Sexual Integrity

by J. A. Dennam

  “Orientation. Everyone’s going to gather in here for an official introduction to Master Ink Innovations.” Shannon blinked and laughed a little. “You didn’t know?”

  Ethan had to admit that Shannon could come off as a bit supercilious to anyone who didn’t know her. This was Brooke’s first taste of that, and he braced himself for the inevitable clash. Sure enough, the woman didn’t disappoint, throwing a glare over her shoulder that would have melted glass. “You mean did I know that it was time for orientation, or that it was a big event?”

  Ethan whistled a response before turning away. Attitude, attitude. Shannon followed him to his desk just one partition over. “What’s her problem?”

  “Too much sour in her kraut,” he replied through the corner of his mouth.

  Brooke’s red head popped up over the partition. “What was that?”

  He powered up his computer. “I said you must have doubts, about winning VP.”

  “Nope, no doubts.”

  A dark-haired man approached carrying a coffee mug that said Keep Calm and Press Ctrl-Alt-Delete. He stuck out a hand in Ethan’s direction. “Roger Kerrigan. I’ll be assisting the new systems administrator.”

  Ethan returned the handshake and introduced himself. “I take it you’re the other Monroe employee who was allowed to stay on.”

  Allowed. He inwardly cringed at his own use of the word, but smiled blandly at Brooke’s killing glare.

  Roger nodded in answer, though a chill had entered his eyes. “Brooke and I have been working together for over six years.” He moved over to her desk and sat down on the corner as she organized it. “You’re lucky to have her. She has connections all over town.” Brooke nudged him in the arm. He shrugged. “What?”

  “I’m sure we’ll work very well together,” Ethan said through a tight smile. As long as she knows how many sugars I take in my coffee.

  Roger leaned in close to Brooke for a private conversation as the noise around them began to escalate. Ethan could sense Shannon’s super senses kicking in, for the woman had an uncanny knack for picking up on anything that wasn’t meant for her. He, however, tuned out entirely as the creative staff started filing in from the other side of the building. He recognized Bill Knight, the lead illustrator whose legendary temper tantrums had been known to bring an entire office to its knees. If the man weren’t so damned brilliant, another firm would be dealing with their unfortunate but creative secret weapon.

  Ethan jerked out a nod of greeting. Bill returned it, claiming a place against the wall with the other artists. “What’s so special about the darkroom?” he heard Shannon ask above the gaggle of voices.

  “Uh…nothing…is special about it,” said Brooke, effectively recapturing Ethan’s attention. She appeared flustered, more embarrassed over Shannon’s eavesdropping than pissed. Roger simply buried his face in his coffee mug.

  Ignoring those clear signals to mind her own business, Shannon persisted. “Then why did Roger call it special?”

  The man sputtered and puckered his face as if it were a ridiculous notion. “It’s not even really a darkroom anymore,” he added, “more like storage for old film-developing equipment and stuff.”

  “Yes, and there’s a slight infestation problem in there.” Brooke bumped Roger off her desk and practically yanked him away by the ear. “It’s full of spiders and bugs,” she threw over her shoulder.

  Shannon’s eyes narrowed as she watched them walk away. “Aren’t they cute.…”

  “Cute?” More like suspicious, Ethan thought, following the couple’s progression as they made their way to the copy machine.

  “Roger obviously has a thing for Brooke.”

  No shit. “Why would anyone have a thing for her?” His voice reeked of a foul mood.

  Shannon giggled and nudged him with her elbow. “Shame on you. She’s okay looking. Nice enough figure. Love her coloring.”

  Not that Ethan needed the reminder. “She’s been a shrew since we met.”

  Shannon laughed again, propping herself against the edge of his desk. “Why, Ethan Wolf, is your pride hurt that she isn’t fawning over you?”

  He gave her a quelling look on the way to his own chair. “No way do I want those fangs of hers anywhere near me.”

  “Fangs?” She reached back and took a few of the candy corn from the dish he always kept nearby.

  “Yeah, didn’t you notice?”

  She shrugged while she ate. “Guess not. Then again, I wasn’t staring at her mouth.”

  He covered the dish as she attempted to take another. “If you can’t play nice, go away.”

  Ken appeared from his office, took a place in the front of the crowd, and held up both hands in a bid for silence. The din subsided and the entire staff settled down for orientation. Forty-five minutes later, half of them filed out and headed back toward the creative side. On her way by, the receptionist leaned over Ethan’s desk and graced him with the smell of lilac perfume and a view of her creamy milk-chocolate cleavage. As a result, he found himself wondering why all the full-timers never seemed to have tan lines. “Can I help you?” he drawled when she swiped a piece of candy from his dish.

  “I can help you.” The woman placed the candy on her tongue and took it in with suggestive slowness. “Take care of that sweet tooth, I mean.”

  Ethan had to admit that she was a gorgeous example of a Florida native with curves in all the right places, large sexy eyes, and the soft features of a makeup model. But a proposition of that nature was no more than a dangling carrot that he could never have.

  “You’re very kind,” he said carefully since he didn’t want to piss off the woman who fielded the calls. “But I get plenty of sugar outside the office.”

  She bit her satiny bottom lip between her teeth and stared at his mouth. “You’re adorable. I’m Letreece, by the way. Let me know if you need anything at all.” Her fingertip brushed a trail down his arm as she straightened up and walked away.

  For an instant, the backlight from the windows offered a revealing look at her silhouette through a black skirt. If Ethan didn’t know better, he’d swear she wasn’t wearing underwear.

  “I see we’re already off to a great start.”

  He spun around and realized he’d just been caught ogling the receptionist’s ass by none other than Brooke Monroe who’d returned to her desk with perfect timing. Great. “Before you even say it, I let her down softly.”

  She blew out a disgusted laugh as she sat down. “You can camp under her desk for all I care, as long as we get the same number of calls.” Her chair rolled and she peered around the partition. “And I will be paying very close attention, Mr. Wolf.”

  4

  AT LUNCH, BROOKE AND ROGER MANAGED TO secure a place in line at the nearby Chipotle; it usually moved fast enough to accommodate their hour-long lunches with plenty of time to spare. She’d already explained her competition with Ethan in the car. Now she needed to know whether Roger had her back.

  The line moved forward as hungry customers walked by with their trays. Brooke inhaled the scents of braised pork and fresh cilantro, her stomach grumbling in protest. “I’m not asking you to spy, Roger,” she clarified. “Just keep your ears open. You know, make sure everything stays on the up and up.”

  Roger sucked air through his teeth. “I don’t know, Wolf doesn’t strike me as the type who’d cheat.”

  He was right. Ethan had as much to prove as she did since he’d come fresh from a management position as well. They truly stood on equal ground. “But Shannon is another story,” she thought out loud. “That woman has everything to gain by having Ethan on top. I mean, did you see the way she draped herself all over him?”

  “I don’t think they’re sleeping together, if that’s what you mean.”

  She rolled her eyes and took another step toward the counter. “It wasn’t a sexual reference, Roger, though I’m sure they’ve slept together. There probably isn’t a female in South Dakota who can’t pick his dick out of a lineu
p.”

  Roger gave her his toothy grin. “You sound jealous.”

  “Don’t be an ass.” She paused to place her order and moved along the counter picking out what she wanted in her burrito. When Roger caught up to her, she was near the register fishing for her wallet. “And I can’t believe she eavesdropped on our conversation, especially when you brought up that awful darkroom.”

  He loosened the knot in his tie. “It’s not awful. It’s an important piece of Monroe history.”

  She paid and made her way through the restaurant with her tray. Once she filled her drink, she chose a place by the window and sat down on the high stool. Roger followed close behind. Through a mouthful of pork and rice, Brooke picked up where she’d left off. “I’d rather that darkroom be long forgotten. It’s a stain on Monroe’s history.”

  Roger handled the gigantic burrito with expertise. “I never got your aversion to it,” he answered and then took a big bite. “Ith a well-known fack people work bether afther athieving orgathm.”

  Brooke watched the food roll around in his mouth while he spoke. “That’s disgusting, Roger.”

  He swallowed. “It’s the truth! And you know those creative types. They expect special privileges to keep their imaginations well oiled. No pun intended.”

  “I’m a creative type,” Brooke reminded him. “And I don’t require special oiling.”

  “Not many people are as pristine as you.”

  Yes, it was no secret that Brooke stayed far away from the darkroom and its lurid reputation. Though the revolving door to it was located on the creative side of the floor, it was next to the conference room and the walls were paper-thin. Roger explained that the danger of being overheard was half the fun. There was probably something to that, but respect meant a lot to Brooke and she’d worked hard to earn it. Respected women weren’t caught with their panties down in secret rooms that reeked of sex.

  “Does the new boss know about your other skills?” he asked, dropping the subject of the darkroom all together.

  Brooke shook her head and wiped her hands on a napkin. “No. Stanley thought it was best that I focus on one thing.”

  “You’re calling him Stanley now?”

  She waved away Roger’s look of disapproval. “I’ll call him my father again when he quits ruining my life.”

  “You still blame him for running Brandon off,” he accused her through another mouthful. “I keep telling you, the guy was cheating on you, Brooke.”

  “I realize that now, but this has nothing to do with Brandon and everything to do with Monroe Graphics.” After seventeen months, two weeks, and five days, Brooke was certainly over the humiliation of her fiancé’s betrayal. She took a breath and checked her tone. “And if anything good comes from this takeover, it’s that I get to start fresh. No more double duty.”

  “But you like double duty, and you could really make it big as a designer.” Roger had always been her biggest advocate when it came to her art. “You certainly seem more comfortable wearing your artist hat than your management hat, or even your IT hat. Hell, what department haven’t you cycled through?”

  Sometimes she wondered if he was right. “You know how easily I get bored. The administrative end of it has more staying power with me.”

  He regarded her in silence for a moment. “Or you could use this opportunity to do what you really love. Have you thought of pitching your web design ideas to Mr. Stevens?”

  Her shoulders slumped. The possibility of ever seeing her new project come to fruition was now gone forever. Knowing this, she refused to let herself go there. “I’m more focused on getting VP. I’m entitled to it, Roger. Not only that, but I can start hiring some of our old staff back.”

  Roger’s dark eyes turned all soft. He leaned over, gave her a peck on the forehead. “You’re hopeless. Do you hear me?”

  Brooke felt a tug of melancholy as his good mood surrounded her. “I’m so glad you’re still with me. Have I told you that?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  She watched him eat, again noting that nothing ever seemed to get him down. “Why are you so happy about this takeover?” she asked.

  “Money,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I got a raise despite my bump down in status.”

  She laughed and shook her head in mock disgust as she wrapped up the other half of her burrito to take home. “You have no integrity.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Not a single shred.” And he shoved the last humongous bite into his mouth.

  Toward the end of her first day, Brooke had managed to schedule two meetings with old clients and draw in one new for a total of one magazine ad, a gift card design, and a whole line of new branding. Normally she’d chalk it up as a good day, but Ethan had scored bigger with his one hook: a textbook layout with the potential of winning a whole series of five.

  It had been torture listening to that call through the partitions. Just thirty minutes to go in the day and he would have fallen behind with his own sad accumulation of niche jobs. The man had gotten lucky.

  Or was it luck after all? With a sigh, Brooke resigned herself to two weeks of deep suspicion. Could she really trust anyone here except Roger?

  The answer was no, never. It was hard enough explaining to a particular Monroe client that she was back to pimping jobs and the reasons behind it.

  “But I’m partial to Zhon’s work,” the client had said in her ear. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is now, would you?”

  Since it had been literally two days since she’d returned home from her vacation, Brooke didn’t know where any of Monroe’s former artists had gone yet. “We have a gifted new team of designers, Mr. Barlow.” At least she hoped they were gifted. “I’m sure we can have some suitable ideas for you when we meet on Wednesday.”

  “What if I don’t like them? How do I know I’ll get the same customer service? Have your rates changed at all?”

  Since he’d been a client for two years, Brooke knew his particular tastes. All it would take was a little liaison work. “The bid should be compatible with past jobs. As always, we’ll offer you up to six design concepts. If none of them suit you, I’ll be happy to recommend another firm.”

  “Sounds fair. I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but I don’t like change.”

  You and me both, she felt like saying, but managed to bite her tongue.

  She’d felt a little better after speaking with the artist whom Ken Stevens—the acting project manager since they didn’t have one yet— had assigned to the job. Her name was Penny, a pixie of a woman who worked with her knees beneath her chin most of the time. Brooke instantly liked her. When they had come up with a rough draft, Brooke was able to convey that the client preferred dark with exploding light graphics to the more subdued textures Penny had first suggested. This was what Ken needed her for: knowledge and understanding of their existing customer base. But old business wouldn’t win her VP.

  Ethan emerged from Shannon’s office, lost in a cell phone call. “We’re in the process of bidding that project right now, Mrs. Stanhope. I’ll have a figure for you by morning.” He barely spared her a glance before sinking behind the partition. His chair creaked. The keyboard tapped out a string of noise. As Brooke eavesdropped, she rolled her eyes in disgust. What a conman. His voice was dripping with sex appeal, and Brooke made a mental note to pay attention to that from now on. If the majority of his calls were from women, she’d know that their receptionist had failed to remain impartial.

  God, what a pig. At least Brooke was smarter than that and would never fall for his charms. Sure, he had a certain amount of sex appeal. He looked good in a suit, he knew how to smile, and he walked with a natural swagger that projected high levels of testosterone. But she had too much pride to notice those things, let alone waste time thinking about them….

  When Ethan hung up, he summoned her, which she promptly ignored. “Monroe,” he repeated. “I know you can hear me. It’s quarter to five and I want to get out of here on time.”


  “So get off your ass and come to me if you’re in such a hurry,” she sniped, pulling the two-inch file from her drawer.

  There was a long, drawn-out sigh. “I see you’re determined to make this as painful as possible.”

  Brooke slapped the folder on her desk and voiced those three little words that had set this whole competition in motion. “As you so kindly said to me: Deal with it.”

  “What—?” His chair creaked again and he appeared around the corner. “Is that why you’re acting this way? Because of some remark I made at that restaurant?”

  She flipped the folder open with attitude. “Maybe I just don’t like you, Ethan. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  Oh, the arrogance! She turned toward him, compelled to count out his many flaws. “You are selfish, egotistical, deathly afraid of losing to a woman, and you have horrible taste in candy.”

  Amusement softened his expression. “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said with his arms crossed. “If you manage to outsell me tomorrow and manage to remain civil all day, I’ll wash your car.”

  He’d probably make fun of her practical four-door sedan, no matter that it carried the highest safety standard in its class. “Just washed it.”

  “Fine, then I’ll gas it up for you.”

  Gas, huh? Brooke hid her interest in the contents of the folder. “And if I lose, I assume you’ll want the same in return?”

  “Oh, I’ll definitely want that carwash. Too many love bugs down here.”

  Yes, those black and red insects, always connected in flight, were thick enough to keep a windshield thoroughly coated in guts. But the man knew how to drive a hard bargain, especially when gas prices were through the roof. With a sigh, she relented. “Alright, it’s a deal.”

  He made a sound of triumph. “In the parking lot, after work, on a day of my choosing.” When she rolled her eyes upward, he explained, “As much as you like to play in the rain, I don’t. And I plan to be watching from my lawn chair.”