Kill the Competition

by Stephanie Bond

  He lifted his eyebrow, waiting for her response. This was her cue—was she interested? A thrill zipped over her thighs. There was something very sexy about a man who made his intentions known right up front. He was attracted to her.

  “Don’t you want to see how lunch goes?” she asked mildly.

  “I already know it’s going to go well.” His voice held no hint of cockiness, just quiet confidence. It suited him. And it made her feel daring.

  The waitress brought ice water and said she’d be back to take their order. Belinda sipped the water gratefully to douse the sudden hike in her temperature. “Any suggestions?” she asked as she scanned the menu.

  Julian grinned. “How adventurous are you?”

  His playful mood was contagious. “I’m feeling rather brave today.”

  “Then let’s share an order of spicy basil leaves and shrimp.”

  “That’s not exactly Southern comfort food.”

  His knee bumped hers. “Comfort is highly overrated.”

  A very grown-up feeling traveled her spine. He wanted to have an affair. It was surreal, this mundane conversation resonating with sensuality. A hum of awareness traveled over her nerve endings. So this was how people did it—made the leap from acquaintance to lover without the bother of small talk and small encounters in between. What sounded lewd in the pages of women’s magazines now seemed like a perfectly natural occurrence unfolding between two consenting adults.

  “Or,” he said lightly, “we could always play it safe and order chicken fried rice.”

  The waitress returned with her pad in hand. “Are you ready to order?”

  One side of his mouth crept up as his gaze bore into hers. “Belinda?”

  Her mouth watered, and it wasn’t from the talk of food. She’d broken the rules once this week, and she was getting a promotion out of it. If she broke her “men are unnecessary” rule, who knew what exciting things might happen?

  She spoke to the waitress but didn’t take her eyes off Julian. “We’re going to split the spicy basil leaves and shrimp.”

  “That’s a very hot dish,” the waitress warned.

  “Yes, we know,” Julian said, his smoldering gaze locked with Belinda’s.

  The waitress walked away, and he leaned forward on his elbows. “I’m pleased that you agreed to meet me. I was afraid that Lieutenant Alexander would talk about me behind my back.”

  She tried not to register surprise. “Why would you think that?”

  He shrugged. “Alexander and I aren’t the best of friends.”

  “How do you know each other?”

  “Through our jobs. I’ve been involved in a couple of police matters. He and I clashed.”

  “I thought maybe that’s what had happened. You’ll have to forgive me—I’m too new in town to connect your name with a particular newspaper or television station.”

  His smile returned. “I work for a television station and a radio station, but I’m behind the scenes at the TV station.”

  “And on the radio?” She wracked her brains for the call letters to the all-news stations so she could sound halfway informed.

  “Well, even if you heard me on the radio, you wouldn’t connect my name—I use a different on-air name.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m a traffic reporter, Talkin’ Tom Trainer on MIXX 100 FM.”

  She went completely still. “No.”

  He grinned. “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe this—I know you!”

  “No kidding?”

  She nodded, her mouth half-open. “I listen to you every day.” She laughed, unable to believe the coincidence. “But your accent…it sounds different.”

  His cheeks turned pink. “The on-air voice goes with the good-ole-boy on-air persona.”

  She nodded, noting the resemblance in his voice and the voice she was accustomed to hearing on the radio. No wonder when she’d first met him she’d had the feeling that she’d known him from somewhere—it wasn’t his face she’d recognized but his voice. “This is amazing.” She brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, my God. No wonder you knew about my accident with Lieutenant Alexander—you watched it. I heard you announce it!”

  He nodded, smiling. “I couldn’t resist ribbing him, he’s such a smug SOB. Unfortunately, he can’t take a joke.”

  “He does seem a bit grim, although I can understand why he’d be angry with me.”

  “Don’t take it personally. I hear he’s going through a bad divorce.”

  Her heart dipped in empathy for the lieutenant.

  “So,” Julian said, brushing her hand with his. “Now that you know who I am, are you going to change your order?”

  Under his pointed stare, her body strained toward him, her fantasy man from the radio. She wet her lips, gratified when he unconsciously mimicked her movement.

  “Yes,” she said, then flagged down the waitress. “Would you please bring us a side of Thai chili sauce for dipping?”

  When she looked back to Julian, he had pushed out his cheek with his tongue and was nodding in approval.

  Belinda wadded up a paper towel, stuffed it in her mouth, and dropped into her burnt orange office chair for a few seconds of blessed relief. She should have known she was in trouble when the food the waitress sat in front of her singed her nose hair. The first couple of bites of spicy basil leaves and shrimp hadn’t been bad. And then the afterburn had set in.

  The only way she could describe the experience was swallowing trick birthday candles that wouldn’t go out. After the first couple of layers of skin had dissolved from her tongue, she had lost all sensation, including the ability to speak in full sentences. Thankfully, Julian was a practiced talker and had required little more than positive body language to keep him chatting about his unusual job. Just when she’d thought she might combust, he’d been called to cover a chemical spill on Georgia 400. He’d tossed money on the table, and they’d practically sprinted back to the Stratford building parking garage.

  “Tomorrow,” he’d said with a rakish smile. “Meet me in the gym, in front of the dry sauna at noon.”

  She’d nodded (because she couldn’t speak). Watching him jog away, her chest had gotten this weird, welled-up feeling that he was dashing off to risk his life so that the rest of Atlanta could arrive home safely.

  Or at least get home in time to watch the Braves play.

  She sucked on the paper towel, trying to absorb some of the pepper oils lingering on her tongue. What did Julian have in mind—working out together? And eventually working in and out together? She closed her eyes and squeezed her knees tight. How amazing that their paths had actually crossed. It was fate, wasn’t it?

  Her phone rang. She yanked up the receiver, then too late remembered she couldn’t talk. Carefully she pulled the moist paper towel out of her mouth. As soon as the air hit her raw tongue, her mouth exploded with pain. Involuntarily, she moaned into the phone.

  “Hello?” a male voice asked.

  “Mm-hm.” She clenched her teeth until the worst of the pain passed.

  “Is this Belinda Hennessey?”

  She tried to concentrate on breathing only through her nose. “Mm-hm.”

  “This is Lieutenant Wade Alexander.”

  “Oh. Heh-wo.” She winced.

  “Did I call at a bad time?”

  “Um. No. Whaz up?”

  After a few seconds of silence, he said, “I was calling to let you know that I searched the cruiser, but I didn’t find your address book.”

  “Oh. Thanz anyway.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “Okay. Well…are you still driving on that spare?”

  She smirked. “No.”

  “Okay. Well…good-bye then.”

  “Guh-bye.”

  She frowned at the phone when she set it down. At least he’d stopped calling her “ma’am.” Then she remembered that Julian had said the man was going through a divorce, and
she regretted her unkind thoughts. She wondered if he’d gotten his big heart broken, or if he’d been the one doing the damage.

  “Belinda.”

  She jumped, then turned to see Clancy Edmunds standing at the opening to her cubicle. “Heh-wo, Cwancy.”

  “Is that an Elmer Fudd impersonation, or did you have lunch at the Thai place?”

  “Thai.”

  He grimaced. “Your lips look like Melanie Griffith’s.”

  “Thanz.”

  “Okay, I won’t make you talk. Just come to the boardroom and point to whichever sofa bed you want. They’re going fast.”

  She smiled—at least she meant to—and followed him in the direction of the boardroom, gingerly touching her lips and testing her tongue against the roof of her mouth. It all felt like a big, pulpy mass. En route, Clancy made an appreciative sound in his throat. She looked up to see a sandy-haired uniformed APS deliveryman coming their way, and she assumed it was the same guy that the girls had been salivating over. From the look of the young man’s gear—back support harness, padded gloves, and thick-soled shoes—he was prepared for just about any maneuver, although she rather doubted that delivering packages in Midtown was all that dogged. Still, the accessories were…effective.

  He gave her a friendly nod, then turned his attention to Clancy. “Ms. Campbell isn’t in her office, and her secretary isn’t around, either. Will you sign for this?”

  “Gladly,” Clancy purred.

  Belinda pressed her lips together to hide a smile, but that hurt, so she just stood there and looked at the ceiling.

  “Hello.”

  She looked back to find the well-equipped deliveryman smiling at her.

  Clancy glanced up and frowned. “Oh. Hank Baxter, this is Belinda Hennessey.”

  “Hi,” she managed to vocalize on an expelled breath.

  “Are you new here?”

  She touched her mouth and looked to Clancy for help.

  He sighed. “Belinda had a skirmish with Thai food today. She’s been here a couple of months, but Margo keeps all the pretty ones hidden away.”

  “Too bad,” Hunky Hank said with a grin.

  “Here.” Clancy slapped the guy’s clipboard against his chest and snatched the envelope out of his hand. “I’ll make sure Margo gets the package.”

  Hank nodded. “Nice to meet you, Belinda.”

  Clancy stared openly at the man’s ass as he walked away, then turned back and made a rueful noise. “Why are all the good ones straight?”

  She barely heard him because she was trying to steal a look at the return address on the overnight letter packet. When Clancy caught her, she blushed. He shrugged and held up the brightly colored envelope. “Looks like something from Payton—this could be the big day.”

  The food in her stomach seemed to reignite. The big day. The big deal. The big promotion. The big lie.

  “I’ll drop this on Margo’s desk later. Come on, let’s tag you a sofa. Mr. Archer wants these things out of the boardroom pronto. Apparently he caught someone taking a nap in here.”

  She frowned. “Weally?”

  He leaned close. “I heard it was Tal. Must be tough on Mr. Archer having such a loser for a son.”

  She was glad they had reached the boardroom, because she didn’t want to get caught up in the melodrama of the grapevine. She had enough on her mind, struggling with the decision of spending her ill-gotten raise before she even ill-got it.

  “They’re all nice sofas,” he said, sweeping his arm wide. “Nicer than anything Archer makes, that’s for damn sure. I bought the gray striped one for my den, and the brown plaid is already spoken for.”

  “Rosemary?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  That left a cream overstuffed model with high arms, a cobalt blue contemporary couch with lime green pillows, a sleek black armless model, and, Belinda’s pie-in-the-sky favorite, a red leather beauty, with deep seating and flared arms. A sound of longing escaped her throat.

  “Isn’t it decadent?” Clancy breathed.

  “Mm.”

  “Let’s unfold it,” he suggested. They removed the sumptuous red leather cushions, and Belinda was amazed at how easily the queen bed opened.

  “Give it a bounce,” Clancy said.

  She did, and found that the firmness rivaled her own bed. She lay back and closed her eyes, giving in to the fantasy of entertaining a lover on her pull-out red leather couch. God help her, she wanted it. Badly.

  “How muth?” she asked, wishing she could feel her teeth.

  “Fifteen hundred.”

  She winced and sat up.

  “It’s a four-thousand-dollar couch, sweetie.”

  She didn’t doubt that it was a good deal, but at this discount, she’d have to pay cash, and she still didn’t know how much the car repairs were going to cost. “I’ll fink about it.”

  He clucked. “Monica Tanner called this morning and asked a hundred questions about this piece—you’d better snap it up before she does.”

  She wavered. Her living room was balefully empty. Her mother would be thrilled that she’d finally bought a couch, although Barbara Hennessey would think her daughter had “turned wild” when Belinda described it. Julian’s wink sprang to her mind. Little did her mother know, buying a red leather couch was the tamest of her contemplations today.

  “Free delivery if you can wait a few days,” Clancy encouraged.

  “Otay.”

  Chapter 10

  “Except for a little sunshine slowdown in the eastbound lanes on the Top End of The Perimeter, all is runnin’ smooth on the freeways this mornin’! Folks, it’s a beautiful Friday in Hotlanta. Drive safe! This is Talkin’ Tom Trainer for MIXX 100 FM traffic.”

  “And you didn’t know it was him?” Carole asked.

  “Not a clue,” Belinda said. Just hearing his voice sent her pulse jumping. When she’d driven home yesterday, he’d still been covering the chemical spill cleanup. It gave her a quiet little thrill knowing he was soaring overhead, and she wondered if he’d thought about her as much as she’d thought about him. Any time that Lt. Alexander’s words about Julian had worked their way into her thoughts, she had discounted them as well-meaning but misguided. Hadn’t she decided to form her own opinion? Perhaps the officer assumed she was looking for some kind of permanent solution to her single state, but she wasn’t. And while she still considered men unnecessary, she had developed a new appreciation for their…usefulness.

  When she’d woken this morning to Julian’s voice on the radio, her entire body had been in a state of heightened awareness that had rivaled her tender mouth. She’d felt every nubby loop on the terry washcloth as she’d showered, had felt her eyelashes brush her cheeks when she’d blinked, had sensed the nerve endings dance in the pads of her fingers. And the man hadn’t even touched her. Yet.

  “I see your speech has returned,” Libby said sarcastically.

  Belinda squinted. Libby wasn’t her normal cheery self this morning. “Thanks to Rosemary letting me know that bread would get rid of the sting.”

  “My pleasure,” Rosemary said, but a little pinch appeared between her eyebrows. Enduring back pain was the single outward concession she had made to aging.

  Warmth crept into Belinda’s cheeks. “Rosemary, I’m sorry. I forgot to mention that I told Julian I’d meet him in the gym today.”

  Libby huffed. “I’ve got one for the book: DON’T dump your girlfriends when you meet a new guy.”

  Belinda’s flush deepened—another bonding faux pas. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay,” Rosemary cut in. “My back is so tight, I think I’ll skip my workout.”

  “I knew that good old Southern boy radio bit was an act,” Libby exclaimed. “Men are natural born liars and were put on earth to make our lives a living hell.”

  Silence crackled in the car.

  “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the curling iron,” Carole murmured.

  Libby’s mouth tightened, and she burs
t into tears.

  Belinda swerved onto the shoulder, then corrected.

  “What’s wrong?” Carole asked, leaning forward.

  “We’re broke,” Libby sobbed. “My SUV, you know I was letting Glen, Jr. drive it until he got his truck fixed? Well, the bank repossessed it yesterday while he was in Algebra, which he’s failing. Oh, hell, there goes my mascara.” She dabbed at her eyes with a paper napkin, spreading the black mess. “Glen is being just awful. He cut up all my credit cards—both of my Visas, all of my MasterCards, plus Discover, American Express, Diner’s Club, Best Buy, Sears—”

  “We get the idea,” Carole cut in, patting her shoulder.

  “And worst of all—”

  “Your Bloomingdale’s card,” they all said in unison.

  She nodded miserably and sprang a new gusher. “Glen is barely talking to me, said I’d better get that raise.” She sniffled. “Rosemary, do you mind driving the car pool next week? Glen’s trying to get the SUV back, but I don’t know how long that’ll take.”

  “No problem,” Rosemary said with a flat little smile. She looked as if she was going to say something else—I told you so?—but didn’t.

  Carole made soothing sounds as Libby repaired her makeup. Belinda bit into her lip, assuming that Libby hadn’t made good on her promise to lop off her husband’s pecker if he yanked her Bloomingdale’s card. She was starting to feel connected to these women, and it did concern her that one of them was in trouble and she might be able to help. Plus she was having second thoughts about buying the wicked couch.

  “Libby,” she said carefully, “I have cash in my purse to pay Clancy for the sofa bed, but if you need to borrow—”

  “Oh, Belinda,” Libby breathed, tearing up again. “That’s so sweet of you, but no, I’d never borrow money from a friend.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, girls, for being a downer this morning. But don’t worry, I’ll think of something. Always have a plan B.”

  “That’s a good DO for the book,” Belinda said quietly.

  Libby smiled through her tears. “I’ll write that one down.”