by Nikki Winter
Her brother looked every hopeful. “Really?”
“No! No I cannot!” she replied. “Unless you really want me to have to sell my ass. Is that your desire Alexander? To see your sister whoring herself?”
His gaze narrowed slightly. “When you say whore, how far are we talking? There’s whoring and then there’s whoring.”
Alana started swinging.
“All right! All right! Just wait a minute!” he shouted over the loud slaps echoing off her hallway walls.
“No, Alex.” Her manicured finger found itself dangerously close to his eye. “Absolutely not. My job is not here to serve the purposes of your sick obsession with the Copperheads.”
“It’s not sick,” he denied, following her back towards her kitchen. “It’s passionate. There is a distinct difference.”
“I don’t care what adjective you use, I’m. Not. Doing. It.”
“Why don’t you love me?!”
“Because I never wanted you! I tried to return you. I tried to trade you for tickets to Key West. I tried to leave you on a neighbor’s doorstep with a lovely note saying how you really weren’t needed at our residence and yet, you somehow found your way back each time.”
Alexander stopped and placed a hand over his chest. “Tickets to Key West? I’m not at least worth Bora Bora to you? Perhaps the French Polynesian? The British Islands I could even understand but Key West? That is…insulting.”
Alana tucked in her lips. “I wanted to try for Ithaca but you were only a few weeks old and you still looked like a mutant grape so I decided not to push my luck. You saw the baby pictures.”
He gazed off momentarily. “I hear Ithaca is incredible when spring finally passes in.”
She nodded. “I know. Kioni village? Amazing.”
“I’d go for the shawarma alone.”
A groan erupted from Alana. “God. Shawarma. I need Shawarma.”
“Is that little Greek place still on that corner across from that super deli next to the bakery with the Thai cuisine a few doors down?”
“Yeah but the oldest son runs it now.”
“The Greek place?”
“No, the Thai cuisine next to the bakery next to the super deli across from the Greek place.” She shrugged. “It’s still pretty good but they’ve changed some of the recipes.”
Alexander gasped. “They haven’t touched the cashew coconut rice with the peanut sauce?”
Waving her hands, she assured him, “No, no, no. That’s still the same plate of nirvana it’s always been.”
His sigh was relieved. “Good. Good.”
Both paused for a moment and then her brother frowned. “What were we talking about again?”
Alana’s brow furrowed. “I dunno. But now I’m starving.”
“Got time for breakfast before work?”
A glance at her watch told her she didn’t. “Nah. Lunch?”
“Sure. Shawarma?”
She gave a nod. “Shawarma.”
***
“I seriously don’t get it,” Noel panted. “She didn’t even bother to look backwards. Just took what she wanted and left.”
There was a slight wheezing chuckle to his right. “You mean the same way you do with all your women?”
He frowned. “I don’t have women. I have nice lady friends that I occasionally enjoy the company of.”
“Right,” Ashleigh Thyne, snorted, giving him a blank stare. “Nice lady friends that you occasionally enjoy the company of because that company usually leads to the happy use of nipple clamps and sex toys imported from Tijuana.”
Noel finished his last rep on the weight bench, standing to stretch. “Okay, first of all, the nipple clamp thing happened one time. One. Time. And yes, it is an experience I’d revisit because…fun. Second of all, I do not get toys from Tijuana. I go to the local video store and behind the black curtain in a hoodie with sunglasses like any self-respecting man, thank you.”
There was another mocking laugh before dumbbells dropped to the floor. “The only reason you’re so troubled is because this fine, young woman was completely honest about her intentions and now she doesn’t want to be bothered.”
He pondered that a moment and nodded. “Yes. That’s exactly why I’m upset.”
“And you can’t move on because…?”
In answer, Noel turned around and pulled up the back of his Under Armour until it reached his shoulders.
“Wow,” Ashleigh said.
“Yeah.”
“Just…wow.”
“Unh-hunh.” He dropped it and turned.
A finger pointed at him before he was solemnly told, “Go after her. Go after her with all that you have.”
Noel threw up his hands. “She won’t let me! Woman gets me twisted and tripping all over the place faster than a hyperactive toddler with poorly tied shoes. Then she leaves me. She leaves me and says she’s never been interested in eating po’boys in the bathroom.” His hands flailed again. “What the fuck does that even mean?!”
Ashleigh’s head went back. “It means she doesn’t want to eat where she shits.”
He stopped. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“You think that she thinks I’ll jeopardize her career?” He’d been aware of her disinterest in being stalked by the media. He could even empathize with keeping Sansone and Nyssa in the dark so their involvement wouldn’t seem like a conflict of interest but she couldn’t really believe he’d interfere with her work, could she? Even when he’d been involved with other women in their field he had never crossed those boundaries.
“I think that she thinks you’re a distraction she doesn’t need,” Ashleigh retorted. “And therefore only good if you come bearing nipple clamps and sex goods created by Hispanic hands that know the proper uses and advantages of silicone application.”
Noel rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. “How long have we known each other, Ashleigh?”
“Since the day I kept that rather hearty girl with the lisp from sitting on your head in the third grade because you refused to show her your squiggly bits. That one was pretty damn determined. I wonder where she is now…”
“And in the span of almost twenty years, you haven’t determined when to at least try to make sense for my comfort? You haven’t gained the skill of diplomacy at all?”
“Nah. I leave diplomacy to those who can’t overturn a small SUV if angry enough.”
Giving a once over to the man who had been mistaken for a woman on more than one occasion due to his name, Noel had to say that yes, the six-foot-seven, two hundred and sixty pound defensive end for his team could most certainly overturn a small SUV…with several people inside. Those who had seen him in action on the field knew and understood that he’d earned “The Barbarian” as a moniker.
“That may just be best.”
Ashleigh shrugged. “I know my strengths.”
“As do the men you’ve put in intensive care but that’s a discussion for another time.”
“Because you want to continue the discussion about silicone and all of its wonderful uses?”
Noel blinked slowly. “Why do I continue to speak to you?”
The other man narrowed his eyes and stared off. “Honestly? I don’t know. However, I do appreciate your willingness to share your despair weeded in rejection with me. That’s fun. Tears would make this experience all the more enjoyable. Did you whimper as she drove away? Stare longingly into your coffee once you realized she’d only been interested in making you scream for her?”
Eye twitching, he went for the jugular; the one place he knew he could bruise. “Mac told me she plans to have Ari perform as flower girl at her wedding. Have you RSVP’d yet?”
The other man gazed down at him for a moment after the mention of his now engaged ex-girlfriend Mackenzie Rogan and their five-year-old daughter Arista. “I’m standing within reach of weights. I could bludgeon you and tell the authorities you fell.”
“You could,” Noel told him, rollin
g his shoulders. “But would it ease the burden on your soul, my friend? Would it soothe the longing in your heart?”
Ashleigh had apparently forgotten his romantic conundrum in the midst of tormenting Noel. Was it fair to bring that up now? Probably not. But dammit, he wasn’t the only one feeling the sting of rejection!
With a huff, the defensive end turned away from him and walked out of the gym.
“Oh c’mon! Let’s talk about our hurt together!” he yelled after him. “Help me help you work through this!”
The names he was called in response to his suggestion were not—in the least bit—nice; some of them were downright nasty. And he couldn’t help but wonder just a little if that was the way Alana saw him too.
Four
“If you’re going to sleep at work, at least have some class and do so in the lounge like everyone else.”
Alana jerked upwards, her eyes widening at the sight of Nyssa leaning casually over her desk, lips curled into a rather smug smirk that Alana didn’t appreciate in the slightest because...rude. Caught. She’d been caught napping. But it wasn’t her fault! For the last several days her workload had doubled, she had one more class to close out for the semester before she could apply for graduation and Alexander was still moping about the halls of her home, giving her mooneyes over her refusal to grant his birthday wish—which she still wasn’t going to do!
After this morning’s work rush and last night’s lack of sleep for about the third time in a row due to dreams that she refused to acknowledge, Alana had finally just…dropped once she finished a few statistical marketing reports. Not to mention, Nyssa had been MIA since the night of her birthday party and Sansone was acting distinctly sulky. Whatever had or hadn’t occurred that night was most assuredly feeding the pool the office had going around on who would break first.
“That was not sleeping,” she finally managed to argue.
Nyssa stood straight and started going through the cards of messages on the corner of the mahogany desk. “Really? Then what was it?”
“Er…prayer?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Telling you?”
Flicking through the numbers, Nyssa tossed a few in the garbage can to the side while Alana watched on. Knowing her boss the way she did by now, she could only guess that she’d already predicted what each message consisted of. Some were from players whining about ad campaigns they wanted. Others were from ad campaigns whining about the players they wanted. The rest were invitations to dinners that Nyssa wouldn’t bother with unless there would be discussion of branding.
“Try again, cupcake,” the other woman said.
“Okay! I was asleep!” She flung her arms out to her sides. “Crucify me!”
“Put your arms down and go take a break.”
Alana sighed as she stood. “You must love me.”
“That and I don’t want you rubbing under-boob around the rim of my favorite mug before making me coffee in the mornings,” Nyssa called after her.
Oh of course she would bring that up. “That was one time and I did it to my ex-boss, who totally deserved it!”
It wasn’t a lie. Her last boss had been a dick and Alana had spent most days etching runes into unnoticeable places on his desk with the hopes that it would cause a horrible curse. Of course that hadn’t worked so she’d gone with traditional methods—which she wasn’t precisely proud of—to get a bit of joy. Nyssa, however, managed to avoid her wrath by being…well Nyssa. The woman was admirable. She conquered in a testosterone driven field, her reputation infamous because of her ability to read athletes with just the exchange of a “Hello.”
Alana, who’d thought just a few short years ago she’d be well on her way to a gold medal, had spent a bevy of time researching sports management in the belief that she’d need it for herself some day. She’d been wrong but that in no ways discredited or minimized the hero worship she’d developed while following Nyssa’s career. The moment things had gone to shit with her aspirations, she’d found a new avenue and quickly…
“A little more to the left. Yes. Keep going, keep going…Stop! That’s perfect!”
“Positive?”
Alana nodded to the men who had kindly offered to position her desk for her. “Absolutely.”
They placed it down with mutual grunts before standing back to admire their handiwork.
She walked closer, running her index finger over the polished surface. “What do you think, gentlemen? Complimentary of the current décor or does it not make a bold enough statement?”
“I’d say it’s bold,” one of the men retorted. “Pretty damn bold.”
Alana looked to his silent partner.
The other man lifted his hands. “As bold as bold can possibly get.”
Her lips curled. “Excellent.” Without preamble, she hopped on top of the hardwood and crossed her legs, attempting to stem her laughter at the way their eyes followed. “I happen to be a fan of bold.”
“We could tell,” the men retorted simultaneously.
She went for naiveté. “Really? How?”
“Because—”
“Um,” a voice said from the far right. “The hell is going on here?”
Alana’s grin widened and she took her gaze off the man speaking and placed it firmly on the woman standing not too far away, eyebrows raised high over expressive hazel eyes, her arms folded across a blouse that had probably cost more than Alana’s monthly rent. Ah, now she fully understood. Photos and Internet findings had given her just a bit of an idea of what it was like to be caught in that stare. Up close and personal? Completely different deal. There were some that simply commanded attention the moment their feet touched the ground without having to say much at all. This woman was one of those people. Hence why Alana had every intention of doing her very best work on every single occasion that she was given the opportunity.
“Sunny?” Nyssa Blackwell queried, not bothering to look away from Alana for even a moment. “Luc?”
The men in question shared glances. “Well,” Sansone Sultana began. “We decided to be a help to Ms. Stafford by moving in her new desk.”
“It’s a really nice desk,” Luciano Antonelli chose to add. “Entirely too heavy for those dainty little hands.”
Nyssa blinked. “Dainty?”
Luciano gave a short nod. “Dainty. Like an elfin creature. Wouldn’t be right to let those kind of hands do strenuous lifting.”
“And because we happen to lack dainty, elfin hands, we chose to offer our services.” This came from Sansone.
The other woman stood for a beat and then, “To a complete stranger who we know nothing about. You decided to offer your services to a stranger.”
Sharing another glance between them, Luciano retorted, “We made introductions first.”
“You made….” Nyssa closed her eyes, reopened them and gritted out, “The hell is wrong with the two of you?”
“Nothing.”
“We didn’t want to be rude.”
“Rude? You didn’t want to be rude to the complete stranger that you helped move into our office space? The complete stranger who could possibly be here to peel the meat off your pretty yet useless faces?!” Her voice had reached slightly shrill levels at this point. Alana was entertained.
Luciano raised a finger and pointed at Alana’s hands from where she stood. “Dainty, elfin hands. Don’t think those are very capable of—”
“Quiet!” Nyssa bellowed.
The championship boxer stopped and tucked in his lips.
Sansone’s lips parted.
“You speak and you lose your tongue.”
His lips closed.
Eyes narrowed, Nyssa looked Alana over and asked, “Who are you and why, exactly, have you decided to infringe on my square footage?”
Alana stood, walked forward, and held out her hand—her dainty, elfin hand—saying, “Alana Stafford, Penn State undergrad. 3.8 GPA. Degrees in business, social studies and marketing. Curre
ntly working on law, specifically corporate. Previous distance runner with a record of 3 minutes and 45 seconds at 1500 meters outdoor; 7 minutes and 56 seconds at 3000 meters outdoor. I was also an indiscernible force in cross-country. I could list my awards and accolades but they would be pointless because I’m not here to be one of your athletes.”
“You’re not?” Nyssa said slowly, taking Alana’s hand now.
Shaking her head, she answered, “I’m here to be your assistant.”
The other woman looked past her and towards Sansone. “I wasn’t aware I needed an assistant.”
Alana released her and took a few steps backwards, going around the desk that she’d had ordered and delivered with nothing aside from hope guiding her. “That was up until you met me, Ms. Blackwell.”
Nyssa opened her mouth right as Alana pulled a binder from the bottom drawer.
“You’ve gotten quite a few calls this morning,” she murmured before Nyssa could speak, flipping through pages. “That full-back Riley Whitman got really pushy about what should have been a four o’clock meeting tomorrow so I pushed back. I pushed him all the way back to next week so he could be reminded that you didn’t operate on his time. The tennis player Michael Adams requested that you meet him in New Jersey on Thursday to which I told him wasn’t possible because that’s the day you’ll be on your way to Seattle to speak with Kevin List about renewing his contract with the Seahawks. I did, however, amend his disappointment with a promise that his coming here on Saturday as opposed to moving you all about again would be rewarded with a personal table at Creperie Beau & L’Etage.”
She closed the binder and handed it over to Nyssa. “The system is as follows: I take the book a the beginning of the work day, you peer through anything that looks displeasing and make a decision on whether or not you would like to deal with the whining and then return it to me at the end. We’ll cycle on until your schedule has been set for the following week and so on. If you’d like me to make copies to keep in memorable places I can. It’s already been digitized and uploaded to a whiteboard of sorts that both you and Mr. Sultana will have access to at all times to adjust as you like. As of the last few hours, in between having my things moved in, I’ve already compiled a list of the best possible endorsements for each area of sports, updated the software on your office Mac so that it now receives airdrop for when you’d rather just send things directly to your personal computer as opposed to using a thumb drive and I had a new coffee maker ordered because the one in the break room is—and I mean this in the nicest way possible—cheap.”
