by Natasha Deen
She wrapped her fingers around it, making sure her grasp caught his hands, as well. He had long fingers, tapered and lean, and he didn’t let go at her touch. “You have a bottle of foundation in your drawer.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because it would look silly sitting on top of my desk.” He followed his words with a wink, and a smile. Nessie’s heart grew wings and fluttered to the ceiling, where it joined the choir of singing angels.
“How did you come into possession of this foundation?” She pressed the question. Though the angels sang and her heart waltzed, the possibility existed that this foundation belonged to a special woman in his life. The singing chorus and dancing organ paused and waited for his answer.
“My mother broke her leg two weeks ago. I’ve been doing her grocery shopping for her.”
The choir broke into a rock version of “Hallelujah” and her heart began to moonwalk.
“Your mother wears the same shade of foundation that I do?”
“No.”
The joyous chorus faltered. “Then why did you buy it?”
“It was an impetuous and rash act, borne out of lunacy.”
“That’s a lot of weight for a five-dollar purchase to bear.”
“Good thing the bottle is tempered glass.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
His eyes clouded over, turning as dark as the sky before a storm. “Perhaps one day, when I’m comfortable with the rasher side of my personality.”
Her hand reached out and grasped the sinewy muscles of his forearm. Dark blond hairs covered his skin, and they felt crisp yet soft against her fingers. The drunken, languid feeling began to swirl in her again, but she had other, more pressing priorities which needed to be addressed. “I’m not a spontaneous person, either. I like to plan ahead.”
His smile broke the clouds in his eyes. “I’ve noticed.”
“Kissing you was never in my plans.”
The upward turn of his lips faltered, then fell, turning his smile bittersweet.
“I say this,” she continued, “because my job is important to me. I don’t want to lose it because of a kiss.”
The storm returned, this one full of thunder and fury, blackening his countenance and making his scowl dark. “You think I would fire you over that?”
The challenging look in his eyes made her want to run for cover, but short of hiding under the sink, there was nowhere for her to go. “It was unprofessional of me, and given the job reshuffling currently under way, my action could be misunderstood.”
He leaned into her, forcing her to retreat until her back pressed against the mirror. “Tell me,” he bit the words out, “what I misunderstood.”
Mere inches separated them. She could see the gold, wheat and copper strands that made up his blond hair, the dilation of his pupils. The scent of his cologne circled her and the heat of his body melted her professional shield into a molten puddle. His lips formed a firm, obstinate line, and the urge to kiss that rigid wall until it turned soft, moldable and yielding, nearly overwhelmed her. She gripped her restraint with the desperate commitment of a woman hanging off a cliff.
Forcing her gaze to meet his, she said, “I don’t think there was any misunderstanding, Leo. I just wanted to apologize for kissing you. It wasn’t appropriate.”
“No one will ever consider me a Don Juan, Nessie, but I’m no monk. While I may not have bedded hundreds of women in my thirty-three years on earth, I am schooled in the art of lovemaking. What you did yesterday was not a kiss.”
Not a kiss? Not a kiss? He may have teased her about her ears and her choice of breakfast foods to fling, but no one could question her amorous actions. Feminine pride brought heat to her cheeks and had her pushing back, forcing his physical retreat. “Lips touched lips. That makes it a kiss.”
Leo glowered with derision. “During rush hour on the subway, I’ve had women brush against my body and fall into my arms. Are these women hitting on me?”
“I know what a kiss is, and I kissed you!”
“Like those women on the subway hit on me,” he snorted.
“Those women aren’t attracted to you!”
His eyes glittered, a muscle in the back of his jaw throbbed. He leaned in and once again, she found her back against the mirror. “Are you confessing to an attraction for me?” There was no mistaking the triumphant shine in his eyes, nor the challenge in his voice.
She gulped and resisted the temptation to smack herself. “I’m saying there is a large difference between women being jostled by the movement of a train, and a conscious—though erroneous—decision on my part.”
“That wasn’t a kiss,” he repeated with the obstinacy of a mule. He grabbed her by the hips, pulling her towards him until every part of her body knew each hard, angled plane of him, and muttered, “This is a kiss.”
Then his mouth swooped in and claimed hers.
Chapter Four
Grace’s insistent demands kept Nessie hopping from one task to another. So much so, that she feared she would soon grow a cotton tail. A furry tail and a taste for orange-coloured vegetables, however, could not corrode the memory of Leo’s mouth on hers. That soul-shattering, mind-bending, knee-buckling kiss kept her awake at night, and fantasies of what else might have happened ensured the battery companies would see a healthy profit at the end of their quarter.
She hadn’t seen Leo for fourteen days; but today, she promised herself that would change. Nessie twirled in her new office chair, a stir stick dangling from her lips, as she watched the clock hands inch their way toward noon. No matter what decrepit task Grace thought up to occupy Nessie’s lunch hour, be it cleaning out the shared fridge or running photocopies of useless designs, she had plans of her own—and they all involved putting herself within kissing proximity of Leo Schumacher.
“Vanessa.”
Nessie’s nose twitched with anxiety at the sound of Grace’s voice. She turned to see her boss’s head peering around the cubicle door. That the rest of Grace’s body remained hidden by the cloth panels gave her head a creepy, disembodied look. “Leo wants you to meet him in the boardroom.”
Her heart thumped an excited rhythm. “He wants to see me?”
“He wants to see everybody,” she scowled, her crow’s feet etching a diagonal formation around her eyes.
“Oh.”
The crows took wing at the disappointed tone in Nessie’s voice. Grace’s mouth curved into a cynical smile as the pointed talons of her fingernails curled around the doorframe. “What’s the matter, dear, hoping that he’s still panting for your affections?”
Nessie rose, smoothed the lines from her oversized jersey shirt and walked out of her cubicle. The bait about her conduct found its hook in her insecurities, but she forced a smile, and freed herself from its sharp edge with a contemptuous stare. “Is that the best you can do?”
Overjoyed that she’d managed to jump back into empowered waters and avoid the butter-lined skillet, Nessie hurried to the boardroom before her manager could cast another line.
She took her seat, smiling at both the faces she knew and those she didn’t. Leo strode in. He chose a chair three positions away from Nessie.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said, once the men and women had all taken places around the walnut table. “I know the past few weeks have been emotional and uncertain. Now that employee reviews have been completed, new staff put in place and others moving on to different companies, I’m meeting with each department to outline the new visions for Victor & Victoria. If you’ll take a look at the sheets in front of you, I’ll walk you through the upcoming changes.”
With this introduction, Leo began to explain his plans for the women’s casual-wear unit, including merging it with the ladies’ dress-wear, implementing modified policies and procedures, and updating the design for the office space of Grace’s section.
The new color scheme of neutrals and forest tones may have seemed tame and mund
ane to non-Grace employees. But for those who had worked and toiled under the grape-coloured sky and forty-watt sun, a sigh of relief rose to the ceiling as a new day—sans bruised shins and fatigued eyes, dawned.
“Now that the Women’s Department has been expanded, there will be positions open for new management, including team leaders and supervisors.”
Grace lifted her hand in an imperious gesture. “Excuse me, Leo, why was I not made aware of this?”
“Of course you were made aware.” Leo regarded her as though she were a crooked, dead tree cluttering his forest. “You agreed to every one of these new policies.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but his gaze shifted to one of silent warning, and she snapped it shut.
“If anyone is interested in applying for a team-leader position, let me know. As for the supervisory roles, I have three candidates. Each person will have a group assigned to them and be given six weeks to create a new shoe design. The results will be judged by the company employees, and the two who place at the top will be given the positions.”
He rustled the papers in front of him. In the silence that filled the room, Nessie swore she could hear the drum roll in the background. “The three candidates are Germaine Smith, who will head Team A, Grace Hart leading Team B, and Vanessa Helph, responsible for Team C.”
Grace’s nostrils flared and her lips curled as though she smelled a foul odour. “Leo, I’m already a supervisor. I’m unclear why I need to compete for my own job.”
He leaned back, the leather chair rocking in silent compliance. His long fingers interlaced with each other as he regarded her. “That you are now questioning executive decisions you helped create seems to hold your answer.”
“I never agreed to compete for my job!” she cried.
His chair snapped into an upright position. A flash, and his eyes turned from cool blue to an arctic, indigo shade. “You agreed employees whose performance was not bad enough to require firing but not good enough that they should be kept without question would be given an opportunity to fight for their job.”
“Well, yes,” she wailed, hands rising as if imploring heaven’s intervention, “but I didn’t think you meant me.”
When the chuckles and titters abated, he said in a bored, uninterested tone, “Now you know.”
“Compete for my job like it’s a horseshoe toss?” Her sparse eyebrows climbed her forehead as her hands descended to mortal levels. “Fred would never had made me—”
“Fred’s not here anymore, is he?” Leo unlaced his fingers and reclined in his chair. “If you feel this is beneath you, Grace—”
“I do—”
“Then I’ll be happy to accept your resignation.”
Her mouth opened and closed but no sound emerged. She looked around, gaping and incredulous. No one made eye contact, save Nessie, who couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Karma at work.
With a quiet and commanding, “Ladies, gentlemen,” Leo brought the group’s attention back to the meeting. Nessie, lost in her thoughts and suppositions about Leo, paid only cursory attention to the rest of the discussion. Fifteen minutes later, when everyone had left, she remained.
“You really aren’t a lumberjack, are you?” she asked Leo.
The corners of his mouth twitched. “I am every bit the callous and axe-wielding maniac that legend makes me out to be.”
“Then why didn’t you fire Grace outright?”
His eyes narrowed and a harsh scowl marred the smooth lines of his face. “Lawsuit. If I gave you and Germaine the promotions and fired her, she would file a complaint. She wouldn’t win, but in the interim, she would cost me time, money.” A warm glow lit his eyes and a soft smile burnished his mouth. “She would also drag your name through the mud, and I couldn’t allow that.”
“You couldn’t?” Seduced by his words, Nessie rose from her seat and glided to the chair next to him.
“Not in the slightest. You, Vanessa Helph, are one of the most popular and well-regarded employees in this company. A lot of people like you. If I ever allowed Grace to damage your name, I’m sure I would have a mutiny on my hands.”
“Oh.” Her voice slid down two octaves.
“And I like you a lot.”
“Oh.” His words gave her insides a weightless, floating sensation, but the way he looked at her anchored Nessie in deep, churning waters of excitement and attraction.
“In fact—” He pulled her chair until its arm bumped against his. Leo’s warm breath fanned her ears as he leaned close and set her senses tingling. “I like you very, very much, more than I’ve ever liked anyone before.”
Not daring to look at him, she stared at the motivational poster on the wall. “Really?” She could barely get the word out for the jerky, excited churning of her heart, which shredded her breath to pieces and took all strength from her limbs.
“Truly.” He nuzzled the delicate cartilage of her ear and turned it into Nessie’s new favourite erogenous zone. “Vanessa Helph, with the short black hair that won’t feather, and these delicious elf ears that I want to nibble on for the rest of my life, I adore every inch of you.”
She turned to face him before the pleasure he exacted made her pass out. “I’ve never done this before,” she whispered against his lips.
“That’s okay, I’ll show you,” he whispered back, his kisses detouring past hers to trail an erotic path along her jaw and down the throbbing pulse at her neck.
“Will you give lessons?”
His chuckle rumbled along her collar bone. “Absolutely.”
“Weekly?”
“Daily—multiple times.”
“For Germaine, as well?”
His mouth stilled against her skin. He pulled away and looked at her with a quizzical expression. “We’re not talking about lovemaking, are we?”
“What? No,” she said. “I’ve done that before.”
“Of course you have,” he murmured, resuming his former activities and once again mapping her neck and face with kisses. “Who could ever resist making love to you?”
“Lots of people,” she breathed, then immediately regretted her admission she was not irresistible to the male sex. “Leo.” She pushed him away, before his sensual ministrations torpedoed all her feminine pride and she confessed to a bedpost with a meagre four notches.
He lifted his head.
The heat in his gaze didn’t just torpedo feminine pride, it exploded Nessie’s inhibitions and burned them to cinder. Desire bubbled, stripping away her reservations and leaving her professional thoughts charred ashes.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she demanded in a husky voice that contradicted her words. “You’re making me forget the point of the conversation.”
“Good.” He kissed the tips of her fingers, then the knuckles, making her aware of every molecule and nerve ending. “Let’s change the topic into something more interactive.”
“Leo, I’m serious.”
His eyes gleamed with wicked intent. “So am I.”
Using every ounce of her willpower, she pulled away from him, but he held the tips of her fingers. “I want management lessons, and I want you to offer them to Germaine, as well. If I win, I want to do it fair and square.”
He sighed as he released her hands. “Did you know your nose crinkles in the most adorable fashion when you’re being virtuous?”
“Leo,” she sighed with exasperation.
“There it goes again.” He traced the bridge of her nose with the tip of his index finger. “And to think, I was once the Paragon of Forethought. One look at you, and all I want to be is the Paragon of Foreplay.”
She made a sound, incomprehensible, primitive, and debated the pros and cons of sexually attacking Leo in the middle of the conference room. His finger left her nose to trace the outline of her lips.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he commanded, “before I convince myself that a boardroom table is an appropriate place to bring all my fantasies to fruition.”
/> He pulled his hand from her, his fingers curling into a fist. Then he pushed the chair away with his foot and increased the distance between them.
“I have no problem coaching both you and Germaine in management techniques. I’ll even offer it to Grace.”
“Thank you.”
“Group sessions,” he murmured. His gaze ran a sensual perusal of her body. A blue fire glowed in his irises and made his voice throb. “If I’m alone with you, all I’ll want is for you to coach me in techniques of an entirely different sort.”
****
The day after Leo’s announcement, Grace approached Nessie with words of reconciliation. If she would pull out, Grace promised to give her a raise. When financial gain failed to sway Nessie, her competitor’s agenda went from diplomatic to battle.
Grace’s warfare strategy ran the gamut from spreading rumours to ransacking cubicles and files. When the time and delays caused by Team B failed to garner any information on Nessie’s designs, Grace launched the final offensive. She poached Helga Guntherhaag, the premier shoe designer, from JBC Shoes.
This last charge napalmed the momentum of Team C. Resignation and defeat replaced motivation and excitement. It took Nessie an entire week to convince her team that they could still meet the challenge and win. Her pep talk worked its magic on everyone but herself. Helga’s designs set industry standards, and Nessie was terrified of losing.
A week before the presentations were due, Nessie came to her office to find a set of dieffenbachia plants blocking her door.
“Oh for the love of—” She hacked her way past the silk leaves and thick trunks, ploughing her way into the cubicle to discover her computer taken apart, all her writing utensils missing—and most infuriating—Grace had pilfered her stash of brownies. Nessie strode from her cubicle, vowing to defend the honour of her treats.
“Psst.”
She stopped and glanced around, looking for the only person who would hiss at her. Ladders, drop cloths and unpacked boxes full of new office equipment now shared space with the cubicles and fake plants, and blocked Jack from view. The whispered summons came again. Nessie located him by the rubber plant and hissed back.
