I caught myself overanalyzing again, yet another problem of mine. Why couldn’t I just relax and enjoy the attention of two hot men without spinning it into something negative? I sighed internally. This was all part of my ongoing, never-ending anxiety disorder—fear of intimacy. The closer I got to any man, the more I looked for reasons to push him away.
“Gracie, are you all right?”
I gazed up into liquid brown eyes that drilled deeper, looking for answers.
“I’m fine, Derek.” I grabbed my laptop on the way to the small creative conference room, Frolic 8. Named after an obscure Philip K. Dick novel, the room featured post-apocalyptic décor—what else?—and resembled the inside of a rusted-out shipping container. A large biohazard symbol had been painted on the rear wall with the warning: Danger Restricted Area.
Axel had once complained that the creative department decor was too lethal. Yeah, I smiled to myself, just the way we like it.
I surveyed my fellow creatives. Mark and Derek went about their early morning rituals, checking messages, schedules, deleting and answering email. Sarah, bless her worker bee heart, had already papered the walls with fresh concepts. This was a good sign since Barking Mad was in the doghouse on a regular basis for being last minute and full of fresh = scary ideas.
Sarah turned away from the floor-to-ceiling corkboard. “I need a red dawn chai tea, anyone else?”
We all stood up in unison. “Oh, yeah.”
As we neared reception, the hallway widened to fit four abreast—walking between Derek, Sarah and Mark, I imagined we were a formidable sight to behold. Lethal, disheveled and hot. We turned the corner and ran smack-dab into a gaggle of suits in reception. Several Japanese men, likely new business, stood with Axel, Bradley, and Audrey.
Axel caught my eye. “Ah, here’s our creative posse—get over here and say hello.”
Some of the first business greetings I learned was how to say “hello”, and “it’s a pleasure to meet you” in a number of different languages. Axel introduced each of us by name.
“Hajimemashite.” I nodded pleasantly.
A round-faced gentlemen turned to me. “You wrote the words for Lucky Brand. ‘The more boys I date, the more I love my dog.’”
All the men seemed amused, including Bradley.
“The line was inspired by Mark,” I explained. “A complaint about his girlfriend, something like—she should get a dog.”
Mark introduced himself and shook hands. “Gracie’s straight man.”
I fashioned a close-lipped, goofy smile and backed away. As creatives, we understood our role perfectly. We were trotted out for entertainment. Keep it a tease, and leave the potential new client wanting more.
“Good to meet you.” I said as the four of us drifted toward the elevators.
After downing our red dawn chai teas, Sarah and I split off from Mobius and Mark, to spend several hours swapping ideas and talking trash.
“Did Bradley swing by dance class?” Sarah asked.
I nodded. “Nothing X-rated to report, as yet. We had the small, obnoxious third wheel with us.”
“Hannah, baby.” Sarah adored my niece, and the feeling was mutual—they were two peas in a pod. Instant soul sisters.
“He’s amazingly patient with her, which is sexy in a flannel pj’s kind of way.”
“Don’t knock my sleeping attire.”
I knew that Sarah nursed a stubborn, secret crush on Derek that went way back to her first days at DWD. She had been hired and assigned to him as an assistant art director. But when Derek and I started up our on again off again thing, she had backed off.
“I think it might be time for you to put some new moves on Derek.”
Eyes wide, she looked up from her iPad. “He kissed me at the party the other night and said, ‘Cute, but not my type’.”
I clicked print all and closed the file on my laptop. “He can be such a dick.”
She unwrapped a chocolate kiss and popped it her mouth. “See what I’m doing?”
“You’re sublimating with Hershey’s.”
She bit into the soft, creamy sweet. “Chocolate for sex. Not even the healthy dark chocolate.”
Her frown made me grin. “The healthy kind tastes like crap.”
Sarah appeared to be thinking something over. Finally, she sighed. “He asked me about you and Bradley.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Did you say something about us?”
“Not a word.” Sarah crossed her heart.
I stood up and stretched. “Let’s check back in with the boys, see what they’ve got.” We stopped by the printer room on our way. “How could he have a clue about Bradley and me?”
Sarah stared, open-mouthed. “Have you any idea what it’s like to be in the same room with you two? The magnetic attraction is enough to rearrange the sex organs of innocent bystanders.”
I snorted a laugh. “Jeezus, Sarah, that bad?”
“I think it’s amazing and romantic.” She smiled, ruefully.
We picked up our print copies and got waylaid in the corridor. An assistant producer needed Sarah to look at a logo animation ASAP.
“This will only take a few seconds.” Sarah apologized.
“Two and a half to be exact.” The young man was new and darling. Sarah looked back and flashed a wink.
“Take your time.” I called after them.
I found Derek in the conference room pinning up visual concepts. Pictures torn from magazines, his own gnarly sketches, screen captures…
I examined a wall full of visual ideas. Some were obvious jokes, some were rebellious and off strategy, and some of them took my breath away. “From the mind of Mobius,” I murmured.
He moved up close behind me. “What’s going on, Gracie?”
I turned to face him. He was so attractive—rough, and yet polished. There had always been something intriguing about Derek Moubin.
When I tried to slip away he placed both palms to the wall. Hemmed in, I moved his hand. “Don’t.”
He pressed closer. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
The conference room doorknob turned, followed by a sharp knock. “Gracie, you in there?”
It was Bradley. My heart pounded out the need to have him by my side, but his very proximity gave me the courage to say what I needed to say to Derek.
“And who are you fucking besides your producer, and what’s her name from media—the one who wears the six-inch red stilettos and skinny jeans? And—oh my God, I nearly forgot to mention Audrey. Or maybe Laurel, the wardrobe girl at Bruce Webber’s studio—”
“I never fucked her.”
More pounding on the door. “Gracie?”
“Really, Derek—you locked the door?” If we didn’t answer soon, Bradley would break it down.
“Be right there,” I called out.
For once, Derek eased back and I ducked under his arm.
I opened the door. “What is it, Bradley?”
The look was fierce, almost feral. He entered the room slowly, feeling the tension. Finally, he turned to me. “Axel asked me to collect you on the way to his office. He wants to talk to us.”
I imagined Derek stood somewhere behind me looking equally primitive. “We were just finishing up. Give us a minute?”
Bradley nodded, eyeballing Derek as he shut the door. “Open or closed?”
Derek: “Closed.”
Gracie: “Open.”
Bradley’s gaze ran from me to Derek and back again. His jacket was off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. He looked sexy and casual, and ready for a fight. Purposefully, he pushed the door against the wall.
A part of me was falling hard for Bradley Craig. He backed into the hallway. “I’ll wait around the corner.”
I returned to Derek. “Whatever is going on between Bradley and me is none of your business.”
“I’m sure you’re just what he’s looking for—a fly piece of black pussy.”
I slapped him hard across the face. Stunned by my
own reaction, I gasped. “I’ve never done that before.” My hand tingled as I stared at the mark on Derek’s cheek.
He colored for an instant, then straightened, wary of something or someone behind me. I turned toward the doorway.
Bradley’s fists were clenched, but he didn’t say anything. He stared at Derek, with a look that spoke of pain and bruises, multiple lacerations about the head and body. “Gracie, could you give us a moment?” His gruff voice all the more menacing in its calmness.
My knees actually trembled. I picked up my laptop and waited in the hallway. I barely had time to collect myself, when a firm, gentle hand took hold of my arm.
“We better get going. Axel is waiting.”
I stole a glance at the divinely handsome, protective man walking beside me. “You okay?” I asked, detecting the faintest grin on his face.
“Oh, I’m good.”
There was no time to discuss Derek, or what went down in the conference room, so I changed the subject. “What does Axel want?”
Yolanda whisked us past her desk with a hand gesture.
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Bradley knocked briefly and opened the door.
Turns out, Homeland Security had met with Axel.
“First of all, Bradley, don’t fuck with Homeland Security.” Axel stood beside his desk, framed by a backdrop of skyscrapers. “They’re a notch below the fucking Gestapo. I don’t want you to end up in some secret CIA gulag in Herzegovina.” His grim, unflagging stare moved back and forth between us. “And whatever you two were up to in that elevator…”
The wily CSO shook his head. “I understand you were being protective. But there have also been reports of contentious questions at meetings and strained behavior between the two of you.”
Axel moved away from the windows. “What I can’t figure out is whether you to want to fuck each other over—or just fuck each other.” He rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
Bradley nodded. “It’s probably for the best.”
“That said…” Axel re-sharpened his gaze. “Work nice together—better than nice. I think you two could be a brilliant match, creative and insight.” Our mercurial boss pressed his lips together in a tight line. “Prove me right.”
His phone buzzed in the middle of his lecture. “My wife, I’ve got to take this.”
We both started to back away.
He held up a finger. “I’m not done.” As Axel listened, his face tightened. “I’ll be right there—at this hour? At least twenty minutes.”
He hung up.
“One of the boys is having an asthma attack. I’m meeting them at the hospital.” In the space of a few seconds, he had gone from pissed-off CSO to a worried father.
As much as I enjoyed our tough-talking acerbic boss, I truly loved his softer side.
My first week at DWD, Axel had taken the new curly-haired, tawny-skinned creative girl to lunch at a nearby delicatessen. I ordered a pastrami sandwich and squeezed a swirl of mustard into a small dish of mayo. Axel watched in horror as I slathered the concoction onto my sandwich.
“At least it’s on rye.” He’d flashed a grin back then, but the frown on his face—the one directed at Bradley and me—was now.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.
Axel grabbed his cell phone. “It was date night tonight.” He shrugged into his raincoat. “My one and only shot at getting laid this week. I made reservations at Callisto on the River weeks ago. You can’t get a table on a Friday or Saturday night—EVER.”
Axel exhaled loudly. “You two take it—eight o’clock, on the agency.” His scrutiny landed on me. “That’s an order if you want a job Monday morning.”
His glare shifted to Bradley. “Drown your differences with a couple of stiff cocktails. Does wonders for Michelle and I. Less chance of a brawl in public.”
Axel slammed his own office door and then reopened it. “There are pluses and minuses in every relationship. Make a fucking list.”
NINE
AN EIGHT O’CLOCK reservation gave me just enough time to dash home, shower, and change, but no room to ransack my wardrobe. Damn! One of my favorite things to do before a hot date was to try on half a dozen outfits.
A hot date.
I slowed down for half a second. Is that what this was? It had been a long time since a date, hot or otherwise, made me this nervous and trembly. I pushed hangers along the closet pole until I came to the one dress that fit the occasion.
When in doubt, the raspberry-red sheath.
My go-to, insanely sexy dress with the low, square-cut neckline. A demi-cup bra gave my boobs extra bounce and featured a hint of raspberry lace with every breath I exhaled. And just to make sure that all parts were edible. I took a long hot shower and used plenty of touch-of-summer body lotion.
At 7:15, I buzzed him upstairs.
When the knock came, I aimed a spritz of Jo Malone cologne down the hallway and stepped through a mist of orange blossoms. Turning sideways, I checked the look in the mirror over the hall table. The dress hugged every curve and yet had modest cap sleeves. Audrey Hepburn demure, with an edge. I leaned over and adjusted a silver heel strap as I answered the door.
He stood in the hallway and stared. “Good God, Gracie.”
I straightened slowly, taking in his extra gorgeousness. Bradley had style—but not too much style. Nothing unmanly about this man. He wore a black sports coat over a white starched shirt. The double mandarin collar revealed a hint of pale blue, as did the double cuff, that edged his jacket sleeve. The look might have been starchy, but for a few shirt buttons left undone, as if he hadn’t finished dressing and had left his collar up. The effect was American casual, with hints of British formal.
I enjoyed a fleeting fantasy. Mr. Darcy had come to escort me to the ball, only he was late and had dashed out of the manse partially dressed. I half-expected Bradley to pull out a fluffy white cravat and say, ‘could you help me with this, darling?’
Instead, he said, “You are so beautiful.”
“And you look dashing as well, Mister Craig.” He was, in fact, a gorgeous man—handsome and sexually charged. He both thrilled and terrified me. And something else, I had come to understand that Bradley might also be a great guy, the kind of man you wanted to keep around, maybe forever.
Get a grip, Gracie, you haven’t even slept with him yet.
I quickly gathered my things. A Chinese silk evening jacket—navy blue covered in large, pink-red peonies, and a small, rhinestone clutch. The rainstorm had passed leaving the air balmy, with a hint of crisp, which meant my curls would be great. The city was finally beginning to feel like fall, my favorite time of year.
In the cab, he continued to stare. “The dress—the color is sensational on you. I’m—” He laughed a bit self-consciously. “You take my breath away.” His gaze dropped lower, to the rise and fall of my breasts, and the hint of underthings. His pupils turned darker, a sure sign of desire. “Is everything red?”
I nodded. “Raspberry-red.”
He placed his hand on my knee. “Important distinction.” His fingertips brushed the insides of my thighs and did not hesitate to travel higher. Protectively, he angled up close, blocking the cab driver’s rear view. My legs trembled as he hooked his thumb into lace panties and pulled hard enough to slip them off my hips. “You won’t be needing these.” He rolled them down my thighs. “Raise your knees, love.” He slipped the panties over my knees and off one strappy heel, then the other.
He remained close, his voice husky-soft, like the night we first met. “I’m going to sit across from you at dinner and know your sweet cunt is bare to me—that I can touch you, taste you anytime I wish.”
A smile curled his mouth as if he could feel the ripple of arousal that shot through me.
“Not sure why we girls bother with pretty underwear—it never remains in place for long.”
“Not if it’s on you.” He stuffed the raspberry-red thong in his jacke
t pocket. Settling back, he continued to study me. “I want you to know, Gracie, that I’m not just attracted to you because you are a stunning, African-Anglo woman.” He kissed me quickly, softly. “This lovely, fawn-colored skin and those pouty lips are only part of the attraction.”
So, he had heard Derek’s crude remark in the conference room. “What exactly did you say to Derek after I left the conference room?”
“I invited him to my gym.”
When I raised an eyebrow, his lips twitched. “To the boxing center at the gym.”
I blinked. “You didn’t.”
His grin turned slightly menacing. “Well, it wasn’t an invitation, exactly. But I must say I’m looking forward to it.”
I suddenly found myself worried for my knight in stylish armor. I knew for a fact that Derek boxed twice a week at Church Street. “He fights like those cage guys—street smart.”
“So do I.” He kissed me hard, taking full possession of my mouth. And I lapped him up, encircling his tongue as he delved deeper.
Bradley was an insane turn-on. When he kissed me like this, it was as if he were compelled to do so by an irresistible force of nature. My lips closed around his tongue and I sucked gently at first, then stronger, sending a coded communiqué to that insistent cock of his.
Bradley groaned in reply. Message received.
He broke off the kiss and brushed warm lips over my ear. “Dressed in raspberry-red, tasting and smelling of orange blossoms…” He caught my earlobe between his teeth, adding a lick. A rush of tingles traveled down my spine.
“You have bewitched me, Miss Taylor-Scott.”
“I believe you are perfectly capable of casting spells, yourself, Mr. Craig.”
The ride across the river was filled with sweet, sexy talk and stimulating, teasing caresses. Our driver managed to get us across Brooklyn Bridge, but I couldn’t tell you how.
Callisto on the River cantilevered out over the East River like Fallingwater house. Named after a Greek water nymph, the romantic dining experience came complete with a sheer curtain of waterfall to cool the air on warm Indian summer nights.
The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Page 8
