“Painted me as cutthroat. I know and I don’t care. I did what I had to in order to get the mob out of our operation, and that meant taking the public blows myself.”
“What made you stay in the job?”
“Stay? Who says I’m staying? I just never felt that the operation was ready for me to leave, and the board thought it was better to bring me on full time.”
“So you plan to leave.”
“When the time is right.”
“Which is when?”
“I’ll know when.” He sets his fork down and leans an elbow on the bar, facing me fully again. “What about your mother?” he asks, changing the subject again. “Or siblings? What does everyone else think about your move?”
“No siblings, and …” I hesitate, fighting the clawing sensation in my chest as I go on, “And my mother died in a car accident three years ago. What about your family?”
“And some days that three years feels like an eternity and others like yesterday. I get it. My mom died of an aneurysm when I was seventeen. It’s not easy, but it gets easier. I know you don’t believe me, but it does.”
“I do. I know. And it is.” I cut my gaze and, damn it, my eyes are prickling again. I need this day to be over.
Now Damion is standing, turning my stool toward him, his hands on the arms, trapping me between him and the chair. “Today wasn’t normal procedure. It’s our third breach in ninety days, and we’ve been looking into potential internal problems. Not at you. You weren’t with us long enough to be a part of this. Two things you need to know: Everyone was locked down in some way, shape, or form today, and not just to be investigated. For safety reasons. I personally told security that you were on lockdown against your wishes, for your protection. I would never make you look bad. Never. How can I expect you to have my back if I don’t have yours?”
Have my back? No one has my back. Suddenly I feel shallow and wrong for my reaction. “I’m sorry. It just … it made me feel … bad. It made me feel bad.”
“I know.” He repeats what is becoming welcome and familiar, stroking my hair behind my ear as he adds, “And I wanted to call you, but silence is part of the process I would have prepared you for had you been with me longer than a day.” He lifts me off the chair and puts me down, stepping behind me, his hands on my waist, his mouth lowering to my ear. “Pack your things. You aren’t staying here.”
I turn in his arms.” What?”
“You aren’t staying in this rattrap.”
I push away from him. “I’m not a charity case who needs your money, Damion. I’m staying here.”
“You’re staying at Vantage as part of your employment package.”
“I quit.”
“I didn’t accept your resignation.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t. Every reason I hired you still exists. Nothing has changed.”
“Yes, it has.” My lips tighten, and so does my voice. “We changed. We crossed lines. And you might be okay with that, but I’m not.”
He scrubs a hand through his hair, leaving it a dark, rumpled, sexy mess. “You think what happened between us was just how I operate?” He makes a frustrated sound and looks at the ceiling, then at me. “It’s not. I don’t fuck my staff, literally or otherwise. I damn sure don’t fuck my secretary. But we happened, and I have no intention of you leaving because of it, and if that means I have to drag you back to the casino or pay this dump a fortune to kick you out, I will.”
I gape. “What? That would be such an asshole thing to do.”
“No. The asshole thing I did was making you feel like this. I let myself touch you. I let myself go there. And now you think you have no job. Or that you have to please me to work at the casino. That is what makes me an asshole.” He moves toward me but steps around me and actually starts to gather my things and put them in my suitcase.
I rush toward where he’s leaning over the suitcase and grab his arm. “Stop. Stop now.”
He straightens and stares down at me. “One way or another, you’re coming with me.”
I ignore his sudden caveman mentality. “I’ll come to work, but I’m staying here.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re smarter than that. You’re clearly tight on money. Every day the hotel pays for your housing is a day you keep money in your pocket.”
He’s right, but I am not fully swayed. “What will the staff think? I’m not going to be looked at like some bimbo.”
“We have sixty staff members living on site, including me, and all their stays are included in their compensation packages. You’ll be in the same room you were in today, on the executive floor. On that level the camera feed is seen by only Terrance and me. Your life is completely private. Your bills are paid. This is a smart thing to do.”
“What about …”
“I made a mistake. I know that. I’m man enough to fix it.”
Man enough to fix “it.” I’m not fully sure what he means. I’m not even sure I want him to fix “it.” But he’s right. What he’s offering is a smart move for me. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Approval washes over his handsome face. “What can I do to help you pack?”
“The stuff in the fridge. I want to take it. The food, that is. The plates and things belong to the hotel.”
“Where are the rest of your belongings?”
“The moving company will hold all of it for a month with no extra fees. That gives me time to figure some things out.”
He studies me for a long moment, and I have a sense he wants to tell me he will figure it out for me but knows I won’t be pleased. “I’ll get the kitchen stuff,” he finally says, and turns away.
A few minutes later, he loads my car with my items and then glances from his BMW to my compact rental, grimacing as he holds the driver’s side open for me. “This car—”
“Is all I need.” And somehow I have rested my hand on his chest. I start to pull it back when his hand comes over mine and holds it over his thundering heart.
“You aren’t alone in a strange city anymore.”
I should remind him we barely know each other. Tell him I am not his responsibility. But I don’t. I let myself live in the fairy-tale moment. “Thank you.”
His eyes narrow slightly, and for some reason I think he does not approve of my reply. His hand releases mine and he backs away, almost as if he’s just pulled down a curtain. “We should go.”
I slide into the vehicle and, without hesitation, he shuts me inside, with him on the outside.
*
There is a subtle band of tension humming around us as we exit our vehicles in the private tenants’ area and head to the elevator. Once we are inside the lift, Damion gives me an awkward tour-guide recounting of the amenities I have at my disposal, and I want to scream at him to stop halfway through his speech.
Nerves flutter in my stomach the instant we arrive on my floor, and once we are at my door, he hands me a key, and I do not miss the way he avoids touching me. I wonder if he sees the irony of telling me I am not alone and now acting as if I am the plague.
I swipe the card in the door and hold it open as he maneuvers my bags inside. He’s back in the hall before I can blink, leaning a hand on the doorjamb by my head, shadows swimming in his eyes. “I’m not going to roll your bags inside or I won’t leave.”
The tormented confession punches me in the gut and I reach for his face, only to have him capture my wrist. “I’ve spent hours on end, it feels like, wanting you today,” he confesses. “I almost had you, too. I’m on the edge, and if you touch me, I will not do what’s right tonight and walk away.” He motions to his left. “I’m in the suite at the very end of the hall if you need anything—30011 by phone.”
We crossed lines, I’d told him. I’m man enough to fix it, he’d said. He’s giving me what I asked for. Why does that bother me?
He drops my wrist, setting me free. “Good night, Kali.” And then he turns and walks down the hall. Holding my breath, my nails curled into my pal
ms, I watch him go. I don’t move. When he’s at his door, he pauses, and I will him to turn and come back. He doesn’t. We both go into our rooms alone.
Part Seven
The contract …
I lie in bed, aching to be with Damion and thinking of every instant before and after our being here in this room. I replay every touch, every comment, every look. But of all the things my mind could fixate on, it does not go to those delicious and wonderful erotic moments but to his generic claim that I’m running from something. I am not running. I am choosing to be happy. I have decided that moving away from a veil casting unhappiness is smart.
Unable to stop myself, I grab my cell from the nightstand and type: I am not running from anything.
And obviously you aren’t sleeping, either.
I glance at the time on the digital clock by the bed—1:00 A.M. Sorry. Did I wake you?
No. I wasn’t asleep, either.
Why? I type before I can stop myself.
I have a lot on my mind.
Me, too.
Well, I hear your boss is a bear when he doesn’t sleep.
I hear your new secretary is, too. Poor everyone else.
Yes. Poor everyone else. Good night, Kali.
Good night, Damion.
I stare at my phone, thinking of how short our exchange was. He didn’t welcome conversation. He’s trying to do what is right. He’s trying get us back to where we started. Why am I wishing we were back where we stopped? Because he’s gorgeous and you’re human, I remind myself. But you also are not stupid. You need this job, not another orgasm.
*
I wake on my back to a beam of bright sunlight, my cell cradled to my chest, and trying to process why the eighties’ tune “Jesse’s Girl” is playing in my head. I blink and realize it’s the alarm and roll over to turn it off. I do not let myself cave to the temptation of reading the text exchange with Damion again. I can’t overanalyze it or I will make myself crazy. I keep my mind on the job and I get more excited by the minute. I am not just a secretary. I’m working directly with the CEO of a massive casino operation. There is no telling what I will learn and do in this role. If I end up in journalism later, I will be a better reporter for this, too. If I don’t, it’s because this job will lead me to better places.
I’m slipping on a pair of black strappy shoes to complement my pale-blue skirt and jacket when the room phone rings. Nerves flutter in my stomach at the certainty that it will be Damion—or, rather, “Mr. Ward”—and I grab the receiver with the hope that this call will usher us into a good day.
“Morning, Kali! This is Maggie.” Her perky-sounding voice fills me with disappointment.
“Morning.”
“Can you stop by my office before you start to work?”
Unease rolls through me, though she seems so pleasant I can’t believe anything is wrong. In fact, it’s logical that I need paperwork to stay here. “Oh, yes, sure.”
A few minutes later, I walk in to HR to have the receptionist greet me with a friendly smile instead of a cold shoulder. Apparently—and uncomfortably so—I’m now a member of the Mr. Ward victim club, without even joining. I don’t like the idea, and the more I think about Natalie, the more wrong her story feels, but I plan on asking about her.
When I enter Maggie’s office, I find her in an emerald dress that complements her flaming red hair. “Hi there.” She waves me to a seat. “Get comfy.”
I settle across from her and remember the question I don’t want to forget. “Natalie. Mr. Ward’s ex-secretary,” I say, and Maggie’s face transforms into hard lines and tension.
“What about her?” she asks tightly.
“She was insistent on getting some personal things from her desk. If I find them, can I bring them to you to give to her?”
She shifts in her chair. “Please tell me she didn’t contact you.”
“No. I talked to her yesterday here in the lobby.”
Her hand goes to her chest. “Good. If she does try to talk to you, please get in touch with Terrance or me immediately. Your work space should be clean of all her belongings, but anything you might stumble upon goes to Terrance first, then to myself if he deems it appropriate.”
“To Terrance? She said she’s just missing family photos.”
Maggie purses her lips. “I can’t discuss details about Natalie with you, but she’s considered a security risk, and anything she might want to take out of the building must be cleared first.”
I remember Damion mentioning internal security threats, and the reporter in me looks for a question the HR person in Maggie will answer. I decide on a question that isn’t a question at all. “I can’t imagine getting angry enough over a job to lash out, no matter what the circumstances.”
She grimaces. “If that were the only problem. I feel bad because I hired her. Which is why my news for you is bittersweet: You, my dear, are being offered a full-time job in the PR department with benefits and a pay increase. I, in turn, have the pressure of finding Mr. Ward a truly stellar employee all over again.”
Feeling shell-shocked, I accept the letter and confirm the details. For a moment, I just stare at it. In the next, emotions ranging from anger to embarrassment to utter fury explode inside me and I push to my feet. “Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I need to take care of one small detail before I accept.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. How long—”
I turn, already exiting her office, my steps long and sure, my temper barely contained. The ride in the elevator is eternal, but I find plenty to fill the space. Damion doesn’t want to fix things for me. He wants to cover his butt and fix things for him. Well, he’s about to find out that I am not some puppy dog he can order under a table. He gave me a job. I’m not going to be one of who knows how many PR reps in a giant cubicle room. I could have had that in Texas.
By the time I exit the elevator onto the executive floor, I am two notches hotter and about to explode. Dana’s eyes light up when she sees me, but I don’t stop walking to greet her. “Is he in his office?”
“Yes,” she calls behind me.
Entering the lobby area, I find Damion’s door open and I charge right in. Terrance is seated across from him and, twisting in his chair, takes one look at me and has the sense to stand up. He murmurs something to Damion I can’t hear and then moves toward me.
“Kali,” he says, with a nod at my approach.
“What happened to ‘Ms. Miller’?”
If I intend to throw him for a loop by referencing his formality the day before, it does not work. “Apparently,” he replies, “she hasn’t had her coffee,” and smartly keeps walking, pulling the door shut behind him.
Damion arches his brow. “Problem, Ms. Miller?”
“Yes,” I say, closing the distance between us and rounding the desk. He rolls his chair around to face me, and damn him for looking like sin itself in his black suit and a pale-green tie that matches his eyes. Eyes he has focused on me, not on the letter, as I smack it down on the desk and add, “This is the problem. My transfer with the condolence raise meant to make cubicle hell survivable.”
“You’re mad about a raise?”
“You made an employee a conquest, and you’re shoving me under a rug to try to cover your own ass.” And it hurts. I hate that it hurts. I hate all the old feelings it stirs and how I can almost hear my father’s voice in my head saying horrible things to me. “You shouldn’t have wasted my time to cover your own ass.” I try to move away.
He rolls farther torward me and cages me so that I’m against the desk, his hands on either side of me. “First, you are not a conquest. Not even close. I work seventy hours a week, and the last thing on my mind is a notch on my bedpost, and the last thing I do is mix business with pleasure. I take my work too seriously for that. Second, what happened between us happened after you quit. If I was trying to make what happened between us go away, I would have let you walk away.”
He’s right. He could have let me go. “Then why d
idn’t you?”
“I told you, my gut feelings are everything. And everything inside me told me to go after you, even though logic said I was treading on dangerous ground. I still want you, Kali. I want to lick you. I want to touch you. I want to set you on the desk, rip your panties off, and fuck you. But that can’t happen when you’re my employee. And that means you being in another department is a smart move for both of us.”
Heat spreads through me at his graphic words, burning me inside out, slicking my thighs, but confusion and anger burn in me, too. He is sending confusing messages. He wants me. He can’t have me. I can’t have him. “So you are making a business decision.”
“Yes. I’m trying to give you a place where you feel your job has no relationship with me.”
“And you are not tempted to cross any more lines.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
It’s also exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “So because you still want me, I get a job, and you get to have the job you want.”
His hands go to my waist. “No. You aren’t running.”
“I am not running. Stop saying that. You don’t even know me.”
“That’s the point. I want to know you, Kali. We need to talk this through. I sincerely thought you’d be happier in the press department.”
“No, I will not be happier. You would have found that out had you asked me.”
He sighs. “You couldn’t even say the word ‘secretary’ yesterday.”
“Because I was in shock after losing my dream job. I’m over it. I’m ready to work, but I risked everything when I left Texas to get away from a bullpen-style room filled with eager reporters. I’m not going back to that. If I can’t do what I envisioned I could do, I want to be where there is opportunity and I can build a future. Where I feel like I have an identity and my skills can make a difference.”
“And you think working with me will do that?”
“Don’t you?”
His fingers flex on my hips, and for a moment his thumbs stroke back and forth. “Okay, Kali. Ms. Miller.” He rolls his chair back and his hands fall away from me. “You’re staying with me.”
Play with Me (Novella) Page 6