by K. Bromberg
I wouldn’t expect anything less from him.
He laughs again and my body doesn’t heed the warnings I’ve been giving myself because I glance up to where he’s chatting up three other competitors.
Now that I can see him from the front, I can affirm one of my theories. He’s definitely sexy. Add to that he’s changed from the coed I used to know––body filled out, ass definitely tighter, and that beard? Damn him for that. Let’s pray he doesn’t have tats beneath that crisply starched shirt of his or I may be sending out an SOS.
Then again, why ask to be rescued since the man sure knows how to kiss a girl so it’s forever seared into her memory?
Beards, tats, tight asses, and searing kisses? That’s a great way to start with your head in the game, Harper.
He glances over my way and I immediately look down, not wanting him to know I’m here yet. But when I do, I notice that the only competitor I’ve added to my list on my perfectly white piece of paper is Ryder Rodgers.
And right on cue, as if I’m not paying him enough attention, his voice carries across the space and demands my attention.
I don’t look.
No doubt he’s smarter now, with more experience under his belt.
I won’t look.
More polished and professional.
I refuse to give him the satisfaction later of knowing I looked.
Smoother with his tactics and less brash with his decisions.
Dammit, Harper.
My eyes are on him, appreciating not only the sight of him and the way my insides twist because of him, but also the firing of the competitive edge inside of me.
We’re going to kill each other. The thought makes me laugh because if our interaction in the past is any indication, it’s not far from the truth. And that’s why I’m sitting in the back of the room with my head down and letting them assume I’m the glorified secretary from Meteor Development. Because if blood is going to be shed, I might as well draw the first drop and use surprise to my advantage to get it.
No one knows I’m back.
This bid just became so much more than numbers. The want to prove myself just increased tenfold. To the industry that let me down as a whole, and to the boy I had a crush on who never knew.
As if he knew I needed help refocusing on the task at hand, Mason Van Dyken, Century Development’s CEO, walks to the front of the room to welcome us. And that’s all it takes for that buzz of excitement to overpower every other thought I was having and redirect it to exactly where it needs to be, the project. The numbers. The details of what’s to come.
From my vantage point in the back of the room, I listen and take notes. Thoughts of Ryder fade to the background as I ride the high of being back in my element and welcome the firing of my competitive spirit after having suppressed it for so long.
When Van Dyken asks us all to introduce ourselves, the men seated in front of me begin. I recognize the names of competitors I’ve researched as the introductions continue around the room.
And this time I take notes.
“Brandon Tennison with Nograd.”
There’s silence as the rest of the room nods in greeting while silently scrutinizing him. The mental warfare has begun.
“Alan Danks with Developmental Solutions.”
More silence, more nodding of heads, as the introductions weave through the tables in the room from front to back.
“Ryder Rodgers, R Squared Management.”
I fight my own smile over how surreal it is to hear that name right now. And with the anticipation of what his face is going to look like when he realizes I’m not really that glorified assistant he has assumed me to be.
I’m the last person in the room for introductions and when it’s my turn to go, I keep my head down while all eyes turn my way. I can feel the weight of their stares as they look at the top of my blonde chignon. I wait a beat, allow them to assume I’m intimidated by this room full of powerhouse men that’s causing the pause…being the assistant and all.
They couldn’t be further from the truth.
And it’s going to be so fun rubbing their noses in it. Little do they know I’m not intimidated in the least. I live for this shit—proving those who underestimate me wrong. And the one person who knows that better than anyone in the room is the one this little show is intended for.
Surprise, Ryder. Look who’s back.
I clear my throat, slowly lift my face with a slight smile curling the corners of my aptly painted pink lips, and introduce myself.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Harper Denton. Meteor Development.”
Chapter Three
Ryder
“Mr. Van Dyken,” I say as I cross the room and reach my hand out in greeting. There’s no way I’m letting Harper carry on her one-on-one conversation with him without stepping in to interrupt.
And damn straight, I want to turn to her, stare at her, and ask her what the hell she’s doing here when last I heard she was kicking ass in New York, but I don’t give a glance her way. I see her scowl though, know she’s pissed I’m cutting into her schmooze time with Mason, but I couldn’t care less. She had plenty of time to come up and say hi to me before Van Dyken started his spiel. But she didn’t.
And why not? Is the game that important to her she can’t say hi to an old friend? Typical Harper. She looks like heaven but is still cold as hell.
So she wants to start off like this and set the tone? She better bet that very fine ass of hers I’m going to follow suit. Difference is, this is my turf now so if she wants to play, she’s going to have to step into the ring first.
My ring. My rules. Not hers.
I’ll even be a gentleman and lift the ropes for her to climb in between.
“Ryder. So glad your company had the wherewithal to send their very best for the job.”
Hear that, Harper?
“I wouldn’t pass up this opportunity for the world. You have the lot of us on pins and needles waiting to find out why there’s so much secrecy over this project. We’re all eager to find out the face behind the mask that’s pulling the strings.”
“In due time,” he says with a knowing smile that hints he’s enjoying this little power play a bit too much, but he’s allowed. He’s the one in the know.
“I was excited at the chance for this project given how well we’ve worked together on projects in the past.”
“You definitely know my favorite words, Ryder.”
“On time and under budget,” I say as his laugh booms around the room. Heads turn and competitors take note of who he’s speaking with.
Exactly my intentions.
“Just what I want to hear. How can I—excuse me one second,” he says as he’s summoned away by an employee across the room.
“Still great at kissing ass, I see,” Harper murmurs the minute he’s out of earshot.
And she just stepped into the ring. I didn’t doubt she would for a second. Let’s see if she wants to play with the gloves on or off.
I turn slowly to face her, the disbelief that she’s here still as real as when she lifted her face to meet my eyes with that smirk playing at the corner of her lips like she did earlier in the conference room.
“Still great at being hostile, I see. Hello, Harper.” My greeting and smile are a mixture of cautious sincerity. “And after all this time I thought you might have changed. So refreshing to see you haven’t.”
Ding. Ding. Ding. Round One.
“Hello, Ryder.” She gives a subtle lift of her brow as our eyes hold longer than they should. A nonverbal challenge that’s welcome and terrifying all at the same time.
“Such a pleasure to see you again.”
“Well, at least I know you’re still good at telling a lie. We both know you’re far from happy I’m here.” Her laugh is throaty, her lips distracting.
God, she’s gorgeous.
I reject the thought the minute it hits me but how can I fucking argue that she isn’t? She’s all curves and
confidence and sex appeal wrapped in that sophisticated, damn business suit. Her expression may say drop dead, but her body screams make me feel alive.
“Think what you will. I’m glad to see I still bring out the best in you.”
She snorts. It’s such a contradiction to the completely put together woman before me and yet the sound of it tells me a bit of the old her I used to know remains. The one from before.
“True,” she muses nonchalantly, eyes focused on the other side of the room. “I mean look how the last competition ended between us…” The comment is left open-ended but the lift of her eyebrows and purse of her lips say the words for her: I won.
“Good thing I’ve learned the error of my ways since then.”
We hold each other’s gazes, our lips fighting back smiles while unspoken challenges war between us.
“I’m sure you have, but we both know you’re standing here sizing me up, asking yourself who is this woman who sounds like the Harper Denton you once knew but looks nothing like her and is ten times smarter now…and then you’re wondering if your best is enough this time around?” she says, a coy smile on her lips and my own mouth falling lax as she makes her mark and hits the nail directly on the head. She lowers her voice as if she’s going to let me in on a little secret. “The answer is no.”
She’s good. Damn good.
The Ice Queen returns.
I chuckle and shake my head. I shouldn’t be surprised that just like that, we’re picking up right where we left off. And just as I’m about to speak, her smile widens and tells me that Mason is on his way back.
“Sorry about that. A few details needed clarifying.” Mason interrupts as he returns and looks from Harper to me and then back to Harper. It’s not hard to sense the tension—competitive and sexual––that always seems to be a constant between us. “You two have met then?”
I nod. “We’ve competed a time or two in the past,” I respond, trying to play nice.
“Hm. I wasn’t aware. Sometimes familiarity can be an advantage. Or a liability. I’ll enjoy being the benefactor of both.” He glances between us again, momentarily lost in thought before he rubs his hands together in front of him. “Now, what was it we were discussing?”
“I was just letting Ryder here know what other projects are coming up for bid in the vicinity. I figured it’s only kind to give him his options since I’ll be winning this one.” Harper’s smile is sweet and genuine to match the playfulness of her tone and yet I know she means every word.
Mason’s laugh rumbles through the room. His quick grin tells me he respects her for having the balls to make the comment. Who doesn’t respect a woman making a definitive play in the male-dominated world of construction management?
“We’ll see about that.” My smile is tight as I meet her eyes, my own warning fired off in the silent exchange.
Mason looks between us again. “This is going to be fun to watch. Nothing like a good, clean fight between colleagues. Excuse me again, but we’re going to get the presentation back under way shortly and I need to tend to a few details first.”
We both turn to watch him retreat, and I swear I hear Harper mutter under her breath, “Who says I don’t like things a little dirty?”
The minute the words register, my mind immediately goes there.
To dirty.
And with Harper.
I full-on stare at her to question if I heard her correctly, but her face is the picture of innocence. All but the tiny little quirk of the corner of her mouth that tells me I heard her right, and that she’s fighting like hell not to smile.
I’ve got to give it to her. The woman’s got chops.
“Dirty, huh?” I can’t resist. Challenge accepted. The murmur is off my lips without thought, my body already wanting to find out just how dirty.
She clears her throat and gives up the fight, letting her lips spread into a slow, knowing smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know…” she says with a glance my way, eyes lit and eyebrows raised before she walks away without another word. Well, unless you count something she mutters that sounds a lot like fucking beard burn while leaving me the very fine visual of her hips swaying in her gray pencil skirt and pink heels as her way of driving the suggestion home.
And there is no driving it home needed. Her point was made loud and clear, and with a fuckton of room left there for my imagination to improvise. Like how I’m reliving my grad school fantasies of taking the shy girl with the mesmerizing eyes and intimidating intellect on the desk in the empty classroom, and at the same time dreading the fact she’s been invited to bid.
And round one goes to Harper.
Damn. She always did have a way of boiling my blood and getting me hard all at the same time. Seems like she’s perfected that skill of hers over the years.
I’m not sure if I should be happy about that or fearful. Fuck if I don’t love a strong, confident, intelligent woman. The feistier the better. Talk about sexy as hell. But when it comes to that self-assured woman being Harper, it means this bid isn’t going to be as in the bag as I thought it was going to be an hour ago.
Good thing I like to be challenged.
I lift my bottle of water to my lips and wish it were a beer. I think I might need it or something stronger. Can this situation get any more fucked up?
Only if I were to sleep with her.
And with another look over to her, I hate myself for wanting to but can’t blame myself all the same.
I haven’t felt this conflicted since that last week of school.
Well, shit. Hello, Harper Denton. So we meet again, Ice Queen.
At least Van Dyken was right about one thing—knowing her can have its advantages.
Like knowing she’ll go straight for the jugular without a second thought.
Best to keep that in mind so I don’t get caught flatfooted staring at those legs of hers.
Chapter Four
Ryder
High heels.
What the fuck is she doing here?
Bare legs.
And not just here in the office, but in Los Angeles altogether.
Sexy calves.
Wasn’t she off in New York conquering the world or something?
Pencil skirt.
Maybe I like it a little dirty.
Shoot me now because the damn view in front of me is enough to distract me from paying attention to Mason as he points to where the facility will be laid out on the land before us.
“…in an unprecedented move, Century Development has changed the way it’s doing its bidding process for this project. In lieu of our typical sealed bid, we wanted to control the bidding environment in all aspects of the process…”
I should be turned on by the sight before me: a vast amount of undeveloped land. A rarity in southern California these days. The one thing someone in my career can’t wait to get their hands on. Get dirty in.
Dirty. There’s that word again. And of course when I think of getting my hands on something and the term dirty, my eyes veer right back to Harper.
To the curve of her hips. The square of her shoulders. The tight knot of hair at the base of her neck that fits expertly beneath the yellow hard hat on her head, an item every person here no doubt hates wearing in the warm sun, and yet somehow she makes look sexy.
Jesus, Ryder. Remember who she is. Competition. Sexy competition with sharp claws she won’t hesitate to use.
Not like I ever complained about scratch marks before though.
“…the renditions back at the office you saw before we headed out will be available to you for reference during the bidding process, but I felt it was important to visit the site to see the magnitude of the project in person…”
She’s probably doing this on purpose. Wearing the skirt and the heels when she knew we were going to be headed out to a dirt site. Totally impractical. Sexy as sin. Fully distracting.
And I’m losing my mind.
Those heels, though. I laughed when she climbed out of the car w
ith them still on because I was sure as shit that she was going to wobble on the uneven dirt surface. That she was going to pull the I-can’t-walk-in-these card, and yet of course she hasn’t. But I should know better by now not to underestimate her. She’s been nothing but sure-footed. Smooth as silk. Completely competent with both her questions and her spiked heels in this rocky terrain surrounded by men.
It shouldn’t surprise me...
Mason continues on, pointing out the approximate locations for the five different buildings that make up the whole of the facility. I listen passively because I’ve already plotted them in my head from the full-scale renditions we were able to study back at the office.
I glance around to my competition. To Brandon from Nograd, with his Lacoste obsessed wardrobe and his too-tight pants that are so representative of his uptight temperament. He won’t bend, isn’t good with having to adjust, and is no doubt bursting a blood vessel right now because he doesn’t have the rest of the details of the project yet to obsess over.
To Alan from Developmental, with his half-tucked dress shirt and messed up hair, and I know that his socks are probably mismatched—both gray, but definitely with different patterns––because he gets dressed in the dark of his bedroom to let his wife, who works the graveyard shift as a nurse, catch up on her sleep. A good guy but sometimes so distracted by his kids and wanting to be a good dad that he does his math a little too quickly or overlooks a line item and comes in at a number too good to be true and therefore is often disregarded.
To Patrick from Lux, with his slicked back hair and smug smirk that I know rakes in the ladies and yet I want to wipe it off his face because I know after he reels them in, he treats them like shit, and that’s unacceptable. But it’s representative of how he treats his projects: thrilled to get them but then mishandles them once he does.
There are others around me but I don’t bother to study them because they’re here simply for the experience. Century needs to prove to whomever they’re running this project for that they’ve gotten the best of the best. And that means having a multitude of qualifying companies compete so they have more numbers to show fairness.
