A Valentine for Two

by Lia Davis

  “There are and now that you do know, you should call the dude. Did you exchange info at least?”

  I looked up at her and shook my head, wondering if I should tell her that Ty Ellington hadn’t even offered his name.

  “Well, this is just great.” She started pacing and then stopped. “Are you going to continue to do offline designs for the few clients we do have left? Don’t you think eventually they’ll start suspecting something’s up when you can’t use the ‘old school’ spin for your low-tech images anymore?”

  She was right and the truth hurt. I’d done everything, from whittling down my staff in order to limit outside exposure, to replacing my computers, the server I used, and even changed my cell phone carrier to stem the thefts. When that hadn’t worked I went a different route.

  I hired a security expert to do a sweep of my offices, yet he’d found nothing out of the ordinary to suggest I’d been bugged, hacked, or spied on. It had cost me a fortune. Add that to the amount of money I’d been losing from Keith swiping the best and most lucrative advertising contracts out from underneath me, and say hello to complete and utter financial disaster. Yeah. Nothing spelled desperation better than the electric company threatening to turn off service. That’s when I’d come up with the whole idea of completing my designs at home with good old-fashioned paper and a couple of packs of colored pens.

  Primitive, but effective for now.

  “I’ll figure something out. I promise”

  After she left, I picked up the magazine and studied the two men on the cover.

  They made a phenomenal pair in contrast.

  Flipping to page seven I read through the puff-bio piece. When I came across the sentence, their uncanny ability to spot the next best thing has financially stood them in good stead..., I snorted.

  Wrong.

  Positive Ad Verse wasn’t the next best thing in terms of an advertising company. It was run by a thief, so I was pretty sure the dynamic duo wasn’t in good financial stead with them. But then I saw the numbers involved in the deal.

  Ten million?

  And here I was worried about whether it was my turn to buy lunch today.

  I wanted to cry.

  ***

  Sandy

  “Good evening Mr. Tramaine.”

  I nodded to the doorman. “Jeremy.”

  The owner of Cameos spotted me from across the room and waved, which was more of a salute. I nodded at her, just before the hostess greeted me. “Good evening, sir. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “Hi, Dawn.” I looked beyond her to the section of the restaurant where I usually enjoyed a meal and spotted Ty immediately. “I don’t need a menu, thanks. Can you tell Tito to send over the usual? Wait.” I said as she made to leave. “Tell him to make it a double.”

  I’d been wise to order the larger glass of Stoli on the rocks. I needed it ten minutes later when Ty took the news I was sharing without his usual optimism.

  “Are you joking? How much do we pay those lawyers?”

  I shot back the last of the vodka and then put the glass down. “You don’t want to know.”

  “What about breach of contract?”

  I was prepared to be patient. Hadn’t I grilled our legal team in much the same way? Ty was coming into this cold as this was my end of the business. “We could have approached the problem that way, only PAS is delivering on the campaigns. The fact that we find their work sub-par is a matter of personal preference and taste. At least until the sales stats come in at year end.”

  “PAS?”

  “Perfect Ad Verse.”

  Ty leaned back in his seat and then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Are they trying to purposely sabotage us? Did you see the latest storyboard for the Star Surfer products? A five-year-old could have done better.”

  The concepts weren’t that bad, but they weren’t that good either. Certainly not as good as the ones that PAS had submitted to us during the competition. Or the two they’d put together for us after their win. Those projects combined had cemented my decision to contract with them exclusively. “I know. I met with the owner yesterday afternoon. He said he lost some talent, but he’s working hard to replace it.”

  “He’d better fucking hurry. I don’t need sales figures to tell me when product strategy isn’t working.” He picked his cell up, pressed a couple of buttons and then handed it to me, saying, “All I have to do is tune into the market savvy Millennials and the writing is on the wall. Check it out.”

  By wall, he meant online chat boards. Jesus, I scrolled through a dozen or so critiques. It was brutal commentary on...well, not the product. It seemed most who had tried the forced air hover board, liked it. What they didn’t like was the lame ads. “I’ll talk to him again and see if he can expedite the process.”

  “You don’t like him.”

  This matter-of-fact statement was expected. My best friend and partner knew me better than anyone. He’d seen the truth. I handed the phone back and shook my head. “The owner’s behaving like an arrogant prick now that he knows he’s got us by the short ones.”

  Ty didn’t question my assessment which I appreciated. Instead he turned his attention to the only solution available to us besides the option of sucking it up and continuing to stick with the company. “What about paying them out? Wasn’t there a safety net in the contract for us?”

  I thanked Tito when he had the foresight to deliver a fresh round of drinks prior to answering, “With conditions. None of which we meet. If we want to sever ties and cut our losses, they’d exceed five million with a payout structure of half up front and the remainder over three years.”

  It was rare to see Ty scowling. Usually that was my specialty.

  “Okay, we’ll give the guy another few months and if things don’t improve, we’ll have to hire additional marketing people to hold his hand.”

  I’d been thinking much the same thing. So much so, that I didn’t want to think about it anymore. “Good plan. Cheers.”

  After I swallowed a mouthful of vodka, I rolled my shoulders as a stress reliever and looked around the restaurant. It was busy for a weeknight. I was just about to mention this to Ty when I saw a woman playfully throw her napkin at her dinner companion. It reminded me of another woman so I put my glass down. “What about the redhead?”

  “Yeah, about that...” After he finished explaining that he hadn’t gotten her info and had no luck finding it when he’d tried, he ended his sorry tale with, “This is why you’re going to have to help me out.”

  “Me?” I shook my head. “I doubt she’ll be back slinging rocks tomorrow now that you busted her.”

  Ty leaned forward. “The Snake, remember? She said you sent her a cease and desist letter. I asked HR about them, but all they have are the company names filed. You signed the pages personally. Were they all the same?”

  Not exactly, but at this point it didn’t matter. “Forget about it.” I couldn’t believe that I was slightly pissed, now that the chance of meeting the rock-tossing redhead had been lost. I sighed again. “Not all of them were, but who cares. If she received a C and D letter, there was a reason. She’s a sore loser. Surely you don’t want either of us to pursue a woman like that?”

  Ty shrugged. “Normally? No. There’s something different about her, though. I feel it.”

  And I knew exactly where those ‘feels’ of Ty’s were located. I tried not to grin. “Keep the warm and fuzzies in your pants and move on. Besides, she would have gone for me in the end.”

  “You think so?” He put his glass down. “This blows. But since we’re here, you want to order something to eat?”

  “Sure.” I followed his lead and dropped the previous topic. After I indicated to our server we’d need menus, I said, “Hey, did you catch Spieth on Saturday? He won the tournament.”

  “Keith.”

  “No his name is Spieth. The golfer. You know. I Tivoed it for you.”

  He waved a hand and frowned as he stared at his gla
ss like it was a crystal ball. “Right, right. I’m thinking of the guy’s name our angry angel mentioned who she claims stole her work. Keith... Keith... Vertigo...Varget...Keith—?”

  My eyes narrowed, and so did my thoughts about those C and D letters, when I remembered one in particular. “Keith Vega?”

  Ty looked up. “That’s it. Do you know him?”

  Fuck. “He’s the owner of Perfect Ad Verse.”

  Ty straightened and then frowned deeply at me. “You don’t think...?”

  But I did.

  Chapter Four

  Ty

  The line buzzed for the third time and I assumed Wesley wasn’t going to pick up.

  “This is Wesley Henderson.”

  Thankfully, I was wrong. “Ms. Henderson, this is Ty Ellington from Tradelines, we met a few days ago.”

  “I remember. Have you decided to press charges?”

  I heard the smile in her voice as she’d asked that, and it made me chuckle. “No. I’m calling to set up a meeting.”

  There was a pause and then she asked, “With you?”

  I looked down at the note Sandy had left me. He was very specific, so I was careful in my reply, “No, with my partner. Sandy Tramaine. I believe you refer to him as The Snake.”

  Was she tapping something? A pen against a hard surface? That’s what it sounded like. But then it stopped. “Why?”

  Again, following Sandy’s instructions I remained evasive. “It’s not for me to say.”

  “Hm. I feel like I should decline, but I’m too curious. So, yes, okay.”

  “Great.” Curiosity in a woman was something I treasured. “Now that this is settled, I was wondering if you could tell me something I’ve been dying to know.”

  She affected a little laugh. “Hang on a minute. When and where is the meeting with Mr. Tramaine?”

  “His name is Sandy, and he’ll be in touch.”

  “How very mysterious...”

  I ignored her nudge for more information about my buddy. She’d meet him soon enough. “Are you ready to answer my question Wesley?”

  “Alright. Shoot.”

  “Do you like to play trivia?”

  I could almost hear the wheels turning while she tried to figure out my angle. Or, more likely, she was working on her own.

  “Are we talking about the exchange of strictly useless information or the actual game?”

  I loved the tone of her voice. It was soft, almost conspiratorial. Entrancing. “The game. There’s a tournament today at a Bistro I go to. We could meet there after work for drinks and play in their challenge.”

  She hummed out a couple of sounds that told me she was suspicious about the invite, when she really didn’t need to be, and then she sounded highly skeptical saying, “This Bistro isn’t a sports bar by any chance, is it? Please tell me it isn’t a testosterone-driven watering-hole where the deck would be stacked against a mere woman from possibly beating you in trivia because she has little to no interest in professional game watching.”

  Oh, yeah. She was smart.

  The next sound she made resembled a purr.

  Damn.

  Then she mused, “I despise football, except for...”

  I gave myself a mental shake and had to ask, “What?”

  “The tight uniforms.”

  Sassy. Nice. “I wouldn’t be foolish enough to fall for that nonsense.”

  There was a moment of silence which told me she was interested. Thinking. Good.

  “Nonsense?”

  I grinned even though she couldn’t see it. “Now who’s trying to take the advantage? Admit it. A woman with an arm like yours knows a thing or two about sports. You throw better than I do.”

  “Liar.” She laughed in an accusatory way. As if to say, you’re bad. I waited to see if she’d say more and when it was clear she wasn’t going to, I did.

  “But to answer your question, no. It’s not a sports bar. In fact, we won’t be playing against each other. We’ll be teaming up for the happy hour challenge.”

  “Fascinating.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  This time when she chuckled it was more the sound of exasperated defeat. “Sure. Why not?” After she gave me her cell phone number, she said, “Text me the time and location and I’ll see you there.”

  “Perfect.” I was going to leave it at that, but I couldn’t help myself. “Wesley?”

  “Yes?”

  I kept my tone even, but low, almost to a whisper, “Even though our building is better off without the ritualistic rock assaults, we’ve missed your early morning visits. See you tonight.”

  ***

  Wesley

  I tried my best not to sneak too many peeks at Ty over the last hour and a half, but it was nearly impossible. It was almost as if the guy got better looking with each minute that passed, and he’d been a smoking-hot Adonis from the first time I laid eyes on him.

  I had to get a grip.

  We’ve missed your early morning visits...

  That exact statement. One of the last things he’d said to me during our earlier phone conversation was messing me up. The recalled words caused an addictive sensation that was a cross between an adrenaline rush and a pang of I wanna get to know you in the biblical sense to unaccountably course through me at the oddest times. Like now for instance, when I found myself reacting to it by shifting my ass back and forth over the barstool.

  Yeah, it didn’t help that a sexy looking football player’s face was painted on the wood seat. Thoughts of sitting on a guy’s face— Ty had said the quarterback’s name was Brady—didn’t matter, because it wasn’t the player’s face I was imagining sitting on at the moment, it was—

  “Are you okay?” Ty’s expression indicated that he was genuinely concerned. “Would you like to move to a booth?”

  Boudoir!

  That silent, but better alternative screamed through my consciousness. Seriously? “No...I’m fine.”

  My seat may have been comfortable enough, but my modesty wasn’t. It seemed to be woefully lacking. As in nonexistent ever since Ty had whispered the sentence, “We’re missing your early morning visits.”

  Logic told me it could have been nothing. He could have meant he, or the staff in his office, were missing my antics. He and his dog. Or heck, him and the Pope for heaven’s sake, and yet all I kept imagining was him and The Snake. Two phenomenally handsome men, as opposite in appearance as darkness is to the light, who missed watching me.

  I’d spent a few good hours conjuring some sexy Garden of Eden imagery. Namely, The Snake as the serpent obviously, coming forth to tempt me while Ty was Adam in the scene, standing ready to instill in me, his Eve, all that was good. This, of course, translated to me being bad. I don’t know how that worked to be honest, and I didn’t care to know. I’d just managed to settle on one truth. There is no good in this world without some bad to work as foil against it. So, if I was stuck in the middle of that age old battle? I’d—

  “You’re sure you’re okay? You look a little flushed.”

  Being caught red-handed drooling over such thoughts? Damn. Not good. “Fine. Yeah. No, I was thinking about the coasters. They’re funky, aren’t they?” They really weren’t anything special, but it was the best I could come up with on the fly. “I collect them.” That was true. “And these ones deserve to be collected.” Not true. “Do me a favor. Don’t let me forget to take one with me when we go.”

  “Last question.” The guy who was running the challenge called out.

  I was so relieved I nearly slid off my “baller’s” face.

  “It’s a tie breaker. Are you guys ready?”

  Everyone shouted around us as the announcer worked to rally the crowd. This was just the diversion I needed to redirect Ty’s attention. “Do you think we’re still in it?”

  He searched my face. “I hope so.”

  After he turned his attention to the front of the bar, I came to the conclusion that we had to be on the bubble towards a win.
Besides being funny, gorgeous, and totally charming, Ty was smarter than shit.

  The host finally boomed the tie breaking question, “What is the northern most capital in the world?”

  I knew this, but before I typed the answer on the provided iPad, I quickly turned and leaned up to cup my hand over Ty’s ear, whispering, “Reykjavík?”

  He nodded, giving me the go-head, so I typed it, guessing at the spelling.

  While I did that Ty did something most men didn’t have the courage to do without first asking me for the proverbial nod to move forward.

  He placed his hand on my thigh and squeezed. “Good job.”

  I pushed the send button on the iPad and held my breath. Not because I was waiting for the contest host to announce a winner. I was teetering on the edge of excitement with Ty’s hand still on me. The weight and heat of his hold rendered me breathless.

  It had been a long time since I’d enjoyed the thrill of a new relationship. Was that what this was? A beginning?

  Now I looked at him. He was turned, no doubt checking the big screen to watch the results being tallied, so it gave me a few moments to study his profile. The laugh lines at the corner of his eye, cutting through his tanned complexion, worried me. Nice guys held my interest for only so long. Hell, bad boys were the same. Not that I’d spent time speaking to a therapist about this dating split personality thing, but I had talked to Lisa who assured me I was fucked. According to her, me finding the perfect man to manage my disorder, as she called it, would be like getting struck by lightning while standing in a fully encased rubber-lined room located under the cover of a mountain range.

  I lowered my gaze to examine his hand. That connection seemed rather possessive. It was daring of him, to capture this part of me without so much as a blink or a wink, and I wondered. Had I gotten my erotic imagery wrong? Was there an edge to him? Maybe he was the serpent.

  “Wesley?”

  When I looked up his head was tilted to one side in my direction. All his focus was on me and there was a bemused expression on his face. I blinked. “Yes?”

  “Aren’t you happy?”

  That’s when I heard the applause and after another blink I realized we were the center of attention. “We won?”