by Sierra Rose
“Not true. I’d like it.”
“So would I but we heard the new boss is coming by so we don’t want to skewer the old one too much in front of him.”
“I’m not looking forward to meeting him.”
“I thought you researched him.”
“I did, but that doesn’t mean that Phillip Fitzsimmons isn’t as rude and chauvinistic as Freeman is.”
“You said he was big into charities, like for children. That’s got to be a good sign.”
“You’d think so, but it’s his public image. I guess I’m cynical because of what it’s been like here, the dirty jokes and the brushing up against the girls and the fact that I know damn well that I was hired because of how I look—I was the only woman who applied.”
“Just hope for the best. It’s about to change for the better.”
Chapter 9
Britt didn’t get any more emails from Jack, the guitarist, but he was in her thoughts, her dreams. She woke up often, breathing hard, remembering. She stopped wanting him so much during the day. The madness receded. She figured it had just been a natural derangement following the best sex ever. Probably most people acted goofy after an amazing hookup, but they were, in all fairness, in college and not her age, not just some staid accountant who’d never been laid like that before. For days, she put it out of her mind during the day, only to have fragments of her hook up appear in her dreams. She couldn’t explain away his eyes, the blue so deep it was almost black. She couldn’t get past the way he’d looked at her, treated her like she wasn’t a one off, like she was someone who mattered to him. Britt couldn’t believe she was so insecure that one night with a guy who was fairly nice to her left her with days of besotted hangover. She was slowly but surely developing a crush on a man whose email she deleted, whose interest she’d refused. He wasn’t right for her, she knew. He was just a hell of a lot of fun, and fun had been missing from her life for a long time.
She stopped by Marj’s desk one afternoon.
“Babe, you look like shit, what’s wrong?” Marj asked.
“I’m pining. I am PINING AWAY for the guy I hooked up with. That’s what’s wrong. I can’t eat, as in I don’t get hungry. Unless I see donuts like this morning, then I eat like three. But I can’t eat normally. I’m not sleeping unless you count sex dreams that are just exhausting at this point...what can I do, Marj?”
“You’re a hot mess today. I think you need to hydrate. Here, have some water,” she handed Britt a bottle of water and Britt obediently drank from it.
“That didn’t help. I still want to find out his number and text him.”
“So do it. Who says a one-nighter can’t turn into a relationship?”
“I don’t want a relationship with some slacker guitarist who picks up girls.”
“So why would you text him. I thought you were hung up on him.”
“I’m not hung up on him. I want him to restore my sanity.”
“Did he steal it?”
“Yes. He was too good in bed. I’ve never slept with anyone and been distracted by remembering it afterward.”
“You’ve been with the wrong guys, then,” Marj observed.
“Probably, but the point is now I have this, I don’t know, sex drive that I never knew I had. I want him. Again. And again and again.”
Marj laughed.
“Oh, honey. Maybe join a gym.”
“That isn’t going to give me the kind of endorphins I want.”
“I meant maybe you can hook up with a hot guy from the gym,” Marj joked.
“You’re not exactly helping. I need to refocus on my work and catch up on my voicemails and, I don’t know, clean out my closet.”
“Get rid of that ugly shirt you have on. You’re not seventy years old, Britt. Stop dressing like it.”
“I have the one sexy dress and just look at the trouble that got me into. I’m mentally undressing the UPS guy now, I swear.”
“He has nice legs.”
“He’s bald!”
“Okay, point taken. Thing is, Britt, if you want to get laid, go get laid. If you want to get over him, then do that. But make up your damn mind! You can’t divide your focus between wanting him and whining about why you don’t want him.”
“You should maybe not become a therapist. That was mean.”
“No, it was true!” Marj insisted. “You’re all oh-I-am-so-ashamed and then the next thing you’re pounding donuts and fantasizing about any man who walks by. Good thing Freeman’s out of the office today or you might take the creep up on it.”
“I’m not that far gone. Thanks for the water and the tough love. I’m going to go pee now.”
“At least all that water gave you something else to think about,” Marj replied.
The retirement day dawned, and she put a scarf on with her button-down as a tribute to the festive mood. In eight short hours, Freeman would be gone, and his reign of chauvinistic groping would be over. She arrived at work more cheerful than she’d been in days. She churned out spreadsheets and double-checked numbers. She updated the business deductions file. When two o’clock came, time for the party, she was beyond ready. In the conference room of their firm, they came together with two-liters of lukewarm soda, plastic cups, a sheet cake and what appeared to be leftover Christmas paper plates. When Marj called for a knife to cut the cake, a surprising number of female employees announced that they had one in their desk drawers, and they all laughed except for Freeman who failed to get the humor.
He made a windy speech about his time at the firm and how he’d come to care about all of them as family. Then he accepted his cuff links, said thanks and announced he was going to introduce Phillip Fitzsimmons, the new chief operating officer.
“Phil is slowing down from his days heading up the FZ Communications conglomerate, and wanted a new challenge...a boutique consulting firm he can steer into the big time the way he turned his company into a multinational force. With him, he brings his youngest son to add his graphic design talent to our marketing team. Please join me in welcoming Phil Fitzsimmons and his son Jack.”
Everyone clapped except Britt who knew instinctively that no matter how common the name Jack was, it was destined to be the one Jack she didn’t want to see again, the one she dreamed about at night and who had the potential to screw up her professional life the same way he’d invaded her fantasies. There he was, in a suit and tie, no faded tight jeans and button down. His hair was slicked back and he looked like any other suit, a little more handsome perhaps. Okay, confession time. He looked so damn hot!
Jack.
Oh my gosh!
Her heart was beating a million miles a minute. What were the chances she’d run into him again? This was like something out of a Lifetime movie. And out of all the places to run into him, why work?
His dad gave a speech about how his doctors told him he had to cut back on his work, but he was bored at the golf course, so he took on this new project.
The whole time, Britt stared at Jack. There he was, the man who had sent her over the edge with only his fingers, who had kissed her mouth until she forgot who she was. A man she would now have to work with. Their company only had one floor of the building. She was bound to run into him. Right then, she resolved to give up coffee, so she didn’t have to go in the break room. She’d bring a bottle of water from home. It would be fine. Marj worked in marketing. She’d have to stop visiting Marj’s cubicle. There went what passed for her social life. She groaned.
“You okay?” Marj whispered. Britt nodded, eyes wide, trained on Jack, never swerving for a second.
“Got a crush on the new guy?”
“No, he just reminds me of a guy I knew in school.” Britt lied, never taking her eyes off of him. Those dark blue eyes, the long fingers, the bit of dark hair on his wrists and hands that sent her licking her lips. It was sensory overload. She was afraid she’d fling herself at him and beg. So she pretended he reminded her of a classmate, tried to appear detached.
Chapter 10
After the welcome speeches, Freeman started leading the Fitzsimmons men around the room to make introductions. It took him a while to get to Britt, and she thought seriously about dodging to the bathroom and hiding out. Still, she stood her ground, knowing she’d have to face him sometime. She was blinking hard, wiping nervous palm sweat on her pant leg surreptitiously.
“Ah, Phil, Jack, here’s my favorite accountant, Brittney Collier. Brittney, meet my replacement and his son.” Freeman said, going to pat her back but his hand landing distressingly near her butt.
Britt managed a tight smile and shifted a little away from Freeman. She held out her hand in what she hoped was a genial manner.
“Pleased to meet you both,” Britt said.
Phillip Fitzsimmons shook her hand.
“Good to put a face with the financial statements I’ve been reading,” he said. “My son here is more on the creative side of things.”
“Good to meet you, Ms. Collier,” Jack said smoothly.
“You can call me Britt, Mr. Fitzsimmons.”
“Jack,” he said.
She felt her cheeks flush as she recalled crying out his name. It was a struggle to act normal, disinterested. She wanted to take his face in her hands and kiss him for about an hour. Or she wanted him to go away where she never had to see him again, never had to feel reckless and out of control again. She looked at him too long, with too much intensity. His dad probably thought she was a potential stalker the way she gazed at Jack. Attempting to recover her composure, although her palm tingled where he’d held her hand, she spoke up, saying the only thing that occurred to her.
“Jack. Make sure you fill out your W-2 and give it to me along with your routing number. That way I can get your direct deposit set up as soon as possible,” she said in a chipper voice, inwardly kicking herself for being so boring.
“Will do,” he said, releasing her hand and moving on to the next introductions without a backward glance.
Look at me, she thought. But he didn’t turn around.
Britt lingered at the party so long she ate a second slice of cake with its mega-sugary grocery store buttercream frosting just as an excuse to stand around and look at him. A throbbing started in her forehead between her eyes, probably from the sugar, or from the effort to will him to her side. He stood there, careless, hands in his pockets just talking and laughing with the marketing team he was joining. Just like she wasn’t there. Just like she hadn’t lain beneath him and kissed his mouth, swallowing his hoarse cry of completion. Just like she was no one to him at all.
Choking on what she suspected were tears, Britt threw away her paper plate and turned to fill another plastic cup with disgusting pink fizzy punch. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and before she turned, she knew it was him. Not familiarity really but the zing of recognition, the sparks of knowing when his body touched hers. She turned to look at him and the mere presence of him, his physicality moved her a little. Lean and strong, so at ease, so casual even in a suit. He was comfortable in his skin, she realized, just the same way she was uncomfortable in hers whether she wore a sexy blue dress or a conservative blouse.
Every conflicted feeling she’d had for the last week stormed in on her then. Every dirty thought, every moment of sheer panic that she’d ruin her life if she ever so much as looked at him again bombarded her. None of it was irrational, she realized. She’d been scolding herself daily for blowing a one night stand so out of proportion. Here it was, in the flesh, riding in with a fresh hell of complications in tow. He was her new boss’s youngest son. He was now a coworker, immediate family to her ultimate supervisor. He was someone not to be fucked with, not to be bedded and discarded as she had. What if he held a grudge against her? What if he, even worse, was married? Or struck up a liaison with someone else in the office? She’d be so jealous; it made her sick at her stomach to think of him with anyone else. This man was too dangerous to her professionally as well as personally—she could wind up broken hearted and jobless, theoretically, if she pursued him. If she went after him the way she wanted to, with a ferocity halfway to hatred.
It was making her crazy. She felt crazy, like she wasn’t capable of rational speech. Like she might open her mouth to say something else boring about his W-2 form and instead might say, Please fuck me again, Jack. She might beg; she felt so out of control. It was a sexual obsession, she realized, like those pathetic people on talk shows who ruin everyone’s life by chasing after someone who doesn’t want them, insisting with deranged assurance that the object of their stalkage must feel the exact same way! It was exactly what she thought about him...he must feel something if I feel this much! Britt realized how silly it was to think that way. Looking at him now, all she could think was how much she wanted him. Take me, she thought, wishing she could speak into his mind, could make him want her that way again, or make him move far away and never return. How could she ever get over him now when she had to see him every day?
There was a smudge of blue frosting at the corner of his mouth. She smiled at the sight of it. A neon blue trace of imperfection in his perfect shell, the easygoing face he showed the world. Without thinking, Britt reached up and touched his face, rubbing the speck of blue with her thumb. Self-consciously, she drew away, realizing too late that she’d touched him in front of the entire company. Hopefully, they weren’t all watching at that moment but word would get around.
Grinning, he darted the tip of his tongue to that corner of his mouth experimentally.
“It was good cake. What can I say?” Jack remarked.
“The first piece was good. The second is going to send me into insulin shock,” she confessed, feeling the heavy glob of sugary cake riding uncertainly in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to grope him or run away or just throw up. It was a perfect storm of social anxiety, ramped up by sexual tension.
“So, you work here. At my dad’s little retirement project,” he observed neutrally, not too friendly. In fact, neutrally enough that she felt disappointed.
“How is being a COO a little project?”
“His doctors told him to quit, the stress and the schedule were bad for his heart condition. He can’t quit though, not completely. So this is his answer, to take over a small venture and make it something big.”
“Are we being rebranded?” she asked, congratulating herself on thinking of a relevant question to ask.
“Sort of. He puts his stamp on everything he does. I have to say I’m happy to see a friendly face. I get a lot of shit for working with my dad.”
“I can’t see why. I can’t imagine anything much harder than working for family. They’re like the last to have mercy on you,” she said, feeling an aggravating kinship with him now, starting to sympathize, to look at him as a human being and not just the sex object she wanted to lay out across the hood of her Nissan.
“Exactly,” he agreed.
“I worked in my mom’s shop one summer, sweeping up hair and shampooing people. Hardest damn four bucks an hour I ever made. Nothing I did was good enough.”
“Did she fire you?”
“Yeah, but only after I told her I’d rather rob a bank than work for her another day.” Britt grinned guiltily.
“So really you quit?” Jack corrected.
“So really I threatened to commit a felony,” she clarified mischievously.
“I’ll have to try that line on dad when he gets on my nerves,” he said with a crooked smile that set her pulse racing.
“I thought you were trying not to give him a heart attack,” Britt pointed out.
“Fair enough. It might’ve been good for a laugh otherwise,” he shrugged, hands still in his pockets, hands she wanted all over her body.
“This is weird, having you here,” she said.
“Why?” he asked, s
eeming genuinely puzzled.
“Because we, because I—you know why,” she said.
“I thought you could show me around. Where the vending machines are, executive washroom, that sort of thing.”
When he mentioned the washroom, she knew her face turned red. She recalled her detailed fantasy about Jack joining her in the ladies room for some afternoon delight in front of the mirror. Hardly what he was thinking of, obviously, but it triggered a rather graphic flashback. She knew it was a bad idea to give him any kind of a tour. She would end up showing him the maintenance closet and yanking down his pants and going for it. Where had her professionalism and her sanity gone? She wondered miserably. A mention of the bathroom sent her into a frenzy of desire for Jack. She wanted to laugh but it was too pathetic. She had to think of a way out of showing him around.
“I’m sure your dad will have someone do an orientation for you. Or they’ll move the vending machine wherever you want it.”
“I don’t do shit like that, make demands. I’m here because I like design and marketing,” he said a little sullenly.
“I’m sure you’re very good at it, too. My friends Marj and Luke work in marketing. They’ll show you the ropes. I’ve read really great things about your dad. I hope he ushers in a different sort of corporate culture.”
“No groping, you mean? I’m sure he’ll have that put in the new employee handbook. He always puts the whole staff through a training when he takes over a business, gets them acclimated to the kind of place he likes to run. Friendly and efficient are his bywords.”
“So are you friendly and efficient?”
“I prefer sexy and unstoppable,” he teased.
“I can testify to that,” she murmured and then blushed.
“If you can’t testify to it yet, you could always show me the executive washroom now,” he said suggestively.
Britt felt herself blush all the way up to the tips of her ears. She knew conclusively that Jack’s train of thought had paralleled her own.
