The traffic started chugging along, and she turned down the exit toward their offices. The big EHL Global logo sat atop the high, shimmering building. Dad’s crowning achievement. Around the time Rachael was born, he started Eller Communications. He did all the programming and legwork; Mom did all the contracts in the evenings when she returned home from the courtroom. When her sister Carlie came along, they decided to take the leap and grow, committing fully to the next wave of integrated communications, emerging technology, marketing, media, and strategic planning. Dad built it; Mom protected and expanded. Then they brought on partners Brian Henderson, CFO, and Brian Lyles, COO, collectively known as “the Brians,” who rounded out the C-suite. Henderson was a quiet financial genius and Lyles was an affable charmer who could motivate anyone to do anything, from working with purpose to taking out the trash. Thus, EHL Global was born. And the rest was business history.
The security guard waved Rachael into the parking lot. She pulled into her reserved spot and sat for a few moments, rejuvenating herself before heading up to the office. Glancing in the rearview, she brushed at her eyeliner, smudging it a bit around her bright blue eyes. Carlie might have gotten all the height, but Rachael got Mom’s elfin California blonde looks. After applying a quick touchup to her lipstick, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Big presentations leeched the energy out of her, but the results were worth the effort. She was the top sales executive for EHL, grossing more than the other sales team members combined. Not a bad achievement to hit before thirty.
Dropping her bag on the desk, Rachael slid the McAllister Corp magnet over to the pending column. This was going to move to closed. She would make it happen.
“I thought I heard you come in.”
“Mom,” she acknowledged, pulling her laptop from the leather bag.
Mary Eller smiled expectantly at the project board. “I knew it would go well.”
“It was good. The intel on Stoneworth was on point, and the three McAllisters were very open to the pitch,” Rachael confirmed.
She nodded. “I pulled in a few favors to get their backgrounds and profiles compiled in time. Next time, maybe give us a little more of a heads up?”
“Sure. But you know how it is. When the opportunity presents itself . . . irons and fire and all that.”
Her mother rolled her eyes and pointed to the desk. “Contracts for the other deals. I need you to review them and compare with the changes the clients requested. You’ll also find some additional details on rentals in the area that are dog-friendly.”
Smooth, Mom. Guess she was anxious to get rid of the dogs. Rachael was equally as eager to get her own space again. It’s not exactly a walk in the park moving in with your parents after more than five years on your own.
“Thanks.”
Her mother stood in the doorway for a moment, before adding, “Don’t let Gabe McAllister get to you too much.”
Rachael was supremely grateful she wasn’t facing her when she said that.
How did she do that? She’s like a freaking spy.
“I won’t.”
“Good. See you tonight.”
* * *
Martini licked Rachael’s nose while Olive climbed over her arm to bury her muzzle under her chin. She snapped a selfie with them for Instagram, then rolled over, hopping up onto her knees. “Okay, you two. Let’s go outside.”
They slipped into the backyard, thankful for the escape. Dad was cooking up a storm and Mom was lecturing Carlie about her boyfriend Brent, who was once again a no-show for dinner. They were going on four years together, and Carlie had recently finished grad school. “You need a little time to breathe, adjust to living together before you go pushing for a ring.”
Classic Mom. Other parents might be concerned about their twenty-three-year-old daughter living in sin. But Mom was pragmatic. Marriage equals contracts, risks. Or maybe she had other reasons. Who knew?
Considering Rachael’s longest relationship was all of six weeks, she had nothing to add there. That’s the thing with being the daughter of “The Great Charles Eller”—it was awfully hard to find a date. Carlie was lucky she met someone in college. Rachael was not wild about her sister’s choice in men, but that was her decision. The men Rachael had met in college, well, she wasn’t wild about them either. Every time she met someone with potential, it rapidly devolved into a game of twenty questions within the hour, asking about Dad’s career, technology, media holdings, connections, and openings. After enough years of that, Rachael realized relationships weren’t worth the effort. Someday she might meet someone who would change her mind, but she wasn’t going to hold her breath.
Life was infinitely better since she had decided to put her heart’s efforts into her work.
Besides, now that she had Martini and Olive in her life, every day was full of snuggles and kisses. And neither of them pressed her for introductions to her dad. Rachael ran around in the grass with the dogs chasing her. Definitely need a place with a good-sized yard, she added to her mental checklist.
“Rach! Come eat!”
Nodding at her sister, Rachael threw two tennis balls in different directions, sending the dogs off to their own playtime.
“Tell me about the McAllisters,” Carlie demanded as soon as Rachael crossed the patio door’s threshold into the kitchen. The rich scents of fajita night assailed their nostrils. Rachael’s stomach growled with hunger.
“What do you want to know?” Rachael asked, pausing by the kitchen counter, not wanting to bring this conversation into the dining room.
“Was The Playboy there?”
Laughing at her sister’s hopeful expression, Rachael teased her, “Why? Did something happen with you and Brent?”
She blushed. “No, but is he as hot as they say?”
“I guess so.”
“You guess so? He is or he isn’t.”
“I swear to God, Car, if you start talking like Yoda, this conversation is over.”
She grinned down at Rachael, her fingers curled up into claws next to her shoulders. “There is no try.”
“That is your Yoda impression? Sounds more like Kermit the Frog,” she laughed.
Carlie cracked up and they joined their parents in the dining room.
“I told him I’d meet him for lunch tomorrow,” Rachael said under her breath.
“You what?!” Carlie screeched.
Mom and Dad froze and everyone stared at her. Rachael counted to ten before continuing. “I’m meeting Gabe McAllister for lunch tomorrow.”
Dad raised a brow at Mom, and she shook her head subtly. Carlie was working her jaw, and Rachael braced herself, waiting for the fireworks.
“Rach, this guy . . . he’s got a reputation,” she stammered.
Rachael didn’t respond.
“Like, a real reputation,” Carlie emphasized.
Silently, Rachael waited.
Frustrated, Carlie grunted and waved her hands in the air. “He’s the personification of a dine and dash, Rach. Bad news.”
Dad shushed her sister. “Carlie-Q, that’s enough. We can’t always trust the stories in the tabloids, most are fabricated. But Rachael, please be careful. Some reputations are deserved.”
Mom said nothing, watching her daughter with a carefully neutral expression.
Sliding her chair in, Rachael rolled her eyes and tried to reassure them. “It’s just lunch, you guys.”
They didn’t need to know that she and Gabe had already . . . dined. And as for dashing, Rachael was coming to believe that reputation was not one hundred percent accurate. Maybe.
The conversation blissfully dropped, and Carlie and Dad started into shoptalk as they loaded up their tortillas. Rachael smiled fondly at their bent heads, probably solving complex algorithms. Those two were so much alike, both tech nerds of the highest magnitude. Mom was picking at the grilled onions and peppers on her plate, eyes repeatedly drawn toward her office, obviously itching to get back to work. Rachael could relate.
Isolation at a family dinner, she thought to herself. Rachael didn’t mind being alone. At least the food was better than the takeout she had been living on at the condo.
3
Staring at her closet, Rachael stressed over what to wear. How to dress for a lunch date with someone you’ve already been intimate with, but also knew very little about? She closed her eyes and indulged in a moment of memories from that evening. Their conversation—and the liquor—had flowed freely. When Gabe intercepted her outside the restroom and invited her to a quiet back room, she didn’t even hesitate. It was extremely out of character for her, but the pleasure was also extreme. Sighing, she resumed contemplating the wardrobe conundrum.
Settling on a cream skirt and matching silk top with a lightweight dark-red blazer, she examined her reflection. The red and cream did great things for her warm complexion and blonde hair. Working in sales, you quickly learned to identify the items that made you look stronger, more powerful, more appealing. She took stock of her shoes and snagged a tall pair of cream pumps that would allow her to get a few inches closer in height. One last look in the mirror and she adjusted her curls, smudged her eyeliner. Perfect. Her wide, blue eyes stared back and she took a deep breath, smiling to make sure she didn’t have any lipstick on her teeth. Nodding in satisfaction, Rachael finished her morning routine and went to work.
The hours crept by at the office, and she found herself re-reading the same contracts multiple times. At eleven thirty, she gave up the pretense and flipped open her web browser, snooping on the life of Gabe McAllister. By thirty-one years of age, he had accumulated a mass of horsepower, a drool-worthy collection of luxury sports cars. Gabe was also known for his love of high fashion, good drinks, and attractive women. The lengthy list of models and A-listers he had been associated with was more than a little intimidating. Almost as an afterthought, a singular listing referenced his work for his dad’s company, excelling in business acquisitions and product expansion. At least they had that last part in common, working for the family business. Though her work was more than an afterthought.
“Knock, knock,” said a deep voice. Rachael jumped and quickly closed her laptop. Gabe stood in the doorway, lounging against the frame.
“Hi,” she chirped, startled.
“Hope you don’t mind, but that nice young woman out front agreed that I could surprise you,” he said, blinking his cool-blue eyes.
I’ll bet she did.
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to her office.
“Sure. Come in.” She gave her most polite smile. Perhaps she could pretend this was nothing more than a business meeting. No problem. Drawing on her years of salesmanship and managing people and opportunities, Rachael blanked her expression and put on her big-girl panties.
He remained standing, trailing his palm along the back of the chair across from her. Rachael watched those long fingers slide back and forth. Fascinated, she recalled what else Gabe could do with those fingers. And about those panties . . .
Stop it, Rachael!
She tore her eyes from his hands and let her gaze travel to his face. His long, dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and his smile was downright scandalous. Gabe knew exactly what he was doing. And he did it well.
Giving herself a mental shake, Rachael rose and collected her purse. “Shall we?”
He looked her up and down, male appreciation lighting his face. He nodded and stepped back. “After you.”
They walked to the elevator and Rachael tried to ignore the stares coming from the neighboring offices and cubicles. She also tried to ignore the nervous energy coursing through her. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Any trouble finding us?”
He chuckled, the rich sound tickling her insides. “No. Anyone around here knows how to find the EHL building.”
Mental facepalm. Of course. They waited for the elevator and Rachael was reminded of just how large he was. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. In heels. Thank God she wore the heels.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said cryptically.
On the ground floor, he waved to the receptionist, who was literally drooling at the sight of him. Tempted to hand the woman a tissue, Rachael stalked past her, annoyed that she went completely unseen as they exited into the sunshine.
“Here we are,” he said, opening the door of a sleek black Audi. Sliding into the creamy leather seat, she examined the interior. Pure elegant luxury.
“Nice car.”
“Thanks. She’s one of my favorites.”
She. Why do men always call their cars “she” and give them female names? Rachael smirked as she debated what he named this car. Lolita? Marilyn? The engine purred as they pulled into the street. Rachael glanced at his profile, but he didn’t look her way. Turning her attention to the passing city blocks, she reevaluated the decision to meet for lunch. Admittedly, he was dreamy to look at and he was unquestionably deserving of his reputation with women. Was she interested in him romantically? Stealing another peek at him from the corner of her eye, Rachael measured his appeal. Sex? Yes. Emotional connection? She couldn’t see that happening. She sighed and reminded herself of the contract.
They stopped outside a swanky sushi bar. She hadn’t been there yet but had heard good things about it. Not a total loss of a lunch meeting.
“Ah, Mr. McAllister, welcome back,” the host groveled. He not-so-discreetly looked her up and down before turning back to Gabe. “Table for two? The usual?”
Rachael’s pride pushed her eyebrows sky-high, but she refrained from commenting.
Gabe nodded and they were shown to a curved booth in the back of the restaurant. The tabletop was a high-gloss white, unmarked by scars or stains. The black floors, black booths, and other black accents made the white that much more jarring. It created the illusion that the tables were floating in space. No other diners were nearby, at least none she could see.
The waiter delivered a bottle of wine and Gabe poured generous portions.
Guess it’s going to be that kind of lunch.
“Tell me more about you, Rachael,” he said, picking up his glass by the stem, watching her with a lazy, half-lidded gaze.
“What do you want to know?”
“What do you do outside of work?”
She took a sip of the aromatic wine. “My work is pretty all-consuming. I adopted two dogs not long ago, so they occupy much of my time of late.”
“What else?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m close with my family, especially my sister, Carlie, and our friend Kim. And when they’re not tied up with their kids or work stuff, I enjoy an occasional night out with some of my girlfriends.”
Gabe cringed. “Everyone seems to be popping out kids left and right these days.”
Unimpressed by his reaction, she turned the tables. “And you?”
“I don’t have kids,” he said, displaying a charming half-smile and teasing a laugh from her.
“What do you do outside of work?”
He considered the question and took a drink of his wine. “I enjoy life.”
“What does that mean?”
He set down his glass and picked up her hand, turning it over in his own. He trailed a fingertip along her palm and she suppressed an echoing shiver. “I mean I enjoy the touch of life.” Gabe lifted her hand to his face and inhaled. “The smell of life.” He pressed his mouth to her hand and traced his tongue along the faint lines there. “The taste of life.”
Rachael picked up her glass and took a fortifying drink.
Contract, contract, contract . . .
He smiled seductively and released her hand. “You like sushi?”
Another rapid change, but she went with it. “Sushi? Sure.”
They picked their way through lunch, enjoying a variety of fresh rolls on beautiful geometric plates, also glowingly white. She nursed her wine, attempting to keep her thoughts clear.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
&nb
sp; The question came out of nowhere. Puzzled, Rachael put down her chopsticks. His gaze was steady and intent.
“Am I afraid of you?”
He nodded.
That’s absurd. “I don’t think so. Should I be?”
He hummed. “No. But you seem to withdraw every time I ask you a personal question.”
“Do I?” She was puzzled by this observation.
He nodded again. “You have been slowly inching away from me.”
“Have I?”
He reached across her lap, hooking a hand around her hip to slide her closer to his side.
“Enough that I worry that if I try to do this,” he placed a soft kiss on her lips, “you might push me away.”
Rachael stared, baffled at this . . . this . . . game. She recalled how much more relaxed and conversational he had been that night at the bar. He was charming and seductive, but also unfailingly polite, respectful, and direct. This college-boy behavior was a whole different Gabe.
“I’m not afraid of you, Gabe,” she glared, placing her palms flat on the white tabletop. “But I don’t trust you. Why are you here? With me? And please, drop the pathetic schmoozing act.”
He blinked, sitting upright.
“For God’s sake,” she continued. “If you had behaved this way the last time we met, there’s not a chance in hell we would have continued beyond the first line. What do you want? Why are we here?”
Animal Attraction Page 2
