by Lola Darling
“Thank you for joining us,” I say, rising, but they’ve already locked eyes on Max.
“Well hello, handsome,” the lead woman, whose tracksuit is neon pink and decked out in fruit labels, purrs. She takes the hand he offers and shakes it for at least five seconds longer than strictly necessary, grinning up at him the whole time. “I’m Lena.”
“Mary,” says the woman behind her in a bright yellow tracksuit. She practically elbows Lena out of the way to grab Max’s hand next, and she shakes with both hands wrapped around his, one inching farther up his wrist. “My what a firm grip you have,” she adds with a wink. Max manages to extricate his hand with a polite smile, only to have the third woman grab it.
“Jess,” she says. “I’m absolutely charmed.” She, at least, lets him go with relative ease, and he makes his way around the table to my side with a brief, visible flash of relief in his eyes when they meet mine.
“Thank you all for coming,” he says.
“Please, have a seat,” I add, waving at the chairs, though the women have already started to help themselves. Lena kicks one pink tracksuited leg up over the side of her chair and reclines in it sideways, while Jess remains standing at the end of the table, as to better display her purple tracksuit, or the toned, though much older, body beneath it.
“I prefer to stand,” she says, as if in response to a question. Then she pops a sudden squat, leaning against the table. “Helps me keep my muscles active the whole day.”
“You know, sitting and practicing your Kegels would help just as well,” Mary points out, which launches a brief debate over what exercise is the most important for one’s pelvic floor.
“As enlightening as this is, we should probably discuss Suzie’s slogans,” I say, but my voice is lost in the din of bickering. I cast an exasperated sideways glance at Max.
“Ladies,” he says, leaning forward in his chair in what I can only assume is a calculated move, because with the way he crosses his arms and leans his weight onto the front of his chair, bracing himself against the table, his biceps suddenly bulge, visible even beneath his white button down work shirt.
Unsurprisingly, the room falls quiet as all three women turn to gaze at him.
“We brought you in today to talk about your work with Suzie Steel,” he begins. “As you probably know already, there’s a company using her slogans and likeness in their advertising campaigns at the moment—”
“Oh, that commercial made me sick, absolutely sick,” Lena interrupts.
“I couldn’t eat for a week when I saw it,” Jess agrees. “Suzie has been telling me to rub it in since 1993! How dare these people steal her brand like that?”
“Well that’s just what we’d like to put a stop to,” I say. The three of them blink at me as if they’ve only just noticed I’m in the room. Which, to be honest, is totally possible. “We’ll need you to tell us exactly when you remember Suzie first using those phrases.”
“That’s easy,” Mary says, still staring at Max, as if he were the one who asked the question. “She first advised me to start rubbing it in in the summer of 1996. I remember, because I landed the audition to be on tape with her the same day that I came home and found out my bastard husband was sleeping with our neighbor.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Max replies, after an awkward pause.
Mary winks. “That’s okay. Freed me up for plenty more enjoyable pursuits.”
Ugh. She’s old enough to be his mother for Christ’s sake.
“That’s great detail, thank you,” I tell her.
“I wasn’t finished,” she snaps with a sideways glare at me. “By the way, can I get a coffee or something? I mean, we came a long way to be here,” she adds as the other women bob their heads in agreement.
I freeze in my seat, dumbfounded. I mean, I’m used to getting this kind of treatment from time-to-time, but normally only from Paul’s external colleagues, the old ones who grumble about how times were better when women understood how to dress sexy and pour a decent cuppa.
Luckily, Max steps in before I wind up giving Mary a little too many pieces of my mind. “Actually,” he says, “If you three would like some coffee or tea, I can grab you some. Chloe is actually the real lead on this case.” His eyes flash to mine. “She’s the one doing the majority of the grunt-work, too,” he adds, in a lower voice, almost like he’s talking to me specifically.
My cheeks flush. “Don’t be ridiculous,” I reply before I can stop myself. “I’ll buzz for an intern.”
Before either of the women can say another word, I lift my phone and dial Rich’s extension. “Hey,” I say into the phone, my back half-turned on the room. “Can you have one of Paul’s interns bring three black coffees to room 512?”
Behind me, the table drifts back into flirtatious chatter, and I hear Lena emit a high-pitched giggle. But when I replace the phone in its cradle and turn around, everyone folds their hands on the tabletop, all business once more.
“1993 was the first time I heard Suzie use the slogan, too,” Lena says. “Actually, Jess and I were friends with Suzie before she started making her videos. She used to say that when we were just working out at the gym or wherever, as a joke. But it was weirdly motivating, all her little Suzie-isms, as we used to call them.” Lena laughs. “When she first got the idea to make a workout video of it, we thought it was nuts. I mean fun nuts, but who would want to watch the three of us work out? But we agreed to help her start it, and pretty soon she had to hire some more professional backup workout people.” Lena grins. “No hard feelings, though. It really worked out great for her. And we’re still her biggest fans.”
My fingers fly across the keyboard as I take down notes frantically. Max glances between me and the laptop, then back to the women.
“That’s really great detail, like Chloe said,” he replies. “If you can give us specific time frames and locations as well, that’ll be even better.”
“And anyone else we might be able to talk to as well,” I add. “Any other, ah … fans.”
“Rubbers,” Lena replies with a wink.
I force myself not to laugh. “Right. Any other rubbers who you think would be willing to testify to Suzie’s slogans and the other aspects of her branding—her voice, her style, all of that. It would be really helpful.”
“Whatever we can do to help,” Mary replies, still looking a little bit sheepish ever since Max snapped at her. I can’t help but feel slightly pleased by that. “We just want what’s best for Suzie.”
“And to get these people to stop playing off the brand she’s worked so hard to build.” Jess leans forward, her gaze intense. “It’s not right, when people can just take something that took you so much time and effort to put together, and then profit from it themselves. That is wrong.”
“Very wrong.” I press my palms flat against the table. “But don’t worry.” I cast Max a sideways smile, feeling more confident than ever. Not just about the case, but about us, this whole messy thing. Because so far today, it hasn’t been messy at all. It’s been surprisingly simple. “We’re going to solve it,” I say, and for a moment, I’m not sure whether I’m talking about our case or me and him. “Whatever it takes. We’ll make it work.”
Four hours later, I’m no longer feeling as confident as I was in our meeting this morning. I’ve spent the better part of the afternoon engulfed in notes and legwork, putting everything we gathered this week from Suzie’s place in order, along with the notes from our meeting this morning and any additional ideas that have cropped up as potential leads we should follow-up on since then.
But every time I try to focus, nagging doubts keep clawing at me. I picture Max’s face as he stared at me in the meeting room, his expression last night as he poised above me in the dark, his mouth open, face twisted in ecstasy.
I can’t stop picturing that every time I see him, every time we walk past each other in the hallway, on the way to the bathroom or the water cooler, or even worse, toward the end of our meetin
g this morning, when I kept zoning out and imagining a lot more enjoyable uses we could put that meeting room to beyond talking to Suzie’s fan club.
Is he thinking about me this often? Is he feeling the same things I am, like this could potentially be more than just sex? He’s so fucking hard to read, and it doesn’t help that we can barely speak with candor in the office.
Not to mention, he’s already told me once before that he thinks I focus too much on career. He might have a point, but are we compatible in that regard? I know he takes his work seriously, and yet, he disappears at such random hours during the day sometimes, like when he canceled that meeting last minute.
Ugh. If I thought I had a hard time focusing while working with him before, then between the constant sexy fantasies and the nagging sensation that something about this whole situation is going to crash and burn, it just got about 100 times harder.
I push away from my desk and stand. I need a walk, to clear my head. I grab my coffee mug, even though having a cup this late in the day will almost certainly keep me awake well past my bedtime.
Then I remember where I’ll be spending tonight, and I realize that caffeine will be the least of my problems when it comes to getting no sleep.
My heart beats faster at the thought. There’s almost a freaking skip in my step, as I hurry down the hallway toward the kitchenette where we keep our crappy off-brand coffee machine. It’s fucking terrifying, how quickly he’s gotten under my skin. How little time it took for him to go from a constant annoyance in my mind to the only person I want to spend time with.
Why am I so anxious to see him again? Why am I already craving a repeat of last night so desperately, when normally a single night of sex could sate me for a week or two? Of course, I’ve never been fucked like that before.
At the doorway into the kitchenette, I pause. Speak of—or think of—the devil. Max is already inside, a fresh cup of coffee steaming in his hand. And with him, her hand on his arm, beaming up at him, is his constant hip-attachment. Fucking Hannah, again. I resist the urge to scream as she bats her eyelashes at him.
“Pretty good,” he’s in the middle of saying, his eyes on hers, his tone light and friendly. “How about yours?”
“Oh, you know. Dull as ever. Though I can think of a few ways I’d like to liven things up in the evenings.” Her grin widens.
Is it my imagination, or is Max flushed? He’s definitely not pulling his arm away from her. Or discouraging that comment.
I can’t take it anymore. Much as I want to see how he’ll react to her on his own, I also want to lay claim to him. A sudden possessive streak takes over my common sense. “Hey, you two,” I say loudly, striding into the kitchen. I walk right up to Max and settle beside him, half an inch away, awkwardly close to Hannah, too. “Chloe.” Max nods at me, a tiny grin on his mouth, and just the sight of that small, private smile, made for me, fresh air seems to swell in my lungs.
How is it that whenever he’s away, I can only think about the dangers and the downsides to this … whatever it is we’re doing. And yet the moment I step into the room with him, all that anxiety melts away in the heat of the sensations that sweep through my body.
“Hannah,” I add, and smile directly at her.
Her eyes widen like she’s surprised I know her name. She doesn’t remove her hand from Max’s arm. “Uh, hi.” She shrugs one of her shoulders, just slightly, as if in greeting, and then turns back to her prey. I watch her hand contract, the fabric of his suit coat wrinkling as she squeezes his arm. “Anyway. So you were saying, your weekend plans?” There’s a hopeful note in her voice that makes my stomach curdle and churn.
His eyes dart to mine, though whether he’s trying to reassure me that he’d never agree to go out with her, or whether he’s just upset that I’m here to witness this, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s torture to listen to her, to watch her right now, trying to muscle in on him, and know that if I interrupt and fight for him, the whole office will catch on to what we’re doing.
“I’ve got plans this weekend, actually,” he’s saying.
I take that as my opportunity to sidestep around them and fill my mug as fast as possible. Unfortunately, I’m not fast enough to miss her peppering him with more questions.
“What about the weekend after this one?”
“Oh, uh…”
“Or just let me know when you are free, how about that?”
I steal a glance back at them, and Hannah’s still beaming up at him, oblivious. Meanwhile, Max has gone blank-faced and unreadable. “I’ll have to check my schedule,” he says, as he gently disengages his arm. “But speaking of schedules, I’ve got a meeting at the moment.”
A polite, gentle let-down? Or was that him letting her know he might be open to her invitation farther down the line?
Down, girl, I order myself. Time to exit strategically, stage right.
“See you guys,” I say as I step out of the kitchenette.
“Wait up,” Max says, but Hannah’s saying something else, pulling him back into the conversation.
God fucking dammit. I knew this would be a problem, the both of us together at work. I just didn’t expect it to hit me so hard, so fast.
I walk back to my office as fast as my heels and the scalding hot, nearly full cup of coffee I’m balancing will allow. Once inside, I shut the door and collapse at my desk. Even though the coffee is way too hot, I take a deep swallow anyway. The scalding burn on my tongue and in the back of my throat almost calms me down.
Almost.
Is this what every day is going to be like? Constant freak-outs and jealousy and distraction?
But despite what he keeps telling me, he’s not exactly putting Hannah off. If anything, he’s playing his part to a T. He’s fine with letting the office believe he’s the manwhore everyone claims, and even if it’s all a lie, doesn’t he understand that it’s torturing me to see it?
Unless he enjoys this. Enjoys making me jealous. Enjoys making me want him this desperately.
I can’t play that game. I’m dancing too close to the fire already, and I will not let it burn me.
There’s a soft knock at my door, and I swallow hard, force my face neutral and my shoulders back, assuming business mode. “Come in,” I call, and my voice is almost even-keeled.
How much longer can I keep this up?
Twenty
Max
I step into Chloe’s office, and despite the reason I’m here, I can’t help but smile at the sight of her. She looks every inch as sexy as she did this morning. If anything, the way her blouse has rumpled slightly around the edges, her hair escaping the tight bun she pulled it into, makes her look even more attractive. Like she’s starting to relax as the day goes on. I want to pull the remaining hair out of that prissy little bun, lift that prim skirt up high over her pert ass and bend her over that desk. I want to watch her really let go, to surrender control as I thrust into her, claiming every inch of her body as my own.
Not why you’re here, Davis.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, my voice pitched low, while I’m closing the door.
“What are you talking about?” She cocks her head at me, dismissive, then shrugs her shoulders and spins her chair away from me. “I’m fine.”
“You just ran away from me in the kitchen,” I point out.
“You seemed busy,” she said, and I can’t miss the note of annoyance in her voice.
I tamp down a tiny bud of frustration. “I told you, Chloe, no one else in this office means anything to me. They’re my coworkers, that’s all.” How can she not see that? How can she think that Hannah, that anyone else here, could be any kind of competition for her in my eyes?
To my surprise, though, when Chloe turns back to face me, she’s frowning down at herself, not meeting my eye. “I know … that’s not the problem.” She runs both hands through her hair, which disrupts her bun even more, sending frizzies of curls in all directions. She doesn’t even seem to notice. “I’m not jealous,
not really, I know that was nothing. It’s … it’s not you.”
“That sounds like a trite breakup line,” I joke with a half-laugh.
She doesn’t answer, and I cross the room to perch against her desk, reaching for her hands. “Hey. Chlo. Come on, look at me.”
When she does, her eyes are faraway, glassy. She’s not crying, but she looks more confused and upset than I’ve ever seen her. She’s always the poised one, the together one. I’m not quite sure how to handle the insecure side of her. It makes my heart ache just to look at her face.
“I just don’t know if I can do this,” she murmurs. “I can’t act normal around you here. I can’t pretend nothing is going on, but we have to, because— because it’s unprofessional, everyone would talk about us, I’d become another rumor on your rumor mill, and I know you said they’re not true, but people would talk anyway, and we have to think about our careers, and there’s the non-fraternization clause in the HR contract we signed and—”
“Hey, hey, hey, slow down.” I kneel beside her chair, keeping both her hands in mine. “Breathe. It’ll be okay, Chloe. We’ll both get used to this; it’ll just take a little bit of time, that’s all. Besides, people break that non-fraternization thing all the time. We all know it’s kind of a joke anyway.”
“But will our bosses think that?” She finally meets my eye, and her hands clench around mine. “I’ve put everything into this job, into this firm. I’ve worked my ass off for years to get to where I am, and I know you have too.”
I clench my hands around hers, because I don’t really have a response to that. It’s true. I know we’ve both worked hard to get here. On the upward mobility track, under consideration for partner. We haven’t talked about it, but I’m sure Paul has been grooming her the same way that Anthony has been prepping me to take over his role when he eventually retires.
“Don’t you think we need to think about that?” she whispers. But her eyes are pleading with me. Begging me to disagree with her, to wipe away that fear.
