by Nana Malone
Beckett blinked hard. So not going to go there.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why had he kissed her? Because you wanted to. No. He did not want to. She was one of his best friends, and she was off limits—regardless of his stupidity at the Gala. He should never have listened to the old lady. But who in their right mind told Adele Westhorpe no?
What the hell did you say to your best friend when you were having all kinds of inappropriate thoughts about her? He so needed Hallmark to start making cards for just this occasion. He kept hoping that maybe he’d be lucky and Ricca would have forgotten the whole thing by now.
But given she hadn’t called or texted, and she was sitting as rigidly as stone next to him, that wasn’t likely to happen.
“Beckett, you missed the big announcement. You’ll be adventure lead on a Master Fantasy coming up.”
He blinked in surprise and instinctively turned to Ricca. “I guess we’ll be working together.”
The moment their eyes locked, he felt the rush of prickly heat all over his body. Memories of her soft lips under his flashed in his mind. The way her curves had molded to his hands, and the way her petite frame had molded to his body. He was glad he had his notebook covering the front of his pants.
As for her response, it was unreadable. Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she turned back around so quickly that the wisps of hair escaping her bun flew out like a fan.
Fantastic. One kiss had cost him his best friend.
Serena cleared her throat. “Not quite. You’ll be working with Angel as the romance lead.”
He frowned. Angel? She had no experience.
Angel grinned at him, and his body jerked. He should never have slept with her. Worst move he’d ever made. Funny, you were happy enough to sleep with her two weeks ago. It had been just after a street racing adventure, and they’d still been high off of the adrenaline. She was beautiful, but cold and seriously bitchy. He never should have gone there. Too late now. But still, how the hell had Angel gotten this job over Ricca?
“Okay.” He tried for a smile, but all he really managed to do was show some teeth. One hell of a mistake to sleep with her. He slung his gaze back to Serena, who was still talking.
“As you may have heard, we’re restructuring the company—so that Zach and I don’t have to be so involved. As a result, we’re opening up a Vice President of Major Accounts position. The position is open to all fantasy planners. Based on your performance on this mission and the last six months, one of you will be slotted into the Vice President role.”
Beckett held his breath. VP based on performance. The only person who was his real competition was Ricca. Yeah, but she’s just been benched. If he didn’t royally fuck this up, the job was his.
At the same time, guilt pinched him. Could he really take this job from her? Hell yes. This kind of job would mean the funds he needed to complete the ramshackle, old gym. He slid Ricca another glance. He was willing to do what it took to get this job.
Chapter Three
“Ricca, I know it’s not what you expected, but for now you’ll have to live with the arrangement.”
Ricca shook her head at Serena, exasperated. “I don’t understand. Last time we spoke, you said I’d be next in line to do a Master fantasy. That was right before the holiday. Now, Angel is running it. I don’t understand. If you had a change of heart, I’d like to understand why.”
Ricca took a deep breath. There—she’d said what she had to say. Sort of. She wanted to tell Serena what a crazy bitch Angel was, but that wouldn’t be exactly professional. Ricca had been working her ass off for an opportunity to shine like this.
Serena pursed her lips. “It’s not your time. You’ll just have to wait.”
“Serena, you know I can be patient. But if there’s a VP position, I want a fair shot at it. I’m concerned I won’t get that now.”
Her boss folded her delicate arms across her Herve Leger-clad chest. “Ricca, honestly. You’ve played it too safe. Your romance fantasies are beautiful and inventive, but you never really step out of your box. That’s not what I want from one of my VPs. You have to be willing to have something go terribly wrong. I need to see more of that from you.”
Well hell. “I take risks.” Okay, not really, but like hell she was telling Serena that.
“Oh really? What was the last risk you took?”
Kissing Beckett. But she couldn’t use that one. “I—um.”
“Look. Do your job. Try and keep Angel from screwing this fantasy up. Your time will come.”
Talk about uninspiring. How the hell was she supposed to take risks? Her job was to make the client happy. That’s one thing she did well. She might not be daring, but she got it done. She certainly didn’t take any risks with her personal life, but hey, risk wasn’t exactly her middle name.
Maybe Serena was right. But if she could find a way to do some risk taking, maybe she still had a shot at the job. Just one problem—evil incarnate in towering Christian Louboutins. How the hell was she going to work with Angel? Since starting at Fantasies a year and a half ago, Angel had made it a point to be extra cruel to her. At first, Ricca had thought she was just tough and ambitious. But then she’d realized Angel was just plain mean.
As Ricca made her way to her office, she went the long way around the kitchen, to bypass Beckett’s office. No dealing with that bomb just yet. She took the last ten yards on tip toe, to avoid making any noise and alerting him to her return.
Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she slipped off her shoes. Might as well make herself comfortable—she had mountains of work to do. As soon as all the holiday and New Year’s Eve proposals were done, she had to gear right back up for the Valentine’s Day fantasies. As it was, she had two weddings, a sweet sixteen, and four proposals on her plate.
“You know, it’s not nice to avoid people. Especially when they buy you coffee.”
Ricca halted in her doorway as Beckett swiveled around in her chair. Damn. “What are you doing in my office?” Her shoulders sagged. She entered slowly, unsure of where to look.
“You can’t avoid me forever.”
She sighed and dropped her notebook on her desk, plopping into the chair across from him. “I’m not avoiding you exactly. I’m just delaying speaking to you for a while. Totally different.”
“Semantics.”
The timber of his voice rolled over her, making all her lady parts tingle—pathetic. That was the only word to describe her. Totally pathetic. It took her several seconds to process what he'd said.
“Your point?” She cocked her head. She could do this. Pull off breezy and unaffected. Never mind what was happening to her lady parts.
He stood and walked to her window that showed off a spectacular view of the Embarcadero and Seaport Village. "Um." He shoved his hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels. "About the other night. I'm sorry. I was out of line."
Out of line. More like holyfuckingshitballs-mind-blowingly-stupid. But, in a pinch, out of line fit. “Look, Beckett, let’s not do this, okay? It’s fine.”
"I honestly don’t know what came over me. We were there, we were joking. And next thing I knew, I’m—we’re—well, you remember. I’m sorry, Ree. I never meant to go there with you—like that I mean. Like you’re—” He paused and huffed out a breath. “You’re not some sleazy girl I picked up from the club."
Oh hell. She wasn’t sure which was worse. The awkwardness or having to listen to him apologize for giving her a kiss that was so good he should be teaching lessons.
She gave him a brisk nod and muttered, "Fine," as she blinked up at him and jutted her chin out. Crumbling in front of him wasn’t an option. She leveled him with a gaze.
He put a hand over his chest. "I'll be on my best behavior from now on. I promise. We good?"
And what if she didn’t want him to be on his best behavior? Stupid question. Never going to happen. "Yeah, we’re good."
He flashed those pearly whites, and her lady parts did another d
ance. Down girls. No more thoughts about Beckett. No more obsessing.
He exhaled. “Awesome. Want to grab something to eat before we get stuck in that two hour debrief?”
“I can’t, actually. I need to do some catch up.”
He made to leave, then paused in the doorway. He turned and watched her for a moment. The scrutiny made her skin tingle. He spoke in a low voice. “You never texted.”
Ricca chewed on her lip, waiting several beats before answering, “Neither did you.”
Chapter Four
After the day from hell, Ricca sat on Micha’s orange, shag carpet and blinked at the glass of amber liquid Micha placed in front of her. "What is that?"
Micha shook her head. "You don’t want to know. Just drink it. You'll feel better."
Ricca eyed the glass dubiously, then grabbed it and chugged its contents. The liquid flowed down her throat and warmed her stomach. It only took a moment before she felt the lancing burn spread through her gut.
"Holy shit.” She sputtered and coughed. “What the fuck, Micha?"
Micha gave her a satisfied nod. "Kentucky bourbon. Good for a broken heart, a pissed off girlfriend, or plotting to kill your co-workers." She pointed at the label. “It says so right here.”
"But I don’t have a broken heart."
Jaya gave her a soft smile and patted her knee. "I think the bourbon works for being pissed off at an asshole ex too." She sniffed her own glass but put it down on the coffee table before taking a drink.
Ricca glanced down at her glass. Jaya had a point. Feeling almost uncomfortably hot, she slipped off her double layers of cardigans. "Hit me again."
Micha grinned as she cocked her head, her silky spirals spilling over her shoulder. She poured Ricca another glass then sat across from her. "Okay. You ready to talk?"
Ricca shrugged. "You guys already know what happened."
Jaya squeezed her knee again. "Ricca, all you said in your email was ‘Charles and I broke up. Talk when you get back.’ Then you didn’t answer my emails or calls."
Micha nodded in agreement. “Talk about cryptic. Then Beckett is the one who calls us to check on you tonight. What gives?”
Ricca drank this round a little slower. She’d just gotten her couch reupholstered and didn’t need bourbon spittle on it. "Shit, I'd love to understand it. Charles dumped me at the Gala."
Jaya sat up, her brows furrowing. “Wait, what? Ricca, why didn’t you say anything? That was over a week ago.”
Ricca squirmed under their scrutiny. “Look, at the time, you had just gotten engaged. I think, perhaps, you were getting engaged as I was being broken up with. And, Micha, you were schmoozing the Mayor, and Beckett came over and was distracted about some girl or another, and then we all dispersed for the holiday.” She shrugged. “This is the first night we’re getting to sit down and talk.”
Micha narrowed her eyes. “I told you to dump that ass-wipe before the holidays.”
Ricca nodded. “Yeah, I know. You were right.”
Micha nodded ruefully. “Annoying, isn’t it?”
Ricca had to chuckle. "Extremely." The warmth in her belly started to spread to her extremities. "God, it’s like he wanted to embarrass me. He told me I was too clingy, that I wasn’t fun, and that I didn’t dress well.“
“Clearly he’s a moron,” Micha said.
Jaya tipped her head. "So what are you going to do?"
For the first time that day, Ricca felt like laughing. "Yeah, I might have intimated that I planned to find the fucker and torch his car."
Both Micha and Jaya stared at her, their mouths agape. Then Micha laughed. "I'm glad to see I’m rubbing off."
Ricca shrugged. "You guys honestly don’t have to worry about me and the break up. I’m fine. Mostly.” She shrugged. “And as for the job, it seems that Serena wants me to work with the mean girls. Just been a rough couple of weeks.”
“You should have called us, kid,” Micha grumbled.
Jaya studied her with big brown eyes. "Ricca, are you sure you're okay?"
"You guys, honestly, I’ll be fine. I'm just a little sad to have been stuck with the loser for so long then to have him dump me with some bullshit excuse about how I’m too clingy and I clearly want marriage." She scoffed. She finished the contents of her glass, then stuck it out to Micha, who poured another two fingers. In that moment, Ricca made the conscious decision not to tell her friends about Beckett. The situation was already complicated enough. And she didn’t need them mother-henning her. She could take care of herself.
Several hours later, Ricca woke to cottonmouth and the urge to pee. Sitting up, she peered at her surroundings. Shit. She’d gotten drunk, Micha and Jaya had brought her home and they'd left her on the couch to sleep it off. Perfect. Humiliation complete. Just what she needed. Swinging her legs off the micro-suede cushions, she padded into the bathroom. After using the bathroom, she washed her face and stared at herself in the mirror. Yesterday had been a shit day. It was up to her to make today better.
First order of business—no more Mrs. Nice Guy to the Bitch Brigade. They only treated her the way they did because she allowed it. It paid to be nice, but it didn’t pay to have anyone walk all over you. She dimmed the light when the vein above her eye started to throb. There. That's better. She quickly brushed her teeth to get the shame and bourbon cocktail out of her mouth.
Next order of business, NEVER drink Kentucky bourbon again. She was nowhere near sober yet, and she already felt like she'd been kicked in the teeth. Oh wait, that's right, that was her day, not her lack of tolerance for alcohol.
And finally, no more letting people get away with murder—starting with Beckett Mills. He’d been the one to kiss her the other night. He’d been the one with his hands on her ass. Not the other way around. But somehow, she'd let him off the hook and blubbered around him yesterday. If she wanted them back on normal footing, she needed to actually talk to him. Not stutter like some lovesick school girl whose crush had been revealed via Twitter.
He had no business kissing her. Matter of fact, she was going to tell him that—first thing in the morning. Except, he was always late, and sure as shit, she wasn't having a conversation like that with him at work. And she wasn’t waiting until the end of day tomorrow. Because she knew herself. She was all bravado now, but when the rest of the alcohol wore off, she’d be too mortified to give him a piece of her mind. Might as well do it now. Never mind the time—what the hell time was it? The digital clock on her cable box blinked 2:30 AM. Whatever.
He’d sent her a million texts at this time of night, erm, morning. And like an idiot she’d tolerated it. He'd bragged about his exploits. He’d way over-shared. Well, tonight, he was going to get woken up.
She grabbed her keys and looked down at them. No way in hell she could drive. Swaying on her feet a little, she put her keys down—definitely still too drunk to drive. Annoyed, she snatched her phone off the coffee table and texted BC Cab Company. They specialized in late night pick-ups around the city. The girls had started calling them booty call cab. Which was accurate in so many ways.
The pickup text arrived within five minutes. As she stumbled out of the door, the rational, fearful part of her wondered if this could have waited till morning. Beckett always hit the beach or the pool depending on the waves. She could wait and meet him there.
No. Don’t be a chicken shit. They were having this talk.
The cab ride took exactly seven minutes from her place on Robinson back down toward his place on Park. Handy. She leaned over to talk to the cabbie and nearly smacked her head on the grate that separated the compartments. "Um, do you mind waiting?"
The pixie-haired female cabbie raised an eyebrow. "Sure. But the meter's running."
Fine by her. She'd make Beckett pay for it later. This was all his fault anyway. If he hadn't kissed her, everything would have been fine. Then she wouldn't have been so mad about being dumped. She'd be safely ensconced in her apartment, listening to Tracy Chapman and eating a t
ub full of ice-cream, wallowing. Instead, she was mad.
Ricca typed in the key code and swung the door open. As she knocked on Beckett’s door, the doubts started to creep in. What the hell was she doing? Was she insane? Maybe just a little.
"Too late now," she muttered and knocked.
It took two minutes for him to come to the door, and when he did, he blinked. His expression morphed from an angry frown into confusion. "Ricca? What’s the matter? What are you doing here?"
She pushed past him and entered, praying he was alone. He had pajama bottoms on, so that was a good sign. Though he was standing there shirtless, and his broad shoulders and chiseled abs made her forget what she wanted to say.
"Ricca, are you okay? You’re freaking me out."
"I'm fine,” she mumbled as she tilted to the left.
Beckett sniffed and narrowed his gaze. "How did you get here? You didn't drive, did you?”
She shook her head and immediately wished she hadn’t. Her stomach rolled, and she was a little terrified the contents would make an appearance. She cursed the bourbon gods again. Why did alcohol make it seem like it made you invincible? At best, she felt shaky on her feet.
“Nope. I’m drunk. But a responsible drunk,” she slurred. Responsible had come out sounding like reshponshible
"Why don’t you sit down?” He put a hand on her arm, trying to lead her to his couch.
Ricca shrugged him off. "No. I'm not sitting down. I just want you to answer one question for me."
"Uhm, okay, what is it?"
"Why did you really kiss me?"
His expletive broke the silence between them. He ran his hands through his hair. "Shit, Ricca, I kno—"
"No. You don't. You shouldn’t have done that. And I let you get away with it this afternoon, and I shouldn't have. I was so confused. Turned on. Confused. Mad. Why did you do that?" Shit had she just said turned on?
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I just—" Beckett started.
"Just tell me, and I’ll go. I'll go and forget this ever happened. Why would you kiss me like that?" She placed a hand on his bare chest and instantly felt the pull in her core. The light dusting of hair on his chest distracted her as she reveled in the softness of it. “You used t-tongue. That was against the rules. Like you wanted to turn me on. Why?”
