Too Hard to Resist

by Robin Bielman

  “You closed the deal,” she says around a smile.

  I smile back. “I closed the deal.”

  “Toutes nos félicitations! I knew you would.” At my happily stunned expression she adds, “I Googled how to say congratulations.”

  This girl. I want to close the curtains in my office, lock the door, and fuck her on top of my desk as thanks. But I won’t.

  “Did I pronounce it right?” she asks when I’ve yet to say anything. My goddamn tongue is stuck.

  “You did. Thanks.”

  “What? You’re looking at me funnier than normal.” She squirms in her chair.

  I walk around my desk until I’m beside her and lean back against the glass top with my legs crossed at the ankles. My hands grip the smooth edge. I’ve got to hold onto something or I may reach for her. “You’re great is all. Do you go the extra mile for everyone?”

  She gazes up at me. “No. Not everyone.”

  Good answer. Although I’m not sure I believe her. She’s the kind of person who would give the shirt off her back.

  There’s an image I’d like to see firsthand.

  “And hold up. What do you mean ‘funnier than normal’? Are you implying I’m funny looking all the time?”

  Her lips twitch. “You said it, not me.”

  “It takes one to know one.”

  She laughs.

  I know. I sound like a five-year-old. I’ve apparently maxed out my brain cells for the day.

  “You sound like a five-year-old,” she says.

  “Seriously? You need to stop doing that.”

  “What am I doing?” Big, expectant pools of fathomless blue challenge me. In her left eye, there’s a ring of green I’ve never noticed before.

  “Thinking what I’m thinking.”

  “I don’t do that.”

  “You do, sometimes.”

  “Okay. Think something right now.” She fixes me with a look to placate me.

  It’s a good thing she doesn’t want to buy into this, because once again, I’m thinking about fucking her on my desk. I can’t seem to stop myself. I want to bend her over, lift her skirt, and sink into her. Untie her bun and thread my fingers through her hair before I fist the strands and turn her head in order to bring that ripe mouth of hers to mine. I want to suck her tongue into my mouth while I pound—

  She draws in a breath, breaks eye contact.

  I push off the desk and return to my chair before she notices the bulge in my pants. I’m not positive what just happened, but the air is thick with more than simple air molecules.

  Fuck. This seesaw of propriety I’m on has got to stop. No girl is worth losing my job over. And I don’t want to lose her as an assistant. I comb my fingers through my hair, remembering I still need a haircut.

  Madison’s chest rises and falls. She’s got spectacular—stop!

  “We need to do something about this,” I say, discreetly adjusting my pants.

  “Agreed.”

  For a second we almost share a smile because, hello? We’re on the same fucking wavelength. What I’m feeling isn’t one-sided and I’d bet money it hasn’t been for a while. When she signed her new-hire paperwork on Monday, though, included in the packet was a right to terminate agreement and at the top of the sheet is fraternizing with coworkers.

  “Liking each other is proving a little problematic,” she adds.

  “Exactly. And you’re too valuable to me as an assistant.” I flick a pen between my fingers. “We’re attracted to each other. That’s healthy. Normal even. But we need to stay focused on keeping things strictly professional.”

  “We need a strategy,” she offers.

  See why this girl is so great? She’s speaking my language. “Exactly.” If we simply say we can handle this, it’s only going to get worse. But a plan of attack gives our minds something else to do.

  She brings her hand to the side of her neck. “I have an idea. It’s a little inane, but I think it could work. A friend of mine once had to…it’s a long story, but I think the same principles could work here.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Whenever we have”—pink colors her cheekbones—“non-work-related thoughts about each other, we write a not-so-nice note instead so that the person on the receiving end wants nothing to do with the other person.”

  I scratch my chin. “That’s the plan?”

  “It’ll work. You’ll see.” She stands up. “I’ll go first to give you an example.” With that she walks out of my office.

  Five minutes later, she silently drops a nondescript white envelope on my desk then tiptoes away like she’s hoping I didn’t see her. My eyes are glued to her backside as she leaves so the stealthy part of her delivery fails. Dude, the note. Focus on the note.

  I open the envelope. Inside it is a neatly folded piece of paper and a tiny white piece of candy…a breath mint.

  Mr. Sax,

  You have terrible breath. It’s like something crawled into your mouth and died. You may want to see a dental professional. At the very least, purchase mouthwash.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Hastings

  She’s joking, right? I blow a breath onto the palm of my hand, but I can’t tell if my breath is bad or not. No one has ever called me out on halitosis before, so this is bullshit. Good bullshit because I’m kind of pissed at her right now. I brush my teeth every morning and every night without fail. Floss, too. I notice she’s very busy at her desk, paying me no attention.

  Nicely played, Miss Hastings. Round one is yours.

  I pop the mint into my mouth, just in case.

  Since I’m a scorecard kind of guy, I reach across my desk for my planner. My scorekeeping goes back to middle school when I made a bet with Levi about who could run the mile faster. He won, and ever since we’ve tossed bets back and forth. Being the competitive person I am, I’ve kept track of every bet we’ve made. It bugs the shit out of him, which makes it even more fun. Flipping my planner open to the plain sheets of paper in back, I start a scoresheet for Madison and me. The leather-bound book, a gift from my sister, has quotes at the top of all the pages, and I laugh as I read the one on this page: “Just because you consider yourself a genius doesn’t mean you are smart.” —Mark W. Boyer.

  Things are about to get a lot more interesting.

  …

  The next day James and I, along with our CTO and Executive VP, spend the morning and most of the afternoon in the conference room going over financial reports, forecasts, and the possibility of expanding into Indonesia and Rwanda. James isn’t thrilled I haven’t finished the project he asked for, but I’ve only got so many hours to get shit done. Drake videoconferences in from San Francisco, congratulating me first and foremost on the five-million-dollar investment I secured yesterday. When we’re through, I’m anxious to catch Madison up before she heads home. The two of us need to put all our energy into completing the expansion project.

  I find her in my office. Bending over. So, naturally my dick perks up. Down, dick. (The truth is, it doesn’t matter what part of her I look at. I’m constantly telling my cock to behave.) She picks up the folder she dropped and straightens. She’s wearing a beige sweater dress today, the soft cotton conforming to her curvy body like a well-worn glove. Not too tight, but close-fitting. The hem falls to the tops of her knees. Knee-length, high-heeled brown leather boots finish the outfit.

  “Hey,” she says over her shoulder, snapping me out of my gawking. She puts the file on my desk and turns.

  “Hey. Have a seat.” I sit on my side of the desk and fill her in on my meeting. We’ve got our work cut out for us in the coming months. She listens attentively, asks intelligent questions, and shows zero worry about the challenges ahead. The expectations on me continue to be high, but with the way she looks at me—with confidence, trust, respect—I feel like I’ve got this with my eyes closed and my hands tied behind my back. “We must get the Indo-Rwanda report to James sooner rather than later.”

  “I forgot
to tell you! I’ve got a friend who works for Mercy Corps and she’s based in Indonesia. I’m working with her to get the numbers we need, for there at least.”

  “That’s fantastic.” If I ever doubted Madison’s value, I don’t now.

  We’ve just finished talking when Auggie pokes her head inside the office. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m heading out and wanted to catch you before I go.”

  “No worries. What’s up?” I ask.

  “The company retreat is scheduled for the weekend of March twenty-third. Mark your calendars, please. Details will follow.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “Oh, and, Madison. Have fun tonight.” Auggie smiles at my assistant, then waves goodbye.

  “Thanks,” Madison says before turning back to me. “If that’s everything, I’m going to head out, too.”

  “What’s tonight?” I ask before I think better of it. I’ve done a good job of not getting too friendly with her this week, but all of a sudden I wonder if tonight is her “other job.” I overheard her say something to Auggie about a date, which doesn’t bother me. She can have a date every night of the week if she wants. But now that I know about the assholes she’s been out with, my protective instinct kicks in. We’re friends, she and I, and what kind of friend would I be if I wasn’t concerned for her well-being?

  “I have a date.”

  “With one of the guys—”

  “Yes,” she’s quick to say. “But no one else knows the background behind these dates, so if you could please keep that to yourself, I’d appreciate it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Thanks. So, if that’s—”

  “Where is he taking you?” I’m aware this is none of my business, but I have the urge to know where she’ll be tonight, just in case.

  “We’re meeting at Wild Beast.”

  I’m glad she’s meeting him there. A girl should never have a guy she doesn’t know pick her up at home. “It’s good. I’ve been there.” As far as cocktail lounges go, it’s one of the best.

  “Can I ask you a question?” she says quietly.

  I lean forward on my desk. Her soft voice and tone are saying, Can I ask you a confidential question? “Sure.” I’m ready to spout off whatever dating advice she needs, even though it ties my stomach in knots.

  “Is the company retreat mandatory?”

  It takes a second for her question to register. I’m an idiot. She’s keeping things professional, and I’m the irresponsible boss hoping to what? Get a better picture inside her head?

  I sit back in my chair. I have no idea if it’s mandatory. “Do you have a conflict that weekend?”

  She scrunches up her nose. “Kind of?”

  “Get out of it,” I say, leaving no room for argument. I’m stern for two reasons. The first is her expression and uncertainty indicates a mere possibility of a conflict, meaning it’s not something important. It might even be something she wants to renege on and now I’ve helped her out. The second reason is I want her there.

  With me.

  And the rest of the team, of course.

  “All right.” She stands. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good night.”

  “You, too.”

  A few minutes later, my cell rings. It’s my friend Phoebe. She wants to know if I want to grab a drink. She and I dated briefly in college, but realized we were better off as friends. Occasionally that includes benefits if one of us has an itch that needs to be scratched. When she suggests Wild Beast, it’s like being struck by lightning. What are the chances? The coincidence has to mean something, though, right? Fate or some weird universe thing, so I agree.

  When she and I walk into the place, I tell myself it’s because I want to be sure Madison has backup if her date turns out to be a prick. That I’m hungry and have a craving for some Baja street food, which is excellent here, is another good reason.

  The lounge is fairly small and as the hostess leads us across the tiled floor to a round green table, I spot Madison immediately. We walk past her and her date to be seated two tables over. I pull out a chair for Phoebe, then sit across from her in the upholstered bench seat that lines the entire wall. This spot gives me a better view of Madison.

  “Thanks,” Phoebe says, getting comfortable.

  I’m not sure I deserve any thanks tonight, since I think being with her is to camouflage the somewhat stalker circumstances I realize I’m in, but we’ll enjoy a meal together and catch up.

  Phoebe fills me in on law school and we order drinks. Madison hasn’t noticed me, which is good. What’s not good is her attention is glued to her date. The guy looks decent enough. He says something to make her laugh.

  “Do you know them?” Phoebe asks, following my line of sight.

  So much for being subtle. “Yes. Madison is my…a friend.” We’re outside of work so I see no reason to elaborate.

  “Should we say hello?”

  “You want to?”

  “Do you want to?”

  Fuck, if I know. I glance back over to her table and Bam. Our eyes meet. She looks away before I have a chance to read them. She says something to her date, then stands and walks toward the restrooms.

  Our waitress delivers our drinks. “Excuse me a minute?” I say to Phoebe. She nods.

  I find Madison standing outside the restroom, and by the fire lit in her blue eyes, she’s no doubt waiting for me. “What are you doing here?” she demands. Her annoyance is kind of hot.

  “Well?” she insists, putting her hands on her hips.

  It takes effort not to crack a smile. I wonder if she’ll tap her foot at me next. “I’m here to eat.”

  “Really?” The “no-shit-Sherlock” is implied.

  “Plus, they have the best craft beers.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You knew I was coming here.”

  “True. But it wasn’t my idea. My friend, Phoebe, actually suggested it.”

  “She did?” Madison visibly relaxes.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, okay. I thought maybe you were here to spy on me. That Mateo put you up to it because he’s worried I can’t take care of myself. I can. I’m getting really good at it, actually.”

  “I promise I haven’t spoken to Mateo. Did you tell him you were going to be here?”

  “Yes. He’s asked me to text him where I’m at on dates now. He’s worse than my brother. It’s sweet, but it’s not like I’m on top of a mountain or the middle of a lake. I always go to very public and popular places.”

  “That’s smart.”

  “I know,” she says, her patience wearing thin. Several beats of silence pass. “Well, have fun on your date.” Without giving me a chance to respond, she strides off.

  I follow behind, almost bumping into someone’s chair because my eyes are on the sweet curves of her backside. I imagine what it would be like if I were the guy sitting across from her, sharing a meal and making her laugh. We’d stay until closing, the conversation never lagging, then I’d walk her to her car, kiss her like she’s never been kissed before, and ask her out on a second date. Because a girl like Madison deserves to be romanced.

  Instead, I return to Phoebe and we fall back into easy discussions about current events and mutual friends while I notice Madison’s date is on his cell. He’s been talking on it since I sat back down.

  Look at me, Madison. Look. At. Me. Her gaze flits to mine. She’s not thrilled with the guy.

  “Mind if I do say hello?” I nod my head to the side, indicating Madison. She might not want my interference, but at the moment, I don’t care.

  Chapter Seven

  Madison

  Cell phone to his ear, Liam keeps looking at me with apologetic eyes while he talks one of his employees through a wiring problem on a house. Liam is a contractor and this is his first big project, so he doesn’t want it screwed up. I get that, being I don’t want to screw up my job, either, and I sincerely hope I haven’t. I wasn’t exactly polite to Elliot in the hallway.
/>   But talk about shock. I thought I was daydreaming about him again when our eyes met and the total disrespect that meant for Liam had me jerking my gaze away, only to realize Elliot was indeed sitting a few feet away. How am I supposed to concentrate when he’s a huge distraction I don’t need? I’m nervous enough with Liam. I keep thinking he’s going to blurt out, “I know my mom hired you to go on this date so thanks for nothing, bitch.” My mind can be very annoying sometimes.

  “Here you go,” the waitress says, dropping off our food. I’m grateful I have something to do. It’s taking Wonder Woman strength not to glance at Elliot and his pretty companion. Is she someone he’s seeing? Is it a first date like mine? Not that it matters. He’s free to do whatever he wants with whomever he wants.

  Liam holds up his pointer finger to indicate one more minute. I nod in understanding, but really, I’m…not upset exactly, but not happy, either. The date started off so well; why did he have to get a phone call? He complimented my appearance, listened to me talk rather than monopolize the conversation, and made me laugh. He seems like a good guy.

  I slip an ocean trout street taco onto my plate while I look around the lounge. The feel is old Hollywood with dark woods, red leather upholstery, and white tile floor. By accident, my gaze slips to Elliot. Again. Okay, not by accident. I swear he’s been mentally calling my name or something. He blinks at me, so I blink back. It’s the second time we’ve done this. I have no idea what the blinks mean and quickly look away.

  But two seconds later, at the exact same time Liam finishes his phone call, Elliot is standing at our table. “Madison? Hey. How are you?”

  He’s pretending he just noticed me? I want to punch his smile right off his face. “Hi. I’m good. You?”

  “I’m great.” He looks from me to Liam. “Hey, I’m Elliot.” He puts his hand out.

  “Liam. Nice to meet you.” They shake. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

  “I don’t think so,” Elliot says before turning his attention back to me. “God, it’s been forever. You look amazing.”

  Against my will, my cheeks heat. “Thank you.”

  The three of us look at one another in uncomfortable silence. “Well, it was nice to see you,” I say. Now move along and stop this ridiculous game.