A Kick in the Pants (a Riley O'Brien & Co. novella)

by Jenna Sutton

  “When Cal gets here, I’m going to give him shit for blowing us off,” Jake vowed.

  Charlie snorted. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing for Kyla.”

  “I wouldn’t…” Jake denied, but stopped when Zeke shot him a knowing look.

  “You would,” Charlie insisted.

  Jake gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah, you’re right.”

  “I know.”

  Charlie and Zeke were the only people who knew about Jake’s interest in Kyla. It wasn’t something he wanted to advertise until it no longer violated Riley O’Brien & Co.’s employee policies.

  “Speaking of Kyla…” Zeke began. “Have you talked to her about her plans after she graduates from the management trainee program? I’d love to have her back in the supply chain and logistics department.”

  “No.” Jake shook his head. “I don’t know which positions she’s interested in.”

  After a beat of silence, Charlie began to guffaw. “Why don’t you just ask?” he suggested around his laughter. “Hey, Kyla, what’s your favorite position?”

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “Charlie…” he warned, but his best friend just rolled his eyes and took another bite of pizza.

  “Are you still going to ask her out when she’s finished with the program?” Zeke asked.

  “Yes.”

  Jake wasn’t sure how Kyla would react to his interest. His dad had taught him to read people … to scrutinize their expressions, to study their body language, to listen to what they did and did not say. Unfortunately, Jake’s feelings for Kyla hindered his ability to read her.

  He knew she liked working with him, but that was only because she’d told him so. He knew he could make her laugh until she cried. He also knew that she blushed a lot when she was around him. But pink cheeks did not necessarily mean she felt the same way about him that he felt about her.

  Zeke’s phone buzzed, and he immediately picked it up. A smile curved his lips—one that only his fiancée could elicit—before he returned the phone to table.

  “Margo wants to know if you’ve decided on what we’re doing for my bachelor party,” Zeke said.

  Because Jake was the only local groomsman (the other two were Zeke’s brothers, and they lived in North Carolina), he had been tasked with planning the bachelor party. Zeke had been very vocal about the activities he considered unacceptable. The list was fairly extensive. No strip clubs, no surfing, and no bars-on-wheels, just to name a few.

  Jake had considered paintball, but had decided against it after weighing the risk of injury against the reward of male bonding in an outdoor environment. He had also factored in Zeke’s history as a soldier who’d completed tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. There was a risk that paintball could stir up bad memories of being in combat.

  After a lot of research, Jake had finally decided on skydiving. It was a little risky, but the reward was worth it.

  From Jake’s perspective, jumping out of a plane wasn’t nearly as risky as asking Kyla out on a date. At least he’d be wearing a parachute when he went skydiving. Nothing would soften his fall if she turned him down.

  CHAPTER TWO

  After spending the entire morning hurrying from one overlong meeting to another, Kyla wished she could wave a magic wand and eliminate meetings. And if she couldn’t eliminate them, she would use that magic wand to ensure that her meetings ended on time.

  She’d just suffered through a meeting that had finally wrapped up thirty minutes after it was supposed to. And because it had run over, she was going to be late for lunch with her older sister. Fortunately, Vanessa’s schedule today wasn’t as crazy as it usually was, and she was still able to meet Kyla at their favorite café.

  Despite the protracted meetings, Kyla loved working for Riley O’Brien & Co. The company was part of the very fabric of America, no pun intended, and its signature blue jeans were a staple in nearly every closet across the country. And under Quinn O’Brien’s leadership, the company was thriving.

  Shifting her leather bag to her other shoulder, she stabbed the down elevator button again. She knew pushing the button more than once didn’t make the elevator arrive any faster, but it made her feel better to do something. She tapped her foot impatiently, the sound of her high-heeled boots making a sharp staccato on the stained concrete floor.

  Kyla really hated being late. She hated feeling rushed and frazzled, and she hated the impact of her tardiness on other people. She didn’t want them to be inconvenienced or think that she didn’t value and respect their time.

  A loud ding announced the elevator’s arrival, and the doors right in front of her opened with a swoosh. The cab was empty, and just as she pressed the button to take her to Riley Plaza’s second floor reception area, she heard a male voice call out, “Hold the elevator!”

  She stuck her hand between closing doors, and a big foot covered in a black motorcycle boot slipped through the crack. As the metal panels retreated, a jeans-clad leg joined the boot, followed by the rest of a body … one belonging to Jake Lilliard.

  She and her deliciously hot boss were alone in an elevator, a setting seemingly designed for passionate encounters. She’d had more than one fantasy that involved him backing her against the wall of the cab and kissing her until she clenched her fingers in his whiskey-colored hair and moaned against his mouth.

  Yes, she was a cliché: the foolish woman who had fallen for her boss. And yes, she knew how pathetic that was.

  When Jake spotted her, his lips lifted in a smile. It was so warm and engaging that she found herself returning his smile without even thinking about it.

  His eyes swept over her, glimmering with shades of green and gold. The color made her think of hiking through the forest on a sunny spring day.

  “Thanks for holding the elevator.”

  “Sure,” she replied, pleased to hear that she sounded completely normal despite the butterflies flitting around her stomach.

  She stepped backward to make room for him. As he entered the elevator cab, his arm grazed hers, hard and warm through his black-and-gray San Francisco Giants T-shirt.

  He was a big guy, probably close to six-three, and even with the four-inch boost from her boots, he was several inches taller than she was. His broad shoulders made the elevator seem even smaller.

  His voice rumbled near her ear. “Where are you headed?”

  “To lunch,” she muttered, trying to ignore the way her spine tingled.

  She kept her eyes straight ahead, irrationally annoyed with him. It wasn’t his fault that she was a walking, talking cliché.

  She knew it was stupid and unprofessional to crush on her boss, but she couldn’t help it. Jake was just so funny. So smart. So kind. So interesting. So handsome.

  And so off-limits.

  Only for ten more days, a voice inside her whispered.

  She ignored the voice. It didn’t matter if Jake was her boss or not. He had shown zero interest in her as anything but a colleague.

  Much to her disappointment, he was friendly, but nothing more. He’d never done anything to indicate he even recognized she was female, let alone that he was attracted to her.

  She, meanwhile, was deathly afraid she would slip up and let him know how much she wanted him. The thought made her mouth go dry and her stomach churn. She would be absolutely mortified if he had an inkling of how she felt about him.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back against the side of the elevator and brace his hands on the metal railing. She’d wasted a few hours fantasizing about those big hands and how they’d feel on her—

  “Want some company for lunch?” he asked.

  She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the image of Jake’s hands on her breasts. Would he be gentle with her nipples, playing and teasing them? Or would he be rough, pinching and pulling them? Both techniques sounded good to her, as long as Jake was the one practicing them.

  She took another deep breath, and the scent of his cologne filled her nose, woodsy and cr
isp. Damn it! Now little whiffs of him would distract her all afternoon. She probably wouldn’t get anything done.

  “Did you hear me, Kyla? Do you want to grab some lunch together?”

  “I’m meeting my sister. No boys allowed.”

  His lips quirked at her answer. “Maybe tomorrow then.”

  “Maybe,” she replied noncommittally.

  Jake was a great supervisor, and she’d learned a lot from him. But every moment she spent with Jake was dangerous, and it was prudent to limit her exposure to him. So far, she had managed to maintain her professionalism with him … just barely.

  Kyla knew it was only a matter of time before her willpower collapsed under the constant pressure of her desire for him. She prayed she could make it through the end of the trainee program without embarrassing herself.

  Except for Jake, she rarely had trouble resisting temptation. She could walk past her favorite boutique, see a fabulous dress on display, and not give in to the desire to go inside and whip out her credit card. She could eat at five-star restaurants and manage not to stuff her face with thousands of calories.

  But Jake was more tempting than a Stella McCartney frock or a gourmet meal, and every second she spent with him made the cracks in her willpower widen. In fact, if her willpower were the Hoover Dam, everyone should be worried about an epic flood.

  She sighed, silently begging the elevator to move faster. If she spent much more time alone with Jake in this tiny space, she might throw herself at him.

  To her relief, the elevator dinged just then, and the doors slid open. She exited the cab, aware that Jake was right behind her.

  “Have fun at your girls-only lunch,” Jake said, a trace of laughter in his deep voice. “I’ll see you later.”

  Before she could reply, he strode off. She watched him as he moved toward the executive wing, wishing that he was the cliché: the hot guy who falls for the trainee.

  With Jake occupying her thoughts, she turned toward the escalator and immediately slammed into someone who smelled like plums. As she stumbled back, she glimpsed a startled green eyes set in a face surrounded by short, chocolaty ringlets.

  Recognizing the other woman, Kyla exclaimed, “Phoebe! I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  Phoebe Werner waved away her concern. “I’m fine. It takes more than a blonde pixie to bring me down.”

  Like Kyla, Phoebe was one of Riley O’Brien & Co.’s management trainees. But unlike Kyla, who was close to completing the twelve-month program, Phoebe was just now finishing the first of four rotations. Each rotation consisted of three months in a department of the trainee’s choosing.

  Kyla had met Phoebe on the first day of their new rotations. It usually took her a while to get comfortable with new people, but she had immediately felt at ease with Phoebe. Maybe it was the petite brunette’s warm smile and melodic laugh. Or maybe it was her calm strength and infinite patience.

  Whatever the reason, Kyla liked Phoebe a lot, and she’d been one of the handful of people whom Kyla had recently celebrated her twenty-seventh birthday. After dinner and drinks, the group had gone to Kiln or Be Kiln, a paint-your-own pottery studio, and Kyla had confirmed that she lacked artistic talent.

  Although they hadn’t known each other very long, Kyla considered Phoebe a good friend. She hoped that they would become even closer, if given the opportunity.

  The two women had already bonded over the fact that they were both Bay Area transplants. Kyla had grown up in Boston and gone to college in Ohio. Phoebe, meanwhile, was a native Idahoan, and she had moved to San Francisco from Boise.

  “I’m meeting Vanessa for lunch at Remy’s,” Kyla told Phoebe. “Do you want to join us?”

  Phoebe smiled. “I would love to, but I can’t. I have a doctor’s appointment.” She tilted her head toward the escalator. “We’re going the same direction, though. We can walk together.”

  Moments later, Kyla and Phoebe were on the sidewalk, heading south toward Remy’s. The country French café had opened a little over three months ago, and it had immediately become one of Kyla’s favorite places for lunch.

  Glancing sideways, Kyla studied the merlot-colored sweater that Phoebe wore. It crisscrossed over her torso, and a charcoal cami peeked out from the deep V-neckline. A pair of dark-washed skinny jeans and gray suede booties with a wedge heel completed her outfit.

  “I love your sweater. Did you make it?”

  Phoebe nodded. “I knitted it on Sunday while I binge watched Black Mirror.”

  “I don’t even know where to start with that statement.”

  “What?” Phoebe giggled. “What was wrong with it?”

  “You knitted an entire sweater in one day? And what is Black Mirror? I’ve never heard of it.”

  Phoebe smoothed her fingers over the soft-looking yarn covering her forearm. “This is really just a scarf with sleeves. It’s not a challenging pattern at all.”

  “It’s really pretty. The color looks great with your hair.”

  Phoebe’s “scarf with sleeves” wasn’t the only thing that was pretty. The woman wearing it was pretty, too.

  Kyla was sure more than one guy had fixated on the tiny brown mole just to the side of Phoebe’s upper lip. It was Mother Nature’s finishing touch, like chocolate flakes on top of whipped cream.

  “Black Mirror is a British TV show,” Phoebe explained. “It’s kind of like The Twilight Zone in the sense that episodes aren’t connected, and each one features different characters.”

  “What’s it about?”

  Phoebe’s lips turned down in a frown. “It’s about the consequences of technology on modern society. It’s dark satire.”

  “So, what you’re really saying is that it’s depressing.”

  “Oh, yeah. Even the most optimistic person would probably feel like crying after watching it.”

  “Speaking of crying, did you get everything worked out for your next rotation?” Kyla asked. “Did you get a place in the e-commerce group like you wanted?”

  “Yes. And there was no crying involved. Just a lengthy conversation with Miranda.”

  Miranda Hoyt was the HR manager who handled the trainee program. It was just one of her many responsibilities, and it always ended up being a low priority.

  “I know Miranda is doing her best, but I think the management trainee program needs a dedicated manager,” Kyla said.

  “I agree. It’s too much work for someone with so much on her plate.”

  “I think I’m going to mention it to Teagan,” Kyla said. “She needs to know that the program could be improved.”

  Teagan O’Brien-Priest was the reason Kyla had joined Riley O’Brien & Co. When she had graduated in May with her MBA from Miami University in Ohio, her mom had begged her to look for a job in the Bay Area. Unfortunately, she’d struck out.

  Kyla had been ready to accept a job in Minneapolis when she got an unexpected phone call from Teagan offering her a position in the management trainee program. She knew the O’Brien heiress had offered her a position in the management trainee program because of Kyla’s mom, Letty. She worked for Teagan and her husband, Nick.

  Letty’s official title was live-in housekeeper and chef. Her unofficial title was surrogate mother.

  “Why don’t you put together a report outlining the changes you’d make if you were in charge of the management trainee program and then float it to Teagan?” Phoebe said. “Maybe that will make a lightbulb go off.”

  Kyla considered Phoebe’s suggestion. “That’s a good idea. All the trainees get a week of vacation after graduation. I could work on the report then.”

  They passed Remy’s charming patio, which was enclosed by a decorative wrought iron gate, and stopped near the front door. Kyla gave the shorter woman a quick hug.

  “I’ll see you later. Good luck at your doctor’s appointment.”

  Phoebe’s face went blank. “It’s just a routine checkup.” As she walked away, she called out over her shoulder, “Let me know if you need any help w
ith the report.”

  Kyla waved her thanks before entering the café. Her gaze skipped over the rustic brick floors, mahogany wood paneling, and gas-burning sconces before landing on her older sister. Vanessa stood at the long wooden bar, looking down at her phone with her glossy pink lips pursed.

  The two of them were almost identical except for the fact that Vanessa was nearly seven inches taller than Kyla—the quintessential statuesque blonde. And she had bigger boobs, damn her.

  As usual, Vanessa wore all black. A conservative black pencil skirt, a black silk blouse, and a thin black snakeskin belt. Her red patent leather heels provided the only color to the otherwise monochromatic outfit.

  Kyla stared at the bright shoes a moment, a conflicting mix of relief and despair swirling inside her. Those heels proved that Vanessa hadn’t completely lost herself—that Alan Toft hadn’t managed to completely eradicate her true personality.

  Years ago, Vanessa had gravitated to bright, vibrant hues. But since she’d gotten involved with Alan, she had adopted his minimalistic style. At his urging, she had removed all color from her wardrobe. For a while, she had worn black and white but now wore black almost exclusively.

  Kyla was afraid it wouldn’t be too much longer before her sister’s collection of bright, sexy shoes disappeared. And at that point, Alan would have succeeded in making Vanessa’s life completely colorless.

  Kyla wished her sister would find a guy who didn’t want to change her … a guy who made her want to wear a rainbow of colors. And as long as she was wasting her time and making wishes, Kyla figured she might as well wish that she could find a guy like that for herself.

  Vanessa was so absorbed in whatever was on her phone that she didn’t even notice when Kyla came to a stop next to her. She waited a moment before waving her hand in front of Vanessa’s phone. That got her attention.

  “Hey, Sass,” she said, using her special nickname for her sister. “Thanks for waiting on me.”

  Kyla and Vanessa shared a two-bedroom apartment in a contemporary duplex in Russian Hills, a small neighborhood on one of San Francisco’s highest hills. They hadn’t seen each other in a few days, though, because Vanessa had been in Los Angeles, pitching a new client for her architectural design firm.