by Jamie Wesley
“If I were Mansfield, I would’ve given you anything you asked,” he said, his tone soft. “But as impressed as I was by you, I wasn’t happy because he didn’t agree to work with Crescendo.”
“I know, but we didn’t lose the deal. We have to regroup, that’s all.”
“Then,” he continued like she hadn’t spoken, “we get chased by paparazzi determined to get a scoop. They put your life in danger, so they could get some stupid photos.”
“I know that, Alex,” she murmured.
“Do you?” he asked, his voice chilling in its quiet intensity. “Do you know how it felt to have your life in my hands? To know that while I was trying to protect you, I was also putting your life in danger? Do you know how scared I was that I wouldn’t be able to stop them from causing an accident? How scared I was that something would happen to you?”
Stunned, Fliss didn’t know what to say. Was he admitting that he cared about her? That she was more than a nuisance to him, someone he kissed only to immediately regret the action?
“So yes, I kissed you,” he continued. “Because I needed the reassurance that you were okay. Because I couldn’t stop myself. That’s not me. I don’t do out of control. I don’t do scared. Being scared gets you nowhere fast. I can’t do this. I don’t know how to do this. So I won’t.” He started the engine and pulled away from the curb. “It’s settled.”
Was it? Fliss eased back into her seat. She should be feeling the sting of rejection again. The story of her life. But she wasn’t.
Alex felt for her. He’d all but admitted it. Shown her.
And if he did, what did that mean for them? For her?
She was scared. Scared to let him into her heart. Of being wrong again. Of misinterpreting concern or, hell, even lust as something more. She didn’t want to be wrong again. She didn’t want to be hurt again.
But oh, how he made her feel.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lively conversation from the outer office filtered into Alex’s office. He easily homed in on Fliss’s laugh. He glared at the closed door for a second, then hunched his shoulders and shifted his gaze to his computer. It didn’t matter what was going on out there. He had to figure out a way to convince Phillip Mansfield to choose Crescendo to produce Farrah’s biopic. Starting now.
Unfortunately, no answers leaped from the screen.
Damn it. He angrily tapped his pen on the desk. He’d had the perfect chance to prove he could take Crescendo to the next level yesterday by securing the rights to a movie that would not only be financially successful but also critically acclaimed, and he’d failed. Would he ever reach the level of success he’d dreamed of since he was a kid?
He dropped the pen and sank back against the chair with a sigh. If Mansfield weren’t killing him with his exacting standards, he would admire the old man. Crescendo was the perfect choice to make the film, but Mansfield hadn’t responded to logic. So now what? Stand outside the man’s bedroom window and blast Farrah Blake’s greatest hits on a boombox? Send him a lifetime supply of M&Ms? Call him up and oh-so-casually mention he’d grown up in Philly? Too little too late for that. Besides, he didn’t think that factoid would put Crescendo over the top, anyway.
Mansfield wanted more. He wanted to protect the memory of the woman he’d loved. A feeling Alex understood all too well. Not that he loved Fliss, of course, but when he wasn’t obsessing about Mansfield, his thoughts immediately turned to the car chase and its aftermath. He never would’ve forgiven himself if something had happened to her. The swell of bloodlust he’d felt toward the assholes chasing them had surprised him. The need to mark her as his stunned him.
Alex rubbed his eyes. Damn, he was tired. But that’s what spending the night obsessing about a kiss, obsessing about a woman you shouldn’t want, did to you. Time to worship at the altar of the coffee gods. He pushed away from his desk and stood. Outside his office, he stopped. Where was everyone? Not only had the laughter stopped but Pete’s, Amanda’s, and Tim’s cubicles were empty. Fliss’s door was open, but she wasn’t inside.
He continued on to the break room, but that room, too, was people-less. As he headed toward the coffeepot, a flash of color in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He glanced out the window above the sink.
What the…?
His need for caffeine immediately forgotten, he stalked out of the room and wrenched the back door open. “What the hell is going on?”
His employees and his co-owner froze at the thunder in his voice, Fliss with her hands in midair, Amanda in a crouch, Tim in a backpedal. The basketball Pete held dropped to the ground and bounced twice before rolling toward Alex. He stopped its motion with his foot and glared at the orange object.
An emotion that felt dangerously close to hurt drew tight inside him.
No one answered his question. Good, because he wasn’t finished. He pushed the hurt aside and let the anger fly. “We might have lost the most important opportunity to ever come our way yesterday, but it looks like I’m the only one who gives a damn.” Again, no one responded. Unacceptable. He stepped farther outside. “What the hell are you doing?”
“We’re doing what it looks like we’re doing. Playing basketball.” Fliss stepped from behind Pete, and Alex nearly swallowed his tongue. Why, God, why? He was being punished for his past sins. Every single one. No doubt about it. Workout gear had never looked so sexy. A yellow T-shirt hugged her rounded, firm breasts and flat torso and ended at the waistband of her shorts. Could they really be called shorts? Was there enough material to count? His eyes slipped down to her long, toned, gorgeous legs.
Stop, Alex. You didn’t come out here to drool. He shook his head and silently replayed her statement. His eyebrows shot up. “Wait. You’re playing basketball?”
Her hands landed on curvy hips. “Is there a reason I can’t play basketball?”
“None except for the fact that you’ve never once showed an interest in the sport.”
She shrugged and moved toward him. If he were the fanciful type, he’d say the scent of strawberries drifted through the air to tickle his nose and remind him of the times he’d been close enough to taste her skin. Like last night. Good thing he was always logical.
“I like it well enough,” she said. “Tim said you guys play whenever you need to blow off some steam, so why not?”
“Because Mansfield didn’t say yes yesterday,” he shot back, her casual attitude pissing him off again. “Slacking off won’t get him to change his mind.”
Her eyes narrowed. “We’re not slacking off. For your information, I was working.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “We all were. We were brainstorming ways to salvage this project.”
His blood pressure climbed. “Work? Is that what you call all the giggling I heard earlier?”
Fliss’s lips pursed and a familiar stubborn light entered her eyes. “Yes, we were laughing because someone said something funny. That’s not against the law. We were throwing out every idea we could think of. Some ideas were crazier and funnier than others. We want this movie as much as you do, but we needed to clear our heads. We would have invited you, but you’ve been holed up in your office all day like you didn’t want to talk to anyone. So we left you to it.”
The last sentence was uttered in the most saccharine tone he’d ever heard. The tone acted as a match to his simmering anger. He let the fire burn. It was his fault they hadn’t extended a common courtesy to him? “I want in.”
They wanted to play? Then they’d play with him.
His colleagues looked at each other nervously. He knew what they were thinking. On his most easygoing day, he was competitive. Today, the day after the meeting hadn’t gone well, in the mood he was in, he’d be out for blood. They were right. Frustration—personal, professional, sexual—gnawed at him. A chance to work it off, the chance to win at something—why the hell not? A basketball game was exactly what he needed. “Why are you all standing around? Let’s go.” He picked up the ball and stalked toward th
e court.
“Umm, Alex, you’re wearing slacks. And dress shoes,” Fliss called out in that same saccharine voice.
Alex stopped. Without a word, he pivoted on his heel and marched back inside the building to retrieve a T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts he kept in the closet in the office. Fliss was right in one regard. The office members, who’d all been jocks in their younger days—or had wished they were in the case of Tim—did like playing basketball every now and then and kept clothes in the office to play. But usually he was invited to participate in the games.
When he returned a few minutes later, he hadn’t calmed down. He headed straight to the court, ignoring the wary looks his staff and Fliss sent each other. The lot behind the Crescendo office was rarely used, which made it the perfect spot for a makeshift basketball court. They’d hung a hoop on an abandoned pole at one end of the concrete lot. He turned, dribbling the ball, and locked eyes with Fliss. “Ready to play?”
***
Hell no.
“Absolutely.” Fliss infused her voice with as much confidence as she could. She didn’t dare show nerves. Not with Alex’s dark eyes fixated on her, daring her to play. Or fall flat on her face.
Pete walked up to Alex and snatched the ball away. “Let’s go then. I’ll referee. I don’t want to miss any of the action.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow in silent challenge. She could either play with him or against him. Neither option appealed. If they played together, they’d have to work together and something—maybe the scowl on his face—told her he wouldn’t be tolerant of her rookie mistakes. If she played against him, he might try to kill her. Metaphorically speaking anyway.
“I’ll team up with Amanda,” Alex said, not taking his eyes off her.
Looked like he’d gone for the “Kill Fliss” option. She lifted her chin. Fine. If he wanted a match, then she’d give him one, and he could stuff his bad attitude where the sun didn’t dare shine. Who cared that she hadn’t played basketball since high school P.E.? She raised her hand to her partner, Tim, for a high five. “Let’s do this.”
Alex stole the ball from Pete and bounced it. “Enough chitchat. Let’s play.”
She didn’t have time to worry about her lack of basketball expertise. Alex inbounded the ball to Amanda, and the duo immediately ran some fancy play that left Fliss spinning to watch Alex fly up in the air and slam the ball through the hoop. He landed lightly on two feet and caught the ball on its second bounce. He flicked the ball to her. “Your turn.”
“Oof.” Good reflexes saved her from the indignity of the ball hitting her square in the chest. She froze and stared at the round, orange object in her hands. Why had she agreed to this again? She did Pilates and swam to stay in shape, not play games like basketball, especially against people who knew what they were doing.
Alex moved closer, a mocking glint in his eyes. “You sure you can hang? You look a little worried. You could concede now.”
Fliss’s temper spiked. Oh, yeah. That’s why. Because Alex could make her madder than anyone she’d ever known, and she refused to give him the upper hand. “Never.”
She dribbled the ball toward the basket in all her awkward glory and heaved it up with ten times more enthusiasm than skill. No one was more surprised than she was when it bounced around the rim three times, then fell through the hoop. “Yes!” She high-fived Tim and sauntered up to Alex, whose mouth was hanging open. She wiped a cool hand across her brow. “You were saying?”
His jaw tightened. “It’s on now.”
He retrieved the ball from under the basket and made another lightning-quick pass to Amanda. Fliss ran up to her, waving her arms, hoping to distract her. Amanda rolled her eyes and passed the ball back to Alex. He jumped above Tim’s outstretched arms and easily scored another basket.
Fliss, on the other hand, did not. She missed her next shot. “Sorry,” she mouthed to Tim. He patted her on the back and said, “It’s okay,” which only made her feel worse. And more determined to succeed.
Not that Alex made it easy. The exact opposite, as a matter of fact. He was everywhere. Watching her. Tracking her with hot, dark eyes. She tried to ignore him, to concentrate on the next play, but her gaze slid back to him, time and time again. His athletic prowess was a sight to behold. His athletic physique even more so. The sheen of his mocha skin under the hot sun mesmerized her. The hard muscles of his chest and long arms slid against her whenever he guarded her. Which was always. The contact unnerved her. Stimulated her. Aroused her. Damn it.
“Fliss, try harder,” he taunted when she stopped to enjoy the smooth interplay of his muscles as he scored again. “I didn’t expect you to make it so easy for me.”
“That’s it.” She gritted her teeth and battled for the rest of the game, scrapping for the ball whenever she could. She only took a small—okay, a little more than small—amount of satisfaction when she caught Alex by surprise with a sharp elbow to the stomach.
It didn’t matter. A natural athlete, Alex dominated the game, swirling and diving like he would be asked to join the Lakers if he destroyed his colleagues. Or maybe just her. He hadn’t been pleased when she’d told him they hadn’t invited him to play because of his bad attitude, after all. Maybe he hadn’t recovered from the car chase and its aftermath and needed to work off some energy. She could relate. She’d replayed their post-kiss conversation a million times and come to the conclusion that Alex was a man of his word. If he said he didn’t want to be with her, then he meant it. She would wonder no more about what could have been. If her stupid heart and hormones balked, well, too bad. Her mind had final say. She was Felicity Chambers, dang it. Hear her roar. Or something.
Alex and Amanda won easily. When Amanda’s game-winning shot went through the hoop, she and Alex whooped and high-fived.
Amanda jogged—she actually jogged—into the building for a bathroom break. Fliss collapsed at the waist and clutched her knees. Her chest heaved with exertion, the air burning her lungs. Sweat trickled into places she really preferred it didn’t.
She raised her head and studied Alex. His T-shirt clung lovingly to his impressive chest. She would not be jealous of a T-shirt. His body still practically vibrated with tension like he hadn’t burned enough energy for three men. Obviously, beating her and Tim into the ground hadn’t improved his mood. He swigged from a bottle of water, the motion stretching the cotton of his shirt tight over broad shoulders.
He turned and caught her staring. “When Amanda gets back, we’ll play again.”
Yeah, no thanks, Mr. Hypercompetitive Man. “No need to wait,” she said with a bright smile. “Why don’t you and Pete play one-on-one? He was dying to play during our game, weren’t you, Pete?”
Pete glared at her, no doubt for throwing him to the wolf, but said, “Yeah.”
She accepted the bottle of water Tim handed her, hobbled over to lean against the building wall, and settled in to watch Alex again pretend he was Kobe Bryant in his prime. Although Pete had some admirable basketball skills of his own, the poor guy didn’t stand a chance against a fired-up Alex.
When Amanda returned, she glanced at Fliss, then made a left and sat in a patch of a grass near the court. With an undignified groan she was thrilled no one could hear, Fliss straightened and followed her. She eased down next to the other woman and stretched out her aching legs. “Hey, how are you doing?”
Amanda plucked a blade of grass out of the ground and studied it like it held the secrets of the universe. “Okay. Looks like they started without us.”
Fliss wasn’t an idiot. If she wanted to be charitable, Amanda was reserving judgment about her. If she wanted to be brutally honest, she’d say Amanda couldn’t stand her guts. But she liked people and that was simply unacceptable. “Yeah, they were ready to go, and I was way too tired to play again so soon. You’re good, by the way.”
“Thanks. I played in high school and college.”
“It showed. Pete’s pretty good, too.”
Amanda stiffen
ed beside her. “I guess. They all are.”
Fliss tilted her head to the side, studying the men on the court. “Yeah, Tim’s a great passer and Alex can out-jump everyone and dunk like no one’s business, but you can’t beat Pete’s jump shot.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Amanda mash that poor piece of grass. “I guess.”
“How long have you been crushing on Pete?”
Amanda’s head whipped toward her, her ponytail flying behind her. “What are you talking about? I’m not crushing on Pete.”
Fliss made a face. “I don’t believe you. I saw you the other day when Pete and I were talking. You looked like someone stole your lunch money.”
“I. Did. Not,” Amanda said through clenched teeth.
Fliss sent a quick thank you heavenward that looks couldn’t actually kill or she’d be a steaming pile of ashes. “Sure you did, but I can see why. He’s cute, funny, and smart.”
“Then why don’t you go out with him? You’re free now. And he likes you.” Amanda plucked another blade of grass and tore it into bits.
“One, he’s not my type. Two, he doesn’t like me.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re Felicity Chambers. He flirts with you all the time.”
Fliss hitched a shoulder. “Eh. I can tell when a man is genuinely interested in me. He’s not. He flirts with me because he flirts with every woman who crosses his path. That’s it.”
Amanda’s shoulders slumped. “He doesn’t flirt with me.”
“Probably because you have neon lights above your head flashing ‘keep away, keep away.’ You need to flirt with him.”
The other woman shook her head. “He doesn’t think of me that way.”
So sad. So pitiful. Not on Fliss’s watch. Just because her love life was nonexistent, which was not a bad thing, by the way, that didn’t mean she wanted everyone else to suffer the same fate. “You’ve got to give him something to think about.”
