Change in Strategy: An Office Romance (Change of Hearts Book 2)

by Sierra Hill

Hearing from my mom hasn’t always elicited the most warm and fuzzy feelings. In the past, when she was off-the-wagon, there were usually only two reasons why she called me. The first was that she was just drunk and needed someone to yell at. Whenever she was wasted, something inside her mind triggered an intense dislike for me. As if the very idea that she had a daughter who was in the world breathing the same air she did would send her into a fit of rage.

  And then there were the messages from my mommy dearest indicating she was in trouble. This would happen anytime my stepdad was drunk and on a rampage, kicking the shit out of my mom. It was during these horrific episodes that she would reach out to the one and only family member that had ever been there for her – me. It didn’t matter that half the time she found me to be a nuisance and a pain in her ass, I was her only lifeline when she needed help.

  And as the dutiful daughter, I was always there for her, helping her to pick up the pieces.

  But not this time. This time is mine. I’m as far away from that drama as I can be and I’m soaking in all that this trip has to offer. Ignoring the voicemail, telling myself I’ll get to it later when I’m in my room, I lift my head at the same moment Brody turns to me, handing me a card key for my hotel room.

  “We’re right next to one another. I hope that’s okay.”

  I swallow thickly and nod. “Of course. And whatever you need in preparation for your speech, just let me know. I can print out extra copies, get you coffee, whatever you need.”

  “Massage my earlobes?”

  I stare at him stupefied as if I’ve misheard him. Scrunching my brows together, I ask, “What now?”

  He deadpans. “It calms my nerves when someone massages my earlobes.”

  We head toward the bank of elevators as I’m overwhelmed by the fanciness of the atmosphere, but still confused as to whether Brody is serious or not.

  “I…um, well, I suppose.”

  A laugh the size of Manhattan comes bursting from Brody’s chest, confirming what I had thought to begin with. That he was messing with me.

  “Sorry, that was mean. But still a little funny.”

  If Kyler or Brooklyn had punked me like that, I would flip them the bird, but since he is my boss, I give him the golf clap and a ‘hardee-har-har’ to which he snickers and gives me a crooked grin. It beats his silent treatment and I smile back.

  As we make our way toward the hall, a group of people catches Brody’s attention, a female voice calling over to him.

  “Brody Jensen! Is that you? Come over and say hello, darling.”

  I stop in my tracks, my head snapping in the direction of the group huddled together, looking fabulously posh in their designer clothes, with matching accessories and handbags, and shoes that cost a fortune. There are three women and two men, one woman in particular stepping out from around one of the others and moving gracefully toward Brody, waving a graceful hand in the air at him on her approach.

  I hear him mumble a curse. “Fuck.”

  His harsh curse has me blanching, only because I’ve never heard him use bad language before. But then again, we’re usually in meetings together where he’s always respectful and courteous to his team of employees.

  Brody glances at me and his mouth tilts in a tight, almost pained smile. I think I was happier when I had a root canal then he seems right now.

  “You’re welcome to head up to the room if you want. This shouldn’t take long.”

  I’m stuck not knowing what to do – whether I should go and allow him privacy or stick around in the event he needs an excuse to leave. I tip my head toward a chair in the lobby.

  “I can wait over there for you. It’s okay.”

  He grants me a grateful smile, but I don’t have a chance to analyze it as he’s suddenly wrapped up in the arms of a tall, slender woman.

  I take a few steps to the outer edge of the nicely decorated lobby and take a seat on a plush yellow leather chair. Fiddling with my phone, I try to look like I’m reading something of interest, when really my entire attention is zeroed in on the woman greeting Brody.

  “Brody, it’s so good to see you. It’s been so long,” she sighs dramatically, her accent very thick. Perhaps Parisienne?

  She has long, sleek hair, so shiny it looks like she walked right off a shampoo commercial set. Her outfit is extremely flattering to her figure, a spring green A-line dress that stops above her kneecaps to accentuate her long, trim legs.

  “Hello Muriel. Yes, it has been a while. Since the Ibiza show last spring?”

  Ibiza? Brody was in the most exclusive island in Spain, where only the very rich and famous go to party like rock stars? My imagination begins to run wild as I peer up behind my glasses at them, picturing them lounging on a yacht somewhere in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea, sipping champagne under the blue sky and afternoon sun and getting cozy on the lounge chairs.

  Brody leans in and kisses her in European fashion on both cheeks. It doesn’t seem at all that romantic, but something in my stomach twists and knots tightly in what feels a little like jealousy at the familiarity it provides.

  Muriel lays a hand on his bicep, sensually stroking the material of his button-down shirt. My cat claws want to poke her eyes out.

  I quickly look back down at my phone when Brody sneaks a glance over to me and I can feel the blush rise over my neck and into my cheeks from being caught spying.

  Don’t look so obvious, you idiot.

  “God, that was such an incredible trip. We had such a great time together, didn’t we, darling?” Muriel’s voice deepens in a husky manner, which clearly denotes her intimacy with Brody.

  I try to settle my inner bitch because I have no reason for this jealous rage that seems to be brewing inside me. I’m simply here as an employee. Brody’s intern. We’re not here for fun or anything remotely like a lover’s weekend getaway.

  If he and Muriel had a fling in the past and want to hook up this weekend, then far be it from me to get in their way and ruin their fun.

  She leans in, pressing her red-lined lips at Brody’s ear. “I’m not with Lars any longer. Perhaps we can pick up where we left off.”

  Oh my god, can this be any more uncomfortable and unnerving? Now I’m kicking myself for not just going up to my room. She all but confirmed they had an affair while in Spain. But from the way Brody looks at me, a pleading flash that clearly says, ‘help me’, I decide to stay put and wait for him.

  Brody says something I can’t quite make out, but then he turns and points a finger toward me and smiles.

  “I’d like to introduce you to one of my newest employees. She’s an intern from the Herberger Institute for Design.” Brody gestures for me to join them with a beckoning finger. I fumble with my bag, as I get to my feet and move toward them, trying to be as graceful in my walk as Muriel was but failing miserably.

  Brody grins proudly. “Peyton, allow me to introduce you to Muriel Laurent. Muriel, this is Peyton Burke, an intern with Jensen’s.”

  “Enchanté,” Muriel coos, clasping my hand in hers and then kissing me in the same chic European fashion she greeted Brody. “You are a lucky young woman to be in the tutelage of this man. You will learn much under his guidance.”

  Her eyelashes lower seductively, and she kisses him on the cheek as I nod like a fool. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Madam Laurent. You don’t happen to be with Laurent Couture, do you?”

  Muriel’s laughter holds a tinge of arrogant patronization. As if I’m the stupidest girl on the planet.

  She tips her bold red lips in a superior smirk before she turns her head to speak to Brody, dismissing me from her midst entirely.

  “Well, I see they teach the American design students a little something about the foreign markets and the top fashion houses. It’s good to know you have someone bright in your midst.”

  I know it’s a slam on me, because the word bright is said with more emphasis than need be. I try hard not to let it rankle me too much because honestly, I am in the midst of
greatness. Laurent Couture is one of the top fashion houses in the world and I’ve studied their lines and written about their approach in my last semester’s project.

  None of that bothers me too, much, except for the fact that Brody finds it necessary to jump to my defense and rescue me yet again with his ever-chivalrous manner.

  “You and I were just as green when we first started our careers, Muriel. We even had the advantage of being born into families within the business. Peyton is doing great things already and is headed for a fantastic career.”

  He looks down at me with a smile that sends my heart racing into a spastic chorus of hallelujahs. “Wherever she ends up after graduation, they will be one lucky business to have her.”

  His compliment astounds me, flustering me so much my cheeks blossom with heat.

  Muriel sniffs, and then turns to look behind her, as if this conversation no longer holds any interest or value for her to continue with it.

  “I should get back to Lionel and Dimitri. But I look forward to hearing your presentation tomorrow. And perhaps drinks at Lou-Lou’s afterwards?”

  “Maybe, we’ll see.” Brody gives her a quick hug and then she turns to leave, waving her fingers in the air in a version of goodbye.

  We both watch her retreating form and he shakes his head with a laugh, bending to his side and whispering to me conspiratorially. “And that is what you call a fashionable exit.”

  Without another word, he guides me with his hand at the small of my back to the elevators. The touch sparks shivers down my spine and sends a warmth cascading through my blood.

  “I’m sure we’ll see more of her over the weekend, but I certainly don’t plan on spending any more time with her, especially not drinks. She doesn’t know her limit and makes quite the spectacle of herself. Luckily for her, she has an entourage and a PR rep who help to hide her rather bad decisions.”

  The elevator doors open, and a couple steps out, as we make room for them to pass. As they do, Brody wraps his arm around my waist protectively, in a gesture that not only moves me out of their way but tucks me into his body. It feels right and natural to be in his arms like this.

  But that thought is quickly doused as he moves me toward the awaiting elevator with a gentle nudge on my back. “Shall we?”

  Chapter 16

  Brody

  We stand outside the adjacent doors of our hotel rooms and I want to find something else to say that will keep her here with me, although it’s part punishment and grievous sin. The more time around her is torture. Not an hour has passed since I promised myself I would avoid her as much as possible, but it’s fucking impossible.

  Because I am pulled to her like the gravitational force of the Earth to the Sun.

  I wasn’t blowing smoke up Muriel’s ass downstairs when I mentioned Peyton’s level of brilliance. She possesses a natural and intuitive sense of style that I haven’t seen in a long time. It usually takes years of experience to establish a solid footing in this industry. For me, my talents fall in the analytical business end rather than the creative side. You either have it or you don’t, or struggle to work for it. And Peyton has it. Everything I’ve heard from my team who have worked with Peyton say she has a head for both – a truly unusual combination.

  Truthfully, I may have laid it on thick back there with my complimentary statements of Peyton because I was trying to throw Muriel off my back. It’s the error in judgment I made that one night in Ibiza with her that will forever haunt me. It took months after our hookup for her to stop hounding me. Muriel wanted what she wanted and to her it didn’t matter that we lived on different continents, she in France and me in L.A. Until she found someone new, she was incessant on wanting to be with me.

  It finally stopped when she met Lars and her attention slingshot focused elsewhere, leaving me able to breathe easy and move freely within our fashion circles without worrying about running into her at an event or show.

  “Do you have a copy of the schedule of events for this weekend? It’s a pretty packed agenda and I don’t want you to miss anything,” I ask Peyton, who fiddles with the key to her room trying to activate the card.

  She grunts a frustrated sigh. “Why won’t this work?”

  I move next to her, extending my arm to reach for the card she holds upside down. “Here, let me help you with that. They can be tricky.”

  My knuckles graze hers as I remove the card from her fingers, and wave it over the sensor. The card reader turns from red to green with an electronic click.

  “Aha! I was trying to swipe,” she admits with a hint of embarrassment. I smile and turn the handle to push the door open for her.

  Stepping out of the way to give her a wide berth, she tugs her roller bag behind her and enters the room, stopping abruptly in the foyer.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask with concern, looking past her shoulder to search the room for anything that might cause her alarm. Like a dead body in the corner or a rat on the dresser. That isn’t all that uncommon in a New York hotel.

  My hands instinctively land on top of her shoulders, which feel tight and knotted, representative of my constant reaction around her. Except for me, it’s coupled with a hard and achy cock.

  “I’m just stunned. This is the fanciest hotel I’ve ever been in.” Peyton pivots on her heels and tips her chin up to look at me. I drop my hands and stare down into a brilliant set of azure eyes sparkling behind the red-framed glasses she wears.

  “Honestly, Brody. This is all too much. I feel like Cinderella at the ball. Hob knobbing with well-known kings and queens of the fashion world. They’re like royalty. And then to stay in a hotel this nice? I feel like a fraud. I shouldn’t even be here right now.”

  She hangs her head, her shoulders sagging in almost a defeated posture. My reaction is the exact opposite of what I should do as her boss.

  I should give her a ‘buck up and enjoy it’ speech and then turn around and walk out of the room. But instead, I close in on her personal space, place my index finger under her chin to lift her face so her eyes are locked on mine.

  “I’m only going to say this once, and only once, Peyton. I selected you to come on this trip because you deserve it. You’ve accomplished more in a matter of weeks then what most can’t even accomplish in a year. You’ve impressed the hell out of everyone in the company – even Dante, who thinks he shits rainbows out of his unicorn ass. Don’t you dare think you aren’t worthy of being here with these industry leaders.”

  I watch her face as it transforms from dejected to optimistic and it makes me feel like a God to be the one who does that.

  “And honestly, you’re doing me a huge favor by coming along. I hate events like this, with all the ass kissing by phonies and fakes. It’s actually a pleasure to see it through your unjaded eyes.”

  She lets out an unfiltered giggle when I mention Dante and his ego-driven confidence, and then smiles, her eyes turning warm with sentiment. I realize once again I have my hands clasped around her tiny arms. Touching her. Holding her.

  Fuck, I need to stop doing that. It’s as if my body has a mind of its own when I’m near Peyton, the desire to be physically connected with her engrained in my subconscious so deeply that I don’t even realize I’m doing it.

  The tenor of her voice starts small but increases with confidence. I can see the change in her immediately, as she straightens her spine and takes a long inhale before letting it out slowly. I stare at her lips, a candy-apple red to match her frames, her blonde hair tinged at the end with cotton-candy pink.

  “Thank you, Brody. I appreciate all you’ve done for me. I don’t ever want to sound ungrateful for this opportunity. It’s a dream come true for someone like me.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Someone like you?”

  She shrugs, the movement jostling my hands, so they slip to my sides. She shakes her head as if debating whether to say more.

  “Never mind. Just, thanks.” She glides onto her tiptoes, grazing my chest as she leans in and
places a kiss on my cheek.

  It’s sweet. Appreciative. Polite. Nothing more than a peck.

  And it’s not enough. Not the kind of kiss I want from her.

  I remain stock still and watch as her face blushes pink.

  “Peyton, can I be honest with you about something?” My voice sounds hoarse and gruff.

  She peers at me from behind her lenses, her thick lashes fanning out over trusting eyes.

  I should definitely not be trusted to be appropriate right now.

  “Sure,” she whispers, close enough that I can smell the bubblegum on her breath.

  I lick my lips, dying to taste her. Wishing I could taste everything.

  A lump in my throat needs to be cleared. The bulge in my pants needs to be adjusted. The air in this room needs to be cooled. Because I’m fucking on fire and in the worst shape over this girl.

  “I also invited you along,” I stall, inhaling through my nose and out through my mouth, scrubbing a hand through my hair and glancing away for a moment. And then I return my gaze to hers. “Because I want to spend as much time with you as I can.”

  I hesitate, analyzing her facial expression to see if it registers shock or disgust or fear. But none that of that happens. The only thing that changes is the depth of color within her eyes. They heat and turn a deep ocean blue.

  “Peyton,” I murmur, stepping an inch closer until I feel the hard pebbles of her nipples against my chest. “I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss. I’ve tried. Goddammit, I’ve tried so hard.”

  In this moment, I have two choices. They both have the power to change my life. Turn it on its end and split me in two.

  I could walk away. Stop this madness once and for all before it goes any further. Avoid making a potential mistake by getting involved with my intern. This young, trusting woman who looks to me to as her business and industry mentor. To instruct her in the ways of the fashion design industry and fill her with knowledge she couldn’t learn elsewhere.

  Or I could take a calculated risk. A huge, potentially career damaging risk, that could land me in hot water if it’s ever exposed. Or if she doesn’t feel the same way toward me or feels coerced to fulfill my sexual desires. Fuck, that’s not what I want.