hadn’t been with a man for so long, and although I’d thought I didn’t care, Tyler Sinclair was awakening a side of me I preferred dormant.
How many other women felt the same? He probably had women lined up for his cock. Was Ms. Oakes one of them? She was gorgeous, with a banging tall and slim body, and dimples when she smiled. If I were a man, I’d definitely be in to her. I didn’t stand a fucking chance.
"Shall we go, Miss Bennett?"
I smiled at her. "Please, call me Brooklyn. All this formality is more than I’m used to."
"With pleasure, Brooklyn. I'm looking forward to getting to know you. My name is Lana, but most people call me Ginger because of my hair."
I laughed. "In Australia, they’d call you Bluey. It's slang for a redhead. Don’t ask me why, it's crazy."
She chuckled, then winked. "Let's not tell anyone else, okay? Compared to Bluey, Ginger isn’t that bad after all."
I nodded and followed her out of the office, relieved to get out from under Tyler’s scrutiny.
"One hour. Don’t be late." His voice boomed behind me. I rolled my eyes so that only Lana could see. She giggled softly at my insolence.
"Yes, sir," I said before closing the door behind me. Control freak.
I followed her down the passage, eager to get a real look around the place. When I’d come rushing in, I was so freaked out by being late that I didn’t register much else. This was where I was going to spend most of my days—and nights, if Mr. Sinclair got his way—for the next six months.
"I can tell I'm going to like you. You have spunk and sass. Exactly what Mr. Debonair needs to put him in his place."
"Mr. Debonair?"
"That’s what the ladies christened him. Everyone in the firm has a nickname . . . Sinclair . . . Debonair. Get it? He sure has the looks, and the whole suave thing going on." She dropped her voice, as if she were sharing a secret. "There’s more than one female hoping to be Mrs. Sinclair. He’s quite a catch—new money, confident, cocky—and apparently very talented with his hands, and his mouth too."
Those were all attributes I could deal with. I grinned, pleased to hear that Mr. Debonair was indeed single. And I didn’t mind a bit of competition either; it always spurred me on to be at my best.
Wait. I'm not here to get involved with a man, let alone my boss. What the fuck am I thinking?
I laughed. There was no way I was getting involved in this debacle. "They’re welcome to fight over him. As long as nothing interferes with my training, it's cool." Yep, I didn’t have time for diversions. I had to put him out of my mind. Yet I couldn’t deny that there was a magnetism that attracted me to him that I just couldn’t shake. Why was my body behaving so treacherously? Damn.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
10 - Brooklyn
I got home a little after seven. Cassidy was waiting, virtually pouncing on me as I entered the door. I’d been in such a rush and so shaken by the consequences of the coffee incident that I hadn’t told her about the new arrangements.
What was she going to make of the switch in bosses? I couldn’t wait to tell her everything, that it was him—the man at the bull statue.
Three days ago, she’d detected my lack of enthusiasm and sudden quietness after we’d scoffed our hotdogs. Nothing passed by Cass, so when I’d gone all quiet, scolding myself inwardly for being such a wimp, she’d cajoled the whole thing out of me. There was no point in trying to hide anything from her—she was relentless in getting information out of me—so I told her all about the exchange with the stranger. It was a better option than having my ears nagged off. Besides, I kept looking around all the time, hoping to catch a glimpse of him again or even better, actually bumping in to him.
Her voice jolted me back to the present. "Come sit down and take off those shoes. I went to the store and got us a few things, including a bottle of wine for tonight."
"Cass,"
I said in a high-pitched voice, alarmed that she’d spent money on something that wasn’t a necessity.
"It was on sale . . . so a few bottles jumped into my shopping cart." She wiggled her eyebrows.
"A few bottles? Shit, we hardly have money for food," I admonished, pissed off by her reckless behavior.
She ignored my scowl and waved her arm theatrically. "Let them eat cake. If they can't have water, we’ll give them wine." Cass pulled me by the hand to the living room and pushed me down on the sofa.
"Tell me all about your first day. Were you in trouble for being late? And tell me about the office hotties. Is Chase what you expected? I can't wait to hear all about it. But first, let me get us each a glass of vino." She dashed to the kitchen, giving me a few moments to relax in peace.
Cassidy was a fabulous best friend, and I cherished her bubbly personality and natural curiosity, but she could also make my head hurt with all her questions. Men, sex and shopping—those were her chosen topics of discussion. I pulled my shoes off and leaned back into the cushions, letting out a long sigh. Closing my eyes, I listened to the multitude of honking horns out in the street. I still had to pinch myself that I was actually here, in New York, doing what I’d always dreamed of.
Cass breezed back into the room and sat next to me on the sofa. Slowly, I opened my eyes and took the glass she held out to me. I hadn’t realized how tensed up my body had become, so when I took the first sip of wine, I couldn’t help but relax a little and smile at my friend. She was right—who needed food when you had wine?
"Babe, you’re never going to guess what happened," I said, curious to see her reaction.
She folded her long legs under her and grinned. This conversation was the kind of thing she thrived on. "Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out."
I did. I started with his cocky attitude and how he’d ignored me for what was easily half an hour to punish me, keeping the juicy part of his identity for the punch-line. She stared at me with her mouth half open as I described the plush surroundings, and how he had a desk moved into his office for me.
"He sounds fucking hot. He must be into kinky stuff too," she mused.
"Why do you think that?" The way her brain worked fascinated me.
"Honey, red leather sofas? The color of blood . . . and pure carnal desire. If sex had a color, it would be red." Yeah, she was the artistic one, all right.
My grin widened. If only she knew. "Well, funny you should say that, because Mr. Sinclair—or as everyone calls him, Mr. Debonair—is indeed sex on legs. Various females are apparently trying to snag him."
Her eyes brightened. "That’s hilarious! Whoever gave him that name deserves brownie points."
"Well, the nickname suits him. He has an air of cockiness and sophistication about him that probably wets many panties."
Cass peered at me over her glass, watching my face closely. "Including yours?"
"Well this is where it gets . . . interesting." I took a sip of wine, purposely affecting a pause to draw out the suspense. She leaned closer, her eyes glued to mine. I pulled in a deep breath and slowly exhaled for dramatic effect.
"What? Tell me."
This time I took a gulp of wine before I answered. "The guy at the statue . . . it's him," I blurted.
"No fucking way," she shrieked.
I nodded. "What are the chances? At first I totally freaked out—it was too good to be true."
"Oh my God. It's serendipity." Cass was heavily into feng shui, and new-age stuff. She was also a hopeless romantic. As hardcore as she pretended to be, she cried at the movies, and sighed when she saw a couple making out in public. "Is he as cute up close? Did he recognize you?" Her cheeks were flushed with excitement.
I shook my head and her face dropped. "Vaguely, but not quite. Anyway, he’s an asshole. Rude and assuming. And let’s not forget that for the next three weeks, he’s my freaking boss." I unfolded my legs from under my ass and examined my toenails closely, trying to decide if I needed to repaint them tonight or if I could survive till the weekend before needing a D. I. Y. pedicure.
"Ahhh . . . but technically he’s not your boss. Your contract isn’t with him. As soon as your real boss returns, you can definitely see where it goes." She hopped up from the couch and went to get the bottle of wine from the fridge for a refill. I stopped her when my glass was half full. I needed to be sharp tomorrow.
"That’s where you’re wrong, my friend. I can't afford to get sidetracked. My mother is depending on me to get a great job with a decent salary when I get back to Sydney. That means I don’t have time for anything else—and definitely not to compete for Mr. Debonair."
"Brook, baby, listen . . . I've never seen you so instantly captivated by a man as on that day. And just by his looks and smile. Trust your instincts and the chemistry. It's not every day you bump into Prince Charming." Cass was great at dishing out relationship advice, yet she hadn’t had a steady boyfriend for over six months.
"Ha ha. Prince fucking Charming? If only you were there today. Nope—I'm definitely not going there. First impressions are deceiving. Even if he is hot, he’s still an asshole." I yawned and stretched out my limbs. I needed my beauty sleep if I was going to get up early and be on time. "I'm going to have a shower and get to bed early."
"Okay. I've made a pasta dish. I’ll warm it up. Ready in ten minutes." She refilled her glass again, but I took mine to the small kitchen and put it in the sink. I wanted my head clear when I crawled in to bed. I wanted to replay the day before I drifted off to sleep and decided how I was going to handle the work situation.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
11 - Brooklyn
The next five days went relatively okay. We found a rhythm that we could work to without disturbing one another. My boss was on the phone most of the time, using his Bluetooth device so that he didn’t need to hold the phone to his ear all day. For a man, he was pretty capable of multitasking, and I had to give him props for that.
He’d explain what he needed me to do, show me a few examples on the computer, then watch me as I tried on my own. A few times he’d lean over me, his cologne wafting into my nostrils, and the heat of his body radiating so strongly that I’d shifted in my chair to put more distance between us.
His hands were well manicured, his nails perfectly squared. We hadn’t physically touched yet, so I couldn’t help myself wondering what they would feel like on my body. His fingers flew over the keyboard—I'd never seen a man type so fast. Efficient and determined. It wasn’t effeminate, nor did it make him look like a pussy.
"Miss Bennett, tonight we need to leave early, so be sure to finish up by four at the latest." He lifted his head from the stack of papers he was examining and tapped his pen on his desk while scrutinizing me. I was leaning over my desk, my ass in the air while sorting through reports spread over the entire surface. Stunned, I peered over my glasses at him, my mouth forming a silent O. In the week I’d been here, we’d never left the office before nine p.m., so this was definite an early night for him.
Does he have a date tonight?
I nodded, indicating that I understood, but didn’t question him. I was pretty exhausted by the long hours I’d been working, so an early night would be sheer bliss. Not fully recovered from jetlag yet, my body clock was completely out of sync, so I'd wake at random times during the night and struggle to get back to sleep. It was in those times I’d lie awake and question my sanity of being so attracted to Tyler Sinclair when I knew it couldn’t go anywhere.
His playboy reputation had filtered through to me from the other women during the odd times I got to go to the kitchen or cafe on the lower floors. There was always a group of ladies gossiping about my boss, and a few times his name was linked to that of Samantha Williams’. Speculations of them hooking up at the last office function were rife. I'd listen, but never comment, since I hadn’t been at the firm at the time, and I didn’t know the woman in question. All I could gather was that she was the owner’s da
ughter, very beautiful and sexy, and a real bitch.
I loathed people who had a sense of entitlement simply because they were born into it, but I decided to suspend my judgment until I actually met her. Apparently she liked dropping into the office to stir things up and hit on all the guys, playing them up against one another.
Tyler Sinclair’s gaze drifted over my body, and it felt as if he were undressing me with those sinful eyes, causing heat to rise from my chest up to my face. My glorious tan had started to fade, due to lack of being out in the daylight, so I wasn’t sure if he noticed the blush that would be more obvious on my paler skin. A wicked smile spread over his mouth, making it difficult to ignore him. He tapped the pen against his lips, drawing attention to them.
"No arguments?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. The glint in his eyes told me he enjoyed teasing me.
I shook my head. "None whatsoever. I'm going to soak in the bathtub and crawl into bed with the book I started reading on the plane and haven’t had time to finish." I yawned, then stretched my limbs thinking about it.
"Not so fast. Yes to the bath, but only a short soak. You will be accompanying me to the boss’s dinner function tonight. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty, sharp. Don’t be late . . . Williams detests late arrivals, so I don’t want to piss him off."
"What? That was never part of the agreement—"
He laughed. "Ahhh . . . and we are back with arguments. Thought that was too good to be true."
"Mr. Sinclair, I never agreed in any part to attend social functions. And . . . um, won’t Miss Williams be there?" It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. There was no way in hell I was getting involved in this, although I’d been curious as hell to see what Samantha Williams looked like in person. Of course I’d Googled her after I’d heard the rumors, and had to admit that she was breathtakingly beautiful and very photogenic. She was all over the society news, and pretty much treated as a celebrity, with the paparazzi following her every move. I had drooled over her designer outfits, and promised myself that one day, I would spoil myself and own at least one ensemble as well.