by Piper Rayne
“Well, good morning, to you too,” I greet Patty and swipe my card through the security pad. Patty follows my lead, and we both enter the building. “Did they say what it was about?”
“Nope.” She tugs at my arm with a note of excitement. “But I heard we just landed a big client, and they’re assembling a dedicated multi-disciplinary team, so I bet it’s about that.”
“How do you always hear these things?” I glare at Patty in awe as I let her pull me to the lounge where a crowd of about fifty employees from all divisions of Z Luxury Living, are gathered around the already standing office Christmas tree, muttering in low voices.
We’re part of Hammond Zane’s real-estate empire, specifically the subsidiary in charge of designing and building luxury housing with all the A-list utilities and A-list security the rich and famous demand. We’ve only been around about five years, and we’re doing pretty well, though we have yet to breach the Hollywood market, which is one of the company’s primary goals.
Patty and I are part of the architectural division, the people who design the buildings and complexes. Declan heads the security division, which oversees planning security specs based on our blueprints and client demands.
We also have zoning, infrastructure, utilities, landscaping, and interior design.
Usually, when a new project rolls in, each division head assigns it to whoever has availability. We then hold a meeting once a week to get our proverbial ducks in a row with the other divisions, ensuring each step works with the one before and will work with the one after.
Other than that, we pretty much stick to our divisions.
This is why a multi-disciplinary team is such a big deal. It means they’re pulling us from our division and all our other work to focus solely on this one project.
A designated task force. How 007.
My heart does a little skip at the thought of being chosen. The chances are slim since I’ve been with the firm for just under a year, but if I shine on a project of this scale, I’ll have a chance at a promotion. Maybe even get to head another team like this one in the future.
I’m momentarily distracted from my career goals by Declan’s head bobbing in front of the audience. I’d hardly say I’m short, what with my five-feet-six plus six-inch heels, but he definitely stands out in a crowd with his over six-feet-two height.
“Good morning, everyone.” The cool voice of Grace Perkins, VP of HR, snaps me out of my daydreaming about how it would feel to be snug against Declan’s large body. “I apologize for the sudden convention, but we have some big news.”
“Oh, this is so exciting,” Patty whispers next to me as she quietly claps her hands.
“We have just landed a project with Carmine Capello,” Grace continues, smiling as cheers erupt from the crowd.
Carmine Capello is a reality show winning interior designer with high-end clients from coast to coast. Working with him will not only solidify our A-list branding but will also open doors to the big-screen clients.
“Very exciting indeed,” Grace beams before going on. “Mr. Capello has bought an empty lot down on Bleeker Street. He plans on building a luxury complex and has requested a dedicated team of our best from each division. As this is a passion project, he wants to assure the people working on it understand his vision.”
“Sounds like a high maintenance gig.” Patty scrunches her nose. “I hope they don’t pick me; I’m already raising three kids.”
I stifle a snort.
“Well, I don’t even own a cat, so I’m up for it,” I reply with a wink, and Patty crosses her fingers on both hands as we both return our attention to Grace.
“This opportunity was made possible by the relentless work and dedication of our very own Declan Moretti.” The room bursts into hollers, but I’m standing frozen, torn between wanting a spot on the team, and wanting Declan.
“Mr. Capello requested Declan take the lead, and after long consideration and meetings with division heads, Declan has handpicked one person from each division he thinks would be most suitable to complete the team.”
A hush falls over the rest of us as Grace calls Declan up to the front to stand by her. “Thank you, everyone,” Declan begins in his deep voice, and a smile that seems almost embarrassed stretches over his handsome face, softening the hard lines of his clean-shaven square jaw. “This is a big opportunity for this company. I’ve looked through all of your portfolios to choose those who best reflect Carmine’s vision for this building. I’m confident this project will be a huge success.”
I zone out as Declan commences to list the people from the different divisions joining the team, imagining that masculine voice whispering dirty things in my ear.
Yeah, I definitely want Declan more than I want the job.
Then I hear my name carry on that dreamy voice, and not in the sensual tone I was hoping for, but in an all-business intonation.
“And last but definitely not least, Eloise Bloom, from architectural.”
No way this is happening to me.
“Yay, Elle!” Patty bounces beside me, completely oblivious to the terrible turn the on-the-desk-office-sex-with-Declan fantasy I was immersed in just took.
“Also, due to exceptional recommendations and work ethic, I’ve chosen Eloise as my right hand for this project,” Declan informs the room, smiling at me with a hint of warmth. “Please, join us.”
Well, FML.
2
Declan
Eloise Bloom shakes off the shock and plasters on a big smile, nodding at all the congratulating faces as she makes her way to the front of the lounge. I move to the side, signaling her to stand next to me, so everyone is clear about her position as my number two.
There’s no denying she’s attractive, legs that go on for miles stretch elegantly from under her dark-purple wrap dress, hugging the curve of her narrow waist. Eloise’s dark blue eyes sparkle, and even with that fake smile, her bow-shaped lips are utterly kissable.
Her sandy-blonde curls are twisted into a messy bun that doesn’t quite manage to contain the unruly mass. Strands of hair bounce around her heart-shaped face as she approaches, and my fingers itch to reach out and gently sweep them back when she comes to a standstill at my side.
Not that I ever would; I worked hard to get to where I am today.
Joining the boys in blue after getting my degree as an electrician, I was trained in the bomb squad. Then I followed my SWAT team leader when he opened a private security company with his brothers, and busted my ass with their clients, climbing the ranks as much as I could considering Peak Securities is a family-owned business.
I met Hammond Zane while designing a system for one of his buildings, and he offered me a position with Z Luxury Living, his newest endeavor in Los Angeles, as the head of the security division.
My plan is to keep climbing the corporate ranks in his conglomerate. This project with Carmine is a steppingstone to VP at Z Luxury Living, and I have my sights set on CEO one day.
So, as a lifelong rule of self-preservation, I don’t screw around in the workplace, not even with women like Eloise, who looks like a goddess and smells like freshly baked pastry.
The deity of baked goods. I wonder if that’s a thing.
Pastry scent aside, my conviction is so high on that point, that she was the first choice I made for my team before I even looked at her resume. She’s always in the office bright and early, and I’ve heard her name said in awe not only in connection to her professionalism but also concerning her interpersonal skills.
The few words I’ve exchanged with her since she joined the company last year have always been pleasant. Something about Eloise makes you feel at ease, which is never a bad asset, especially with a client who is as big a handful as Carmine.
We grew up together, Carmine and me, and as Grace so insightfully pointed out, he’s all about the personal connection. That being said, he won’t cut me any slack because we used to play Guardie e Lardi when we were ten back on 84th Street.
And, as I’ve already observed, Eloise is a unique form of beauty.
It takes about ten more minutes of Grace rambling about what a great opportunity this is for the company, all during which Eloise stands next to me fidgeting with the strings that tie her dress at her waist until someone loses patience and cracks open the champagne in the middle of Grace using the word glorious for the umpteenth time in one sentence.
I use the distraction to slip out of the lounge and head back to my office. I think I’ve earned an early weekend.
“Mr. Moretti?” A soft voice stops me at the door, and I turn, smiling when I face Eloise. How can I not, when she’s looking up at me with big blue eyes full of wonder, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as a blush spreads over her cheeks.
“You can still call me Declan, you know.”
“Right. I wasn’t sure.” A small smile plays on her full lips at my words, and it may be the best thing that happened to me today, making her smile like that.
“I’d go so far as Dec, to be honest.” I’m suddenly closer to her. When did that happen? Did I step forward, or did Eloise? “Since we are going to be working rather closely. No need for unnecessary formalities.”
It was me; I was at the door, and now I’m not.
“I guess you should start calling me Elle, then.” Her smile broadens, and there’s a hint of a tease in there. “I wanted to thank you for the opportunity, this is a career-maker.”
“You earned it fair and square,” I assure her, reminding myself of my iron rule. “Every person I talked to mentioned you first, before their own people even. Seems you’ve left quite the impression in the short time you’ve been with us, Elle.”
Oh, I like the way that rolls off my tongue. Elle, Ellllllllllle.
“I’m glad to hear that, Dec.” She uses my nickname with such ease, almost as if it’s the only name she’s ever called me. “What’s going to happen to your division if you’re dedicated to this project?”
“Nothing. I’m doing both,” I explain. “I trust my people to do a good job without me breathing down their neck, and the reason I even chose a right hand for this project was to have another decision-maker in case security demands my full attention.”
“Makes sense.” Elle nods in thought, before turning a bright smile to me. “I’ll let you sneak out in peace now.”
“Or…” No, don’t do it. “You can sneak out with me for breakfast on the beach, so we can get to know each other better.” Aaaand, you just went and did it anyway. Moron.
“Oh, okay,” she replies as a reddish hue spreads up her neck to her cheeks.
“For work, of course,” I hurry to clarify, realizing, in hindsight, how suggestive that sounded. “I was planning on having one-on-ones with all the team members. Might as well start with you.”
Smooth, Declan, real smooth.
“Of course.”
“I’ll meet you outside in ten.”
After reaching my navy blue 1996 Pontiac Firebird Formula, I toss my jacket in the back seat and roll up my sleeves.
It’s warmed since an hour ago, and the scorching sun is high in the sky. I spent most of my adult life in the mid-west, and, somehow, even after five years, I haven’t gotten used to the LA weather.
“I’ve always wondered if you have any tattoos.” Elle’s soft voice carries from the bottom of the stairs. She’s standing there, big white sunglasses covering her eyes and that same teasing smile decorating her lips.
Stop with the warm and fuzzies, Declan! So what if she wondered? Big deal. Only, despite my best efforts to stop the giddiness, it’s there, and it doesn’t seem to want to budge.
“Yeah.” I lift my arm to examine the intricate black and red geometric pattern covering my entire left arm, hoping Eloise didn’t catch the joy radiating off me at her statement.
“Do they have a special meaning, or just decorative?” Elle wonders aloud, keeping a safe distance as she takes a closer look at my ink.
“Had it done when I made the bomb squad. There’s a tiger on my shoulder, where the pattern ends. It was to remind me of the importance of cold, logical thinking, but also of trusting my instincts when needed.”
“That’s really special, Dec.” Elle’s smile is bright, and I can’t stop the upward tug of my lips.
“Do you have any?” I ask, opening the passenger side door for her.
“I do.” Elle’s smile turns mischievous, and she gazes at me over the rim of her designer shades with a gleam in her eyes that could spell danger if I don't tread carefully. “I can’t expose it in public, though.”
Yes, definitely trouble.
“Oh, well.” I shrug with a grin, fighting my natural inclination to flirt. Elle raises an eyebrow in what seems to be skepticism but buckles herself in without saying a word.
Please let her be boring, or vapid, or even something small like ordering a salad when it’s obvious she wants a burger. Anything!
Of course, Elle is funny and smart, and I find myself spending the entire morning hanging on her every word while she digs into her steak and egg breakfast with an extra side of cheese fries.
Time to rip off that band-aid, cut it in the nub, kill it while it’s small.
“So, I want to clarify something since we’re going to work side by side for the foreseeable future,” I begin, pausing to take a sip of water.
“You have a strict no dating coworkers policy. I assume that applies tenfold for someone working under you.” She says it for me with a smile, and though part of my brain lingers on the Elle being ‘under me’ part, I force a sharp nod.
“Glad we’re on the same page, Elle.”
“This is the kind of opportunity a girl doesn’t waste for a bit of nookie with a boy.” Elle signals for the check. “I know the company doesn’t prohibit office romance, but I won’t risk the potential fruits of working on this project. Not even for you, Declan Moretti.”
She says it with a wink, but something about her smile makes me wonder if that joke wasn’t hiding a smidgen of truth in it.
Every joke does, though, doesn’t it?
“That’s good to hear, and I want you to know I will never do anything to compromise your very bright future,” I guarantee as I pull out my credit card and pay. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your car.”
3
Eloise
The sound of my front door opening vaguely registers through the muttered swears and bubbling jam in the pot.
“Oh, baby. You anger baking,” Connor observes as he walks into the kitchen, inspecting me as I mix my jam with a vengeance.
He’s all spruced up with skinny black jeans adorned in red trimmings and an equally tight evergreen t-shirt that brings out the brown of his chocolate eyes. The man is infuriatingly attractive, what with his strong jaw, smoldering eyes, and ripped physique. Even the color of his skin is like chocolate. He’s entirely yummy and absolutely gay.
We dated for about five minutes before Connor came to terms with his sexuality, and we’ve been best friends ever since.
“Did that fucker Declan refuse you?”
“Worse. I didn’t ask him, and now I never will.” I almost break the knob when turning off the stove.
“Why? Was he making out with that ugly-ass hoe from accounting?”
“What? No.” I frown, trying to remember which drunk night those words were issued. “He was promoted. As of Monday, he’s my direct supervisor.”
“Oh, so you can still fuck him between now and Monday.”
“No, I can’t.” I angrily ladle the hot jam into two large jars so it can cool down, plus a couple of small ones to hand out, getting purple goo all over my counter in the process. “Dec has this ‘no dating coworkers’ ru
le, which I figured he’d be willing to forgo for all of this—” I indicate my jam covered oversized T and yoga pants “—when I was in a different division. But as my boss? Nooooooo.” I shake my head as I attempt to clean the mess I made. “That line, he will never cross.”
“That’s just stupid.” Connor scowls, leaning his hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“The worst part?” I sigh and mimic his position. “He took me out for a professional get-to-know-you breakfast that was anything but. We sat for hours, Con, laughing, and talking. It would have been a perfect first date, you know?”
“I’m sorry, boo.” Connor pats me on the shoulder, and I raise an eyebrow. “I am not hugging you until you change.”
“Some best friend you are,” I grumble as I stalk to my room.
“I’m cleaning up your sticky anger induced mess, so shut up and go shower.”
Rinsing myself off, I head straight for the pajama pile in my closet, only to find Connor standing with a dark green bodycon dress in one hand and strappy red stilettos in the other.
“Don’t give me that look,” Connor scolds me. “We are going out.”
“In matching outfits?”
“Yes,” he deadpans. “It’s a pre-pre-Christmas themed party. You have thirty minutes, then I'm throwing you over my shoulder no matter what you look like."
“Can I at least get that hug first?” I pout and hold my arms open wide.
“You’re so adorable when you do that,” Connor fawns and steps into my waiting embrace, squishing me and lifting me off the floor. “Try that on Declan, he won’t be able to resist.”
“Very funny, Con,” I huff with a smile. “Now get out of here. I’ll be ready in thirty.”
