by Rosie Miller
Chapter One
If he looked at her again, she was going to poke him in the eye, or throw her coffee (decaffeinated, obviously) at him, or strangle him with his own ratty little scarf.
He looked at her again.
She felt her fingers tense around the sharp pencil in her hand, imagined his squeal of pain and disbelief. Then she took a deep breath and restrained herself. She was going to play nice, however much she didn’t want to.
“Cookie?” Colin asked her, winking, like he was offering her something much more interesting.
She shook her head, not trusting her voice to come out cool and calm, rather than irritated to the point of anger. It wasn’t hard to say no. She’d tasted one before. It was like dust and crumbs baked hard and stale with no sugar—no taste—no nothing.
“Have one.” He held the plate out towards her—his wet brown eyes fixing on her like a spaniel.
“No, really. I’m watching my weight.” She knew this would be an acceptable excuse. Everyone was watching their weight.
But she’d forgotten she was in their world now.
“You need a bit of meat on your bones—a bit of flesh on your hips.” He licked his lips, staring at her body for just a moment too long.
“No, thanks.” She smiled tightly and put her head down.
“Go on, you know you want to.”
She fixed him with a direct stare. “I really don’t.”
Finally, he looked away. “Okay, okay. Hey—I was just trying to share.”
She could feel his accusing eyes boring into her, but she refused to look up or acknowledge his comment. She sighed, trying not to feel so guilty. It wasn’t his fault, she knew that. She was being a bitch to him—she knew that too. She just couldn’t help herself. It was this place—it just wasn’t her.
How had she ended up here? Working for Colin and his motley bunch, all determined to save the world one blade of grass at a time? But she knew how—through lust, greed and sheer bloody-minded idiocy. And if she was ever going to get back to where she belonged—a world where women felt naked without lipstick—then she had to put up with this.
“Think of it like the Peace Corps,” said Bethany, her friend and adviser in her time of trouble. “The big companies won’t touch you—not now—not until another scandal comes along and makes everyone forget. In the meantime, you need a good reason to disappear—one that will help you. You can’t just go back home and work for some nobodies. You need somewhere that’ll be glad to have you—that won’t ask too many questions—and that’s right out of the loop. You have to find a charity, a good cause. You can say you needed to satisfy your conscience and give something back.”
So here she was, working for a quarter of what she used to earn. Doing legal work for a national charity sounded good on paper and that was what she needed. But in reality, the office was run more like a drop-in center and she could do the work with her eyes closed.
No wonder they snapped her up. She had great qualifications and impressive experience. They bought her ‘I felt I needed to do something for the world’ spiel with no questions asked. Perhaps for them it was normal to feel like that.
This time two months ago… She let her thoughts wander, remembering the feel of the silk underwear, her heels higher than high—ridiculous really even for her office where catwalk was the only way to walk. But she was good at it. And he’d noticed her straight away. He was the big client. It was her job to wine and dine him, to make sure her company got his business. And she did, and more.
In fact, she’d been so keen to get the contract—and then so sure that he was The One—that she’d done things she never should have done—in places she never should have done them. She smiled at the memory, pressing her thighs together as she felt a flicker of desire.
But any little flame of need was quickly blown out as Colin started talking again. They should employ him in convents she thought. Just one look at him would keep everyone’s thoughts good and pure.
Colin was talking again—darting little looks at her—giving her those coy little smiles—showing off his crooked teeth. Colin ‘didn’t believe’ in dental work.
And he was still talking—something about his borage coming up? What was that? Some kind of allergy? A skin disease?
“And it’s lovely on pasta—with my big fat juicy cherry tomatoes.”
She tried to ignore the wave of nausea that passed through her.
“So do you want to come over?”
Her head jerked up. He was still talking. “What? Where?”
“To my place. Tonight. To see my herb garden. And taste my wares.” He flashed his teeth at her again.
She knew he was being suggestive, and it was repulsive. “Sorry. I can’t… prior commitment.”
“Tomorrow?” he said.
He really wasn’t getting the message. She shook her head. “No, busy again.” Surely he saw it now—it was the conversational equivalent of a big NO in letters three feet high. He couldn’t miss it.
“Soon then. I won’t give up.”
Persistence would be appealing on someone who was sexy, but on him it was just tiresome.
She got stuck into her work. She was looking through the legal background to an arrangement which let a company drain waste into a river. The company said the waste was harmless effluent but a group of protesters and ecologists claimed it was full of damaging toxins, destroying the river and its ecosystems. She lost herself in the small print of the endless reports—willing time to pass—willing it to be time to leave.
Finally—it was the end of the day. She was on her best behavior of course, and that meant never being the first one to leave the office. But even so—no matter what she did—her brain went into an automatic shutdown at 5 o’clock. Anything after that was just pencil chewing and reviewing her wardrobe for the night out ahead, or her kitchen cupboards and the TV guide for a night in.
Ten after five. She surreptitiously started checking she had all her things together, ready for a quick exit. A visit to the ladies’ room was in order, to check her hair and make-up, and waste a bit more time. She stood up slowly and stretched—then was uncomfortably aware of Colin’s eyes on her. She pretended not to notice and stepped away from her desk.
He was right behind her.
“Oh,” he was saying, “By the way—hang on a minute.”
“Can’t stop,” she smiled, picking up her pace. “Call of nature.” If nature was involved, she’d surely be forgiven. And even he wouldn’t follow her into the ladies’ room.
She closed the door behind her, then heard a soft knocking on it. Even here! The man wouldn’t let up.
“Justine,” he called, “Justine.”
She ignored him, checking herself out in the mirror. He could wait.
She ignored him some more, and took her time. Her hair was a disaster. It was long, brown with golden highlights and tended to the curly unkempt look if given half a chance. Normally she kept it well-tamed in a tight chignon or pinned it into an up-do, but that took a lot of product to hold it in place and keep it smooth. And they didn’t approve of hairspray or product here. In fact, on her first day here—when she hadn’t known—she thought she was going to be thrown out of the building. A woman from admin had literally sniffed her hair and pronounced it full of some unnamable chemical—which had drawn gasps of horror from the room. She might as well have walked in wearing a hat made out of kittens’ tails or an endangered orchid as a corsage. So ever since her hair had languished in a loose tie back, curly, all over the place and not her at all.
But she wasn’t giving up her make-up. She had lied brazenly and said that all her products were from the natural shop when of course they weren’t. But they wouldn’
t know. So she still had her lipstick, powder and mascara, which was more than most of the women here bothered with. So—no lipstick in the day-time but just a little bit now—just for going home in—just to feel a bit more like herself.
He knocked again. “Justine, Justine.”
She felt her temper rise. He was really getting to her.
Could she not have one moment to herself? She just had to put him in his place.
She gathered her things, put her bag over her shoulder and burst out of the room. She slammed the door back as hard as she could, hoping to “accidentally’ hit him.
“What?” she demanded as she strode out, hoping to hear a squeal of pain. “For god’s sake! Can’t I even visit the can without you following me?”
And she came face to face with a man she’d never seen before. She looked away quickly, seeking Colin, so she could vent more anger on him, but was left with the impression of curiously pale eyes gazing at her.
“Is she always this feisty?” said the man, his voice slow and deep, a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“Er–yes—I mean no.” Colin did look a bit shaken. He had avoided the door, leaping back just in time. He held his hands up at her in a gesture of pacification. “Look, sorry, I didn’t mean to hassle you, but I forgot to tell you, your appointment is here.”
“I don’t have any appointments now,” she snapped, deliberately avoiding looking at this man, the cause of the problem, whoever he was.
“Oh yes, I forgot to tell you that too.” At least Colin had the grace to look embarrassed. “He rang this morning and said it was urgent. He said he needed our best person. I suggested you.” Colin looked a bit doubtful now.
Angry and flattered at the same time was not an easy combination to handle, and with a stranger watching the show it felt even more awkward.
“Okay,” she said, grudgingly. “I suppose it’s all right. But really –boundaries.” She gestured to the toilets with her eyes.
He nodded then turned to the man. “Some people are a bit uptight about that. We’re usually a bit more chilled about natural functions.”
And there she was—straight back to hating him again. Suddenly it was her problem that she didn’t like being followed into the toilet.
It was time to take control. She turned to face the man.
“I’m Justine,” she introduced herself. Admittedly she was usually rather more charming when she met clients. Selling yourself to them was usually most of the deal. Once they believed in you, the rest was easy. And she was aware that she might—just possibly—not have made the absolutely best first impression here. Unless he was impressed by angry, snappish and potentially violent women—in which case she had scored big.
“Jackson.” He held out his hand, and she shook it.
It felt large and rough to the touch like a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. She assessed him. Tall, hair slightly too long, swept back from his face, a decent suit. He certainly didn’t look like one of Colin’s crowd. But even in a suit he didn’t seem like an office guy. More of a working man, a forester or wealthy farmer perhaps, dressed up for city trip?
She looked at his face again. He needed a shave.
Then she caught his eye. He had a half-smile at the corners of his mouth. He knew she was checking him out.
“I’ll leave you guys to it,” said Colin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left the office.
Her stomach did a little lurch of pleasure at being alone with this new man. But she ignored it and focused instead on feeding her irritation with Colin. Great—a late appointment that he had scheduled and he couldn’t even be bothered to hang around. It was possibly the first time that she hadn’t been 100% delighted to see him leave the office.
But on the other hand now she was almost alone with the only attractive man she had seen in this office since—well—ever!
Don’t be stupid, she chided herself, that’s what got you into this mess in the first place.
“Come into my office. Let’s make a start.” She would be utterly professional cool, calm, collected. She wouldn’t flirt or come on to him or do any of the things that had landed her in so much trouble before. Although it had been fun for a while, it had all gone wrong in the end, and she’d lost him, and her job. And now she had to live in her own personal purgatory—stuck with Colin every day.
She flicked her monitor back into life, aware of the man’s eyes on her. He was watching her, taking everything in.
She pulled up the New Client file and crossed her legs. She wished she had her heels on instead of these flats that really did nothing for her—she wished her hair was smooth and sleek—she wished she had her perfume and her proper red lipstick on instead of this peachy color. But what did it matter? She wasn’t flirting—she was just doing her job.
“So, Jackson, what brings you here?”
“Well, ma’am, I need your help.” He looked at her, his hands upturned, his large frame looking somehow too big for the room.
She smiled. “That’s what I’m here for. Tell me about it and I’ll see if it’s something we can help you with.”
“Back home, there’s this patch of land. It belongs to us, to the families thereabouts. But the state is saying they’re going to purchase it, even if we don’t agree to sell it. They want to put up a new damn. But all our land will be flooded.”
She typed while he talked, getting down all the key facts. This kind of compulsory purchase to secure a water supply wasn’t unusual. The cities demanded more and more fresh water, and it had to come from somewhere.
His voice was slow, deep and with a country accent she found quite appealing. She watched his mouth as he spoke. He had strong white even teeth. She glanced at his eyes—that strange light shade of green. She still couldn’t pin him down—who was he? Was he married? No wedding ring, but—as she knew to her cost—that didn’t mean anything.
“Have I talked too much?” he asked.
She realized she’d stopped typing and had just been staring at him. “No, no,” she smiled. “I was just thinking what an interesting case this is. I’m sure we can do a lot for you. But I think I’ve got all the details I need for now.” She paused, aware that there were none of the usual office sounds around her. She checked her watch. It was after six.
“I know it’s late, ma’am, and I’m sorry for keeping you.”
“It’s fine, really.” Sadly, this was the closest she’d had to a date for two months and she wasn’t going to complain. “Look, let me do some research, look up the State files, and then we should meet up again.” She checked his details on her file. “So I can reach you on this number?”
“That’s my cell,” he said, nodding.
“Do you have a work number?” She didn’t really need it but she was curious. Where did he work? What did he do?
“No, you can only reach me on my cell.”
“So what do you for a living?” she asked casually.
“It’s difficult to describe – issue management, damage control, security.”
“And your home number?”
“Same as the cell. That’s the only one I have.” He smiled at her again.
“Do you live in the city?” She tried to sound casual again, keeping her eyes on her file. She hoped he’d think she needed the details for the case, or that she was just making small talk. She certainly didn’t want him to think she was scoping him out and trying to place him. More importantly, she was trying to find out if he was the man equivalent of the Holy Grail—single, straight and in a decent job.
He nodded. “Sometimes. I have a place I stay.”
He wasn’t giving anything away.
But she didn’t give up easily. “I can call you anytime? I don’t want to disturb your family or wake the children.”
“No children. You can phone any time you like.”
Well, that was good, but not as good as if he said he lived alone. Not that it mattered. It was just professional curiosity.
She update
d the file and closed her computer down. “I think I’m done for the day,” she said. She pulled the papers out of the printer and stood to put them in her folder. One floated away and they both reached down at the same time to pick it up. Their heads brushed and their fingers touched.
As she felt his warm skin on hers she remembered the first time Alistair had touched her. They had been in the elevator and she was flirting outrageously as usual. She had been leaning forward with her hand on his forearm, laughing at something he’d said and making sure he got a view right down her loosely buttoned blouse.
The doors had closed, and he’d reached out and taken her hand and pressed it hard against the front of his elegant trousers. She’d gasped in shock, pulling her hand away. The laughter died in her throat, but he’d tightened his fingers round her wrist and pulled her hand harder against him.
“Alistair! Really!” she’d exclaimed. “Let me go!” But he held her hand tight and rubbed her fingers over his stiffening length. He’d smiled at her. “I know you want it,” he said and only released her hand as the elevator doors slid open.
They’d walked down the corridor in silence. She just didn’t quite know what to say. Then he asked her out for dinner. ”But only on the condition that you don’t utter a single word to do with work. This is a date,” he’d said firmly.
She’d agreed immediately, without thinking about the consequences.
“I’ll pick you up at eight. Wear something sexy.”
And she had – new silky underwear, with a thread-thin thong and a barely-there bra, and a short slinky dress with such a low back that the top of her butt cheeks were almost showing.
“I’m sorry,” Jackson said, handing her the piece of a paper. “You must be tired.”
She realized she had been just gazing into space, dreaming about that idiot Alistair when she had this handsome man right in front of her. Talk about taking your eye off the ball. “No, no, I’m fine.”
He stood up and she was aware of his height and how close she was to him in this little room—and that no one else was around. She felt a lurch of excitement. She looked up at him, and he looked down at her. Their eyes locked and she felt a spark—that unspoken something between them crackling in the air.
