Love Handles (A Romantic Comedy)

by Gretchen Galway

  She turned her head, closer to the mouth nibbling on her earlobe, and said, “I think I'm falling in love with you.”

  The kisses stopped. His hand stilled. After a long, tight moment he choked out, “Bev—”

  “Gotcha.” She pulled away—no resistance now—and walked to the bathroom where she could recover. She locked the door and dropped her face into her hands, light-headed from the effort of leaving his bed. The weak confusion of her heart was the old, familiar ache of mismatched needs. Like so many men—and lucky women too—Liam was capable of a sexual and emotional disconnect she had never mastered. Unlike those lucky people Bev's heart and mind and body were braided together like pigtails. Now when she looked at Liam, she imagined he felt the same way. She felt that he felt the same way.

  And she was wrong.

  “Bev?” He tapped on the door, sounding uncomfortable, and that just wouldn't do.

  She splashed water on her face, dried herself in a towel—hesitating, because it was suffused with the smell of him—and went over to open the door with his towel wrapped around her. “I thought you were going to feed me dinner.”

  He had pulled his jeans on, which was telling. No belt, though. “Look, about—”

  “Forget it, Liam. I was just—I don't know. Reminding both of us what we're screwing around with. Making a point.”

  He glanced down at her body in the towel, closed his eyes, and looked up at her. “I just broke up with somebody—”

  God. Not the I’m-not-ready-yet defense. “And so did I. You don't have to go there. I'm going to get dressed, have a bite of whatever it is that I smelled when we walked in the door and go.”

  “But if we understand each other there's no reason for you to run off.” He grinned and dipped a finger between her breasts, tugged at the towel. “What's done is done. We'll figure out how to keep it quiet at the office—millions do it every day.”

  She clutched the towel in her fist and stepped back. “In a minute, Liam. I'd like to clean up.” And she shut the door again, screaming inwardly that only one of them understood the real problem.

  She didn't want to eat spaghetti, but if she ran out of there like she wanted to do, he'd figure out how deeply she was sinking and look down on her. As much as anyone else in the company, she needed to earn his respect. If he thought she’d weep into her pillow every night because they’d had a quick fuck, she’d never be able to take command in the office. Already she had George and Rachel and the patternmakers in her camp—she could not afford to lose him now.

  She got dressed and found him in the kitchen. “Sure smells good.”

  He had pulled a t-shirt on but was barefoot. And no apron. “Hey there.” He watched her carefully, spoon hovering over the pot.

  “What is it? Farmer's market or Ragu?”

  He hesitated, looking at her. “Too early for local tomatoes,” he said. “But they were nice and ripe.”

  With a forced smile on her face, she dipped a finger in the sauce and tasted it. Hot, savory tomatoes filled her senses. “Nice kick to it.”

  He dropped the spoon, his eyes on her mouth. “Bev . . . ” He stepped closer to her and brought a finger up to her lips. “You've got a little of it—right—on your—”

  She jerked away before the warmth spreading out under her skin where he caressed her reached her brain. Dragging the back of her hand over her mouth, she turned away. “Where's that water pitcher of yours? I'm kind of thirsty.”

  Behind her, he was silent then banged something near the stove. She heard him exhale loudly. “It's in the fridge.”

  Now he was angry, which was a lot easier to resist than the sweet talk. She walked over to the five-foot-wide stainless steel gourmet refrigerator and jerked it open. Green vegetables washed and sorted into stacks of glass storage containers, cans of energy drinks, a flat of two dozen eggs, little tubs filled with exotic olives—none of it would have been found in her refrigerator. She pushed aside a wedge of $14 cheese to reach the pitcher, kicked the door shut, feeling surer than ever they were from different planets and hers was calling her home urgently.

  “I hear my phone.” She dropped the pitcher on the counter and strode from the room. She would tell him her sister needed her at home—for something—anything—

  Liam followed her into the hall to her bag on the floor. “Bev, if you want to leave just say so.”

  “All right. I want to leave.”

  He frowned and moved closer. “Well, don't. The horse is out of the stable. We might as well enjoy—”

  “We might as well admit it was a mistake,” she said, while his hand slid up under her shirt and caressed the small of her back.

  His lips traced her eyebrows. “We will.” He kissed her temple. “Tomorrow.”

  She closed her eyes, felt her knees wobble. She remembered how he’d looked the first time she’d seen him, cold and forbidding, domineering, aloof.

  “I have to go.” She pushed away from his seductive mouth and hands to track down her shoes. When she hurried back towards the front door he was lounging back against it with his muscled arms over his chest.

  “You're overreacting,” he said.

  You have no idea. “Thanks for the fuck,” she said.

  His mouth fell open.

  “Excuse me.” She reached around him to the door handle.

  When she didn't back down he jerked away from the door. “My pleasure, Ms. Lewis.” His voice was low and furious. “Glad to be of service.”

  She hoped he couldn't see her hands shaking. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “See you at the office.”

  The door slammed behind her.

  First thing in the morning, with her senses dull from a sleepless night, Bev met with Richard, the reinstated CFO. He was a skeletal man with curly red hair, an Amish-like beard, and a sad face. “Fite needs to cut back hard, one way or another,” he said for the third time. “Or it's over.”

  “Your report was quite clear.” She put her hands over the folder on her lap. “However, I’m uncomfortable about the lay-offs.”

  “Either lay off some now or lay off everyone later.” Richard pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger.

  “But there are other cuts we could take. And of course, if we could get the revenues up, like say—” she pulled out a five-year graph, “—to a few years ago—”

  “A few years ago we were all a lot richer,” he said. “Including—or especially—our customers. We have to deal with reality.”

  She knew he was right, but the numbers made her sick to her stomach. “I can't do it,” she said. “We have to find another way.”

  He shook his head, shoulders sinking. “One reason I came back was I didn't think my decision would last very long. I might as well have a job while I prepare for the next one.”

  “If that's what you're going to be doing, getting ready for a better job, you might as well go now.”

  Pursing his lips, he met her gaze with sad eyes. “I didn't say better, did I? I didn't leave here voluntarily. I love this company.”

  She sighed, remembering Kennedy at the preschool with her friend rock and gloomy attitude. “Everything is going to be fine. We just have to find a better way to cut costs. There must be lots of ways to get thrifty.”

  “Your grandfather was hardly known for his extravagance. Look around. The only reason we've lasted this long is we hang on a shoestring budget as it is. We haven't had the water coolers refilled in two years, the cleaning company is a lady and her disabled son who commute in from Fresno, and we unscrewed half the ceiling lights to reduce the PG&E,” he said. “And, we've had a hiring freeze.” He raised his eyebrows to indicate his awareness of her violation of that policy.

  “Richard, we'll find a way. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't share your worst-case scenario with anyone else here at the company.”

  He sighed. “Other than Liam, you mean?”

  “When did you talk with Liam?”

  “When he called me
to invite me back. I told him it was hopeless.”

  “And what did he say?”

  Lifting his sad eyes to hers, Richard tried to smile. “Said everything would be different now with you in charge.”

  She swallowed. “He said that? Was he kidding?”

  “How would I know?”

  She clenched her teeth together and got up. “Of course. I’ll ask him myself.” The thought of hunting Liam down so soon after last night made the butterflies in her stomach want to bend over and vomit.

  It took her twenty minutes to find him. He was in her grandfather’s old suite, standing on a stationary treadmill, staring out into the white sky over the city. His shoulders hunched with tension, and as she came up alongside him she saw that he had his arms braced over his chest, elbow-in-hand, like he was about to ram somebody.

  “Hope you weren't gunning for a quickie,” he said, stepping off the treadmill. “I've got a meeting in two minutes.”

  It was almost funny, the idea that she was using him for sex. She bit her lip, furious with herself for getting into bed with him. “I'm sorry about last night—”

  “Which part?” He turned, eyes cold, and let his gaze sink down over her body with slow, clinical disinterest.

  She straightened her spine. “I regret all of it, but I'm apologizing for the part when I was rude and walked out.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  She blinked, skeptical. “I was just talking to Richard. He says we’re in deep trouble. We might not be able to make the payroll after next week.”

  “He’s a pessimist,” Liam said. “Even without the Target deal we’d have another month.”

  She stared at the way the light hit his irises, highlighting flecks of gold, and how the long brown lashes framed his eyes. How calm and remote he looked compared to the night before. Perfect.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, noticing her stare, and she shook off her daze. “A Target deal?”

  “They love the men's stuff, but they're just not excited yet about the women's line. Imagine that.” He strode over to the weight bench, straddled it, and leaned onto his back under the bar. Long, lean thighs stretched out before her. “Think they'd like the Jogbra of Hollywood?”

  She watched as he braced himself under the bar and pushed. His face clenched with the effort, the veins in his forearms visible under the skin, and then he dropped it down with a clatter.

  She moved closer. “Shouldn't you have somebody spotting you?”

  He looked up at her, face blank, then smirked. “There's no weight on the bar.”

  Ah. So there wasn't. She hadn't been looking way over there. “It could still hurt you, like if it fell on your neck.”

  He shook his head and sat up, eyes hard on hers. “You're worried about me getting hurt?”

  “Turns out you're rather indispensable around here.”

  “But if I were a poser, you'd be glad to have me decapitated?” He slid out from under the bar and went over to a rack of round weights, slipped off a couple small ones, then returned to the bench. “Lie down, and I'll tell you all about the Target deal.”

  “I'm not—”

  “It's two five-pound weights. Like lifting your cat.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you'd rather look stupid when we go there next week. We need to do some magic on the women’s line. They have this crazy idea we don’t get their customer.”

  Her mouth fell open. “Next week?”

  He rolled his eyes as though he were bored. “Lie down. I've only got a minute.”

  “You always say that.”

  “I didn’t last night—you did,” he said, and she flushed. He tapped the bar. “We have the chance to place more orders for a single delivery with one customer than we pulled in over all of last year. Want to hear more?”

  “Fine.” She threw a leg over the bench and lay on her back, conscious of her breasts jiggling sideways under her thin knit blouse. She grabbed the bar and shoved it upwards.

  “Hold on, let me teach you some technique.”

  “One.” She let it clang down. “Start talking.”

  He frowned at her hands on the bar. “Move both hands a couple inches to the left. You're not centered.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she did it. “Next week? Why didn't I see it on the calendar?”

  “Because I didn't put it there.” He put his hands over hers and readjusted her grip. “How does that feel?”

  “Liam—”

  He glanced down at her chest and slid his hands down her arms to her shoulders. “Get yourself grounded properly—I don't want you to blame me if you get hurt.”

  Her heart raced. Even upside down he was beautiful. “I won't get hurt,” she said, teeth clenched. I won't let myself.

  His hands tightened, then moved to her ribs, lightly brushing under her arms. He sank to his knees and whispered close to her ear, “No pain, no gain,” and then his hands moved together and cupped her breasts.

  She sucked in her breath. “You can't—” His fingers found each nipple, and his mouth opened over the curve of her ear, inflaming her remaining nerves. One second of savoring, then she twisted roughly away and jumped to her feet. She glanced out into the hall. “If anybody saw you do that, I would—I would—”

  Lazily, he strode over to her. “Fire me?”

  “Kill you.” She pointed a finger at his chest where his small, cold heart huddled. “You don't care.”

  “Oh, I care. I thought that was obvious.” He adjusted his belt. “Come on, Ms. Lewis. Be realistic.”

  Cocky bastard. She hated all that self-confidence. “You were going to tell me about the Target deal.”

  “No deal yet.” He hooked a hand around her waist and jerked her up against his hard body. “Working on that.” He bent his head.

  “No, no, no!” She pushed away from him and scurried over to the wall phone by the door. “I'm having Rachel join us so you stick to business.”

  “Rachel?” He followed her and stood too close. “Oh, good choice. She’s been helping me get the Target groups together.”

  “What?” she cried. “You used my assistant—without my permission—” She clamped her mouth shut, upset Rachel had gone behind her back, with Liam, and over something so important, and they’d said nothing—

  “You can’t get any samples out of this place without her. Plus, she’s good at keeping secrets.” He trailed a fingertip up the side of her neck and along the curve of her ear, sending electricity down her spine. “Most of the time. You might not want to confide in her about your sexual obsessions, however.”

  “You're really going to make me regret last night, aren't you?”

  His voice fell to a growl. “Why should you be the only one to suffer?”

  “Well, I'm not going to play.” She finished dialing Rachel's extension but got voice mail, and while Liam's fingertip edged lower to the neckline of her dress, she was too flustered to leave a coherent message, so just said, “It's Bev, find me,” and hung up.

  He dipped under the fabric and drew a line of fire along her bra strap. “Are you sure you don't want to wait until she gets back from L.A.?”

  She swung around and scowled up at his wide-eyed face. Of course he hadn't forgotten Rachel's sourcing trip. Nothing big enough to distract his mind. She brushed his hand aside. “No, you may tell me now. On your way to that meeting you mentioned.” With lots of people around.

  “I'm checking out a new fit model for Women's.” He was still standing less than a foot away. “I can't discuss anything with the patternmakers around. They take notes and sell them on eBay.”

  She slipped out from under him. “When were you going to tell me about the Target deal, anyway? The day before the meeting?”

  “I wasn't ever going to tell you.”

  His handsome face, all smug and confident, reminded her of who she was dealing with. “You weren't ever going to tell me?”

  “Nope.”

  He was still hiding critical business dealin
gs from her. Or he was hiding things, until—

  “You're telling me now because I slept with you.” She clutched her forehead. “Jesus. I wish you'd told me what I was turning myself into, what price I could command for services rendered. I might have shown more restraint.”

  “Don't be silly—” His cell phone beeped, and he stopped, still smiling at her, to pull it out and read the screen. “They're waiting for me. Look, I could hardly keep on as I was, after, well, getting you naked.”

  “Chivalrous and bold, yet skanky.”

  His smirk disappeared. Eyes narrowing, he leaned closer. “Please. What would you say if you found out after last night, after I went down on you and had sex with you in my own bed, after I begged you to stay—what would you say if I didn't change how I treated you at work?” He nodded. “That's right. You'd think I was a total dick. And don't look like that—I know you don't think I'm as bad as all that, not really, or you wouldn't have slept with me.”

  She closed her eyes, angry because he was right. “All right.” She looked at him. “You are now on my side. I suppose I can live with that.” She looked past him, making sure they were alone. “So long as we both understand that was not why I did it. From now on we’re just business partners with similar goals.”

  He grinned, eyes crafty. “Wonderful. My goal is to snag the deal myself and get all the credit and have sex with you again. So glad to hear you’re cool with that.”

  “All the credit? You didn’t tell any of the designers, either?”

  “It’s a back-channel meeting. Me and an old friend.” He stepped back and smoothed his shirt down his chest in a gesture she was coming to recognize as self-protective. Her woman radar went off.

  “An old girlfriend?”

  His eyes flicked back to her, amused. “Jealous?”

  She frowned. “Relieved. Very relieved. Now maybe you’ll leave me alone.”

  “You're still pretending last night was some kind of one-time binge.” He slipped his cell back in his pocket and walked out the door. “When we both know it was just an appetizer.”

  Chapter 16

  “What shoes are you wearing?” Liam frowned at the woman’s feet crammed into five-inch platforms.