Too Hard to Resist

by Robin Bielman

  He threads his fingers through his silky, dark hair. “Yeah, wow, it’s just been so long and who knows when I’ll see you again.”

  Tomorrow. You’ll see me at work tomorrow. I stare up at him, wondering if this is some kind of attempt to rescue me. I’d appreciate the assist if I needed it, but I don’t. I put my elbow on the table and try to casually wave him off.

  His eyes flit to my hand. “So, I’ll call you some time to catch up. I’ll just go back to my table now and leave you two alone. Have a good night.”

  “You, too,” I say.

  “Ex-boyfriend?” Liam asks as soon as Elliot steps away.

  “Oh no. Nothing like that.” I leave it there. I don’t want to talk about Elliot. It’s bad enough I think about him all the time.

  Liam glances over at Elliot sitting too close for my comfort. “He looks familiar. What’s his last name?”

  “Sax.”

  Recognition dawns on Liam’s face. “I knew I knew the guy. Not personally. I’ve seen him in pictures. He dated my sister a couple years ago.”

  “Oh?” I’m dying to know more, but at the same time, I’m trying to leave Elliot out of the conversation this evening.

  “He was a real jerk. Broke her heart. Back then I wanted to bash his face in.” He picks up a taco. “You’re friends with him?” He asks this like he’s disgusted. Like by knowing Elliot it somehow makes me less of a person.

  I don’t like his judgy tone. What does it matter who I’m friendly with? “I am.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Why is that a shame?”

  “I couldn’t date someone who’s friends with that asshole.”

  I bristle at his description. “He’s not.”

  “An asshole? You sure? What kind of guy leaves his date alone to hit up another girl?”

  “He wasn’t hitting me up.”

  “Right. He just butted his nose into our date.”

  Okay, so maybe Elliot’s behavior wasn’t the best tonight, but that doesn’t automatically make him an asshole. I take another bite of my food and think back to last Friday night when he blew me off for Michaela. The sting of his rejection blooms fresh in the pit of my stomach. Doubt creeps into my impression of him. I know him at work. I don’t really know him socially.

  Unfortunately, Liam and I can’t find our way back to our carefree, easygoing beginning. It’s just as well. There weren’t any sparks, and I’ve gotten what I need as far as a report for his mom. His manners are respectable.

  He pays for our meal, then we walk out of the restaurant together. The air is cold, the ground wet. I breathe in the smell of rain. Liam valet parked while I found a spot around the corner. He doesn’t offer to walk me to my car, but that’s okay. There are plenty of people around. Hollywood on a Thursday night is always busy, even on a winter night.

  “Madison.”

  I startle and drop my keys inches from my car.

  “Sorry,” Elliot says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “What is wrong with you?” I say, spinning around.

  Elliot picks up my keys with a sheepish look on his handsome face. I pluck them out of his hand. “Apparently stalker tendencies I didn’t know I had.”

  It’s difficult not to smile. He’s cute when he’s regretful. I’m also secretly flattered. “Now that you know, stop it.”

  “After you’re safely in your car, you got it. I’ll never interrupt one of your dates again.”

  “Thank you.” A group of people walks by, laughing and talking. The area is well lit under streetlamps, but evening shadows offer Elliot and me a bit of privacy.

  “How did it go?” he asks. “I’ve got to say a guy who doesn’t walk a girl to her car is pretty lame.”

  “Where’s your date?” I retaliate. I’m not usually so combative, but with Elliot I feel like I can let go a little. Say what’s on my mind without him thinking less of me or finding fault with my words.

  “She’s still inside.” He tilts his head in the direction of the restaurant.

  “What kind of guy does that?” Now I sound accusatory. I have no idea what has gotten into me.

  “You answer my question first.” He smirks. Why is he smirking?

  I cross my arms over my chest. “It was fine.”

  “Just fine?”

  “It would have been a lot better if you hadn’t shown up.”

  He shows off all his perfect white teeth “I know I’m better looking, but the guy seemed all right.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “You’re beautiful and the guy’s an idiot.”

  I’ve blushed more these past few weeks than I have in my entire life. He isn’t supposed to say things like that. “Elliot.”

  “What? I’m just speaking as a friend.” His gaze dips to my mouth, making my lips tingle. “As far as Phoebe goes, she’s inside because a couple friends of hers showed up and she wanted to stay to hang out with them. I’ve got to be in the office early so figured I’d call it a night.”

  “And check on me.”

  “A happy coincidence.”

  We both know it’s more than that, but it’s safer not to think that way. We can’t complicate our working relationship any more than it already is. “I should go.” I motion over my shoulder with my keys.

  “I am sorry if my interference did more harm than good.”

  “Why would it be good?”

  He waves away my question. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Frustrated that he always seems to want to direct our conversations, I spill what’s been sitting in the back of my mind. “You know how Liam asked if he knew you from somewhere? He remembered where. You dated his sister. You never met in person, but I guess he saw pictures of you with her.”

  His thick brows furrow. “What’s his last name?”

  “Jacobson. His sister’s name was—”

  “Lisbeth,” he says, like the word hurts to say. Huh?

  “Liam called you a couple of very unfriendly names and said you broke her heart.”

  Elliot’s strong jaw clenches. “And you believed him?” Without warning, giant raindrops spill down from the sky.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” I ask.

  The rain falls harder. “Get in the car.” Elliot hurries to open my door, jogs around the hood to open the passenger door, and climbs inside.

  His dark-blue shirt clings to his shoulders and chest. He runs his hands down his pant legs. You know the saying clothes shouldn’t wear a man. The man should wear the clothes? This applies to Elliot. He’s always impeccably dressed, his slacks and dress shirts fitting him in a classy, sexy way.

  I lean back against my seat. He takes up all the space in the small confines of my car, and unfamiliar urges, like climbing onto his lap and rubbing against him, fill my head.

  “So, Claire is one of the moms who hired you to spy on her son,” he says, completely toneless.

  I turn my head toward him. He’s watching the rain slide down the windshield. “You dated Lisbeth long enough to meet her mom?”

  “We were together for about nine months, and I didn’t break her heart, she broke mine.”

  “What?”

  “She cheated on me with her high school boyfriend. I think they’re still together.”

  Rain pitter-patters on the rooftop, the loud taps gaining frequency. I don’t know what to say. I can’t believe Elliot knows what it feels like to be cheated on. My skin prickles with sympathy and shared understanding. Lisbeth is a rotten, horrible person.

  He shrugs.

  “Why did Liam say what he said then?”

  “Because she told everyone I broke up with her so she wouldn’t have to admit the truth. Claire thinks she has perfect children and no way was Lisbeth going to change her mom’s perception. Our close friends knew the truth, but everyone else made me the asshole who dumped her.”

  I wonder if he loved her and if they’d still be a couple today if she hadn’t cheated on him. “I’m sorry that happened to you
.”

  He rolls his head to the side to look at me. “I’m over it. What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Are you over it?”

  I drop my gaze. “I think our situations are very different.” I dated Henry for seven years. I was loyal to a fault. Trusted him when I shouldn’t have. Believed in him when he lied right to my face. Loved him when I should have known better. I’m not sure I’ll trust someone fully ever again. But if that’s the case, then I’ll never be over it. A familiar knot anchors itself in the back of my throat. I will never be that gullible again.

  Elliot lifts my chin, his touch gentle. “You’re right, and I shouldn’t have asked. Let’s strike it from the record.”

  “The record?” A tiny smile plays at the corner of my mouth.

  He concentrates his attention there, on my lips, and once again they feel like I’ve eaten something hot and spicy. I can’t help but stare back at how beautifully his top lip lines up against his fuller lower lip. I bet he kisses like an expert—takes charge, doesn’t hold back, and leaves a woman completely satisfied.

  “You don’t know this about me yet, but along with my incredible good looks and charming personality, I have a photographic memory.”

  “Really? There’s room inside that cocky head of yours?”

  “It’s a little crowded sometimes, but nothing I can’t handle.” He trails a finger over my shoulder and down my arm to my elbow. It’s electrifying, even through the soft cotton of my sweater dress. I shiver.

  What would happen if I kissed him? Just once. Just inside this car with the rain shrouding us in secrecy. No one knows the two of us are together right now. He’s teaching me so much at work, maybe he could teach me what it feels like to have my mouth possessed. Henry never kissed me like he was starving for a taste.

  Handle me, I want to say. Then we can strike that from the record, too.

  Instead I whisper, “The rain has stopped,” because deep in my core I’m still the respectable girl who knows right from wrong and never takes a risk.

  “I should walk to my car then.”

  “You should.”

  “Off the record,” he says, something dark and hungry in his eyes. “If things were different, I’d fuck you in the back seat of this car so good you’d still feel it tomorrow.”

  My jaw drops at the same time I throb between my legs and my nipples tighten.

  “Good night, Madison.” He hops out of the car without waiting for me to respond. I watch him through the droplets trickling down the windows, my body more turned on than it’s ever been before. I can’t believe he said that to me. Worse, I like his dirty mouth and my body’s response to his announcement. I close my eyes and imagine him lifting my dress, tearing my panties off, and thrusting inside me. The sound of a car honking breaks the spell. Thank you, Hollywood traffic. Thoughts like that are dangerous and foolish.

  …

  The next morning the first thing I do when I get to the office is write him another note.

  Mr. Sax,

  You really should consider hiring a personal shopper if you want to maintain a professional image. The pants and shirts you wear are basic and ill fitting. Compared to other businessmen I’ve worked for, I’d call them cheap. Just a suggestion, since it seems image is important to you.

  Sincerely,

  Miss Hastings

  For the rest of the day, he barely spares me a glance.

  “Even before I met you I was far from indifferent to you.”

  —Oscar Wilde

  Sax/Hastings

  Workplace Strategy

  Scorecard

  Sax – 0

  Hastings – 2

  Chapter Eight

  Elliot

  Fucking Monday. And I don’t mean that in a put-my-dick-to-good-use way. Arguably the worst day of the week, today I can’t seem to get my act together at all. It took me thirty minutes to get dressed this morning. Thirty damn minutes. I never deliberate that long on my attire. I pick a pair of pants and a dress shirt and I’m done. My clothes are expensive, well-made pieces from top designers. Cheap and ill fitting, my ass. Madison’s full of bullshit again. Nevertheless, I barely spoke to her on Friday.

  Not entirely because of her well-done strategy to piss me off. I never should have said what I said to her in her car Thursday night. I took a friend moment and turned it into something else. Something selfish because I couldn’t keep my thoughts to myself. All my hesitations—she’s a sweet girl, don’t corrupt her, she deserves more, Mateo will beat the shit out of me—flew out the window when her feminine scent and unassuming sexiness surrounded me inside the car. So I kept to myself the next day like a dog with his tail between his legs. Which is something I have never done before. She didn’t seem to mind, and of course did the right thing with her note. Which only fueled my disgust with myself. She’s a fantastic assistant and I don’t want to jeopardize that.

  This isn’t the first time trouble has tempted me. I made a habit of it throughout my childhood. Acting out was the best way to get attention from my parents. It got worse in high school, when home runs and perfect grades were overlooked because of something my brother or sister did better. Let’s just say my sleepover at the police station is something my parents will never forget.

  I’m not sure who I’m competing against in the case of Madison, though. Thursday night it was obviously Liam, but here at work? Sure, I’ve noticed some of the guys checking her out, but coworkers are off-limits, so I need to chill.

  And get laid. It’s been a few months, which is probably the reason I’m thinking with my dick so much.

  I look up from the mess of papers on my desk, unable to focus. Madison is currently working on some cash flow spreadsheets I asked her to proofread. She looks really pretty today in a simple burgundy cotton dress and a tan long, slouchy cardigan. Her pointy-toe pumps are classic stiletto. Her hair falls in loose waves down her back. As usual, we discussed the day’s agenda earlier, and her smiles and good nature should have set me at ease. Not turned me on.

  Fuck.

  It’s time to call up some self-control and concentrate on the most important thing in my life: this job. To do it well, I need a kick-ass assistant and now that I’ve got one, no blowing it by lusting after her. Her connection in Indonesia is proving invaluable, and James is thrilled with our preliminary research. I couldn’t do this special project without her, and I imagine it won’t be the last time my financial skills alone won’t be enough.

  I put my head back down and get to work.

  “Hey.” James strides into my office a few minutes later, offering a welcome distraction. “I need a favor.”

  “You got it.” Whatever it is, I’m happy to help.

  “I’ve got a flight to Seattle in two hours for a dinner meeting and I need you to go in my place. The preschool just called. Riley’s got a hundred and two fever so I’m going to go pick her up and take her home. Work the rest of the day from there.”

  “No problem. I hope she feels better.”

  “Thanks. Auggie will email you all the details.” He turns to go. “Oh, and take Madison with you.”

  I’m about to ask why Madison needs to accompany me, but James is already halfway out the door. “Thanks again. I appreciate it,” he says.

  A new email pings on my computer. It’s from Auggie and she’s cc’d Madison. Dinner is with one of our largest shareholders, Joaquin Santos. James is diligent about keeping our investors informed, traveling often to meet with them face-to-face because that’s the kind of man he is. Two plane tickets have been transferred to Madison and me, and we leave for the airport in fifteen. Our return flight is for ten o’clock tonight.

  I clean up my desk, then grab the extra sports coat I leave in the office for emergencies like this. As I do so, Auggie is talking to Madison and I can’t help but overhear. “He’s young and gorgeous,” Auggie says. “I asked James if I could still go, but he said no. Be sure to ask Joaquin how he thinks the Mariners
are going to do this season. He’ll love you for the rest of dinner after that. He’s single, too, so you never know…” She trails off like our investor is potential boyfriend material. I think not.

  “Ahem.” I clear my throat.

  Auggie spins around. “Hi. Here you go.” She hands me our itinerary. “There’s a shuttle waiting for you downstairs. Mr. Santos is expecting you both at his rooftop restaurant at five. I’ve got a car picking you up at the airport to take you there and then back to the airport after dinner, so you’re all set. Have a good trip.”

  “Thanks, Auggie.” She nods and returns to her desk. “You ready?” I ask Madison.

  She looks a little shell-shocked, so I add, “Things sometimes happen quickly around here. Is it okay for you to be gone until late tonight?”

  “Yes.” She picks up her purse and a notebook. “I’m good.”

  “You sure?”

  “Uh-huh.” She’s not, but I’m not sure why that is.

  With typical L.A. traffic, we get to LAX with barely a minute to spare before we’re boarding our first-class flight. I offer Madison the window or aisle seat. She takes the window and looks out at the rain. It’s been coming down for days and the forecast calls for more of the same.

  “You’re unusually quiet,” I say.

  She slumps back against her seat. “I know. It’s because I’m a little worried.”

  “About the meeting?”

  “No, it’s not that.” She tilts her head to the side to make eye contact for the first time since we left the office. “I’m not the best flyer. I’m not afraid, I just have really bad motion sickness and with the weather the way it is, I hope we don’t hit a lot of turbulence.”

  I wave my hand to catch the flight attendant’s attention and ask if there’s any medication on board to help Madison. There isn’t, but the attendant brings her some crackers and an extra airsickness bag.

  She covers her face with her hands. “This is so embarrassing.”

  Hardly. I take her hand and lace our fingers together. Her skin is soft, delicate, in stark contrast to my much larger palm. “No. Embarrassing is when you push open a glass door but it’s a pull-open, so you slam your forehead against the glass, which leaves a big red mark, and you have an important meeting in five minutes.”