Project MANagement

by Kirra Pierce

  FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS:

  PROJECT: ‘MAN’AGEMENT

  Kirra Pierce

  ®

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id® e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  Project MANagement

  Kirra Pierce

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-2924

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © December 2007 by Kirra Pierce

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 978-1-59632-594-4

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Judith David

  Cover Artist: April Martinez

  Chapter One

  Mabel. Who the hell names their daughter Mabel? Either they were among the clueless or the uncaring and cruel. I was pretty sure my parents fell into the former rather than the latter category.

  A girl named Mabel had to take control of her destiny from day one. Just being gifted with a name like that showed the importance of taking the initiative.

  Even before discovering formal project management training, I determined my first goal was to shed the horrible name my dear parents had bestowed upon me and don something with more style, more class. Something that was more me. So Belle was born. By the end of second grade, all my friends knew it. By the end of third grade, all my classmates called me that. By the end of fourth grade, NO one dared call me anything different. All it took was proper scheduling, motivation, and clearly identifiable tasks. Manage your projects and manage your life. That was my motto, and I was sticking with it.

  What idiot could have a problem with that? Larry for one, John for two, and Stanley for three. Or, as they actually liked being called: Larry, Moe, and Curly.

  Good grief.

  Juvenile jokes aside, I would have thought they actually had the IQs of stooges if they hadn’t consistently turned out the improved process and product designs for which our clients paid. Who cared if they be could be collectively called washboard abs R us? It would have been just sooo much better ‑‑ and easier on everyone else’s nerves ‑‑ if they had tried to follow the schedule.

  Larry summed up their attitude “You can’t schedule real research because you don’t actually know what’s going to happen; that’s why it’s called research.”

  Even dating the three of them, sharing steamy kisses ‑‑ and withholding anything else ‑‑ hadn’t worked to change their attitudes. Really, if half the articles written about men were correct, you’d think they’d have at least put on a show of trying to work with me to get on my good side.

  But nooo.

  Instead, they accused me of being too controlling, too scheduled, of not showing enough creativity. Did they have any idea what sort of creativity it took to adjust everyone else’s workload to meet the client’s requirements after the three of them had finally given me something with which I could work? Hah! I had creativity, all right.

  And too controlling? Double hah!! I could let go, be spontaneous ‑‑ when it was appropriate. In fact, I even made a bet with them. I would give up control, go with whatever they planned or came up with.

  It started when the three of them had ganged up on me at their shared townhouse. No, actually it all began with Santa ‑‑ or Secret Santas, anyway.

  As a privately held company, Make It Better, Inc., had an eclectic blend of the politically correct and the traditional around the office. For example, while we were getting ready to enjoy “Winter Break,” we still had Secret Santas.

  Hmpf, secret, my ass.

  Secret Santas were supposed to be randomly assigned by the computer in a get-to-know-someone-new-or-someone-better team-building exercise. Somehow I was assigned not one, but three Santas: Larry, Stanley, and John. And, by this same mysterious means, they were all assigned me. Oh yeah, we had a good laugh about that at the Secret Santas Revealed luncheon.

  I went over to their townhouse to give those boys a piece of my mind. I swear, it was like they were expecting me. The dimmers made the light from the brass lamps cast a gentle glow. Sultry jazz drifted from the radio.

  Instead of standing still and letting me deliver the lecture that I’d intended, seemingly sweet-natured Stanley, with the liquid brown eyes and dark brunet hair he’d inherited from his Punjabi mother, steered me right over to the middle of their oxblood leather couch. He sat on one side, Larry on the other, and John on the coffee table right in front of me.

  They all looked so serious. I immediately thought they must have found a flaw in the last product design after they presented it to the client. Instead, John looked me dead in the eye and said, “We know what you’re up to.”

  Maybe those little hints about how I could feel more relaxed if there were less work stress weren’t so subtle, after all.

  Of course, I told them they had me all wrong, but then Larry, he of the stormy blue eyes and curly, sandy blond hair ‑‑ yummilicously tanned Larry ‑‑ took my hand as if he were going to say something truly horrible ‑‑ like six sigma quality was a myth. Instead, it was much more personal.

  “Belle, we really know what we’re doing. It’s not fair to try to control us at work through our personal feelings for you.”

  Huh? I held on to my poker face, barely. I thought this was all fun and games. Did they really have feelings for me? Oh, wait, he was saying more.

  “You need to learn to trust us, trust your experts, and not demand control over every minute of our day. You’ll stifle our creativity.”

  John, with his chocolate brown eyes and skin and his long, braided hair, had the nerve to suggest, “You might try to work with us.”

  Well, that sparked my temper right away. How dare they suggest I didn’t work with them when it was clearly the other way around? One thing led to another and, somehow, I bet them that if I could give up control for a night, they would have to take steps to work within the system.

  Oh, did they pounce on that. The evil fiends. Next thing I knew, I swore I could give up control, blindly trust, and follow their direction for a night.

  How Larry could actually manage to combine his perpetual prove it look with lust I didn't know. Really, he was the one who needed to learn to trust a little more, not me. Stanley made me more nervous. He looked me over like he was planning a thorough product shakedown ‑‑ and was going to enjoy every minute of it.

  They bet I couldn’t go through with it. However, they promised, if I could give them total control for the night, then they would make a serious effort to work with my project planning. They would give progress updates, work with me to outline requirements… I sighed in ecstasy just thinking about it. I shrugged off my apprehension. After all, these were my stooges. I was sure this would be an easy, enjoyable, win-win situation.

  The bet was made, and with a sly smi
le, Stanley slapped two envelopes into my hands. One had the invitation to this party, THE Festival of Lights Masquerade Ball. How they managed to get tickets for the high-society shindig, I've no idea. Larry and Stanley just laughed. John said if I'd taken Stanley up on his offer to manage my stock portfolio, maybe I would understand. Right. If they didn't want me to know, they could have just said so.

  The second envelope contained current medical records for the three of them. Stanley said not to worry about getting them my records; they had them already.

  Hmpf. I always knew we needed to run a project to evaluate our company’s computer security.

  I tried to ignore the little niggling doubt that maybe they had manipulated me into this bet right from the start. After all, there could be any number of perfectly good reasons why they already had an invitation for me and their medical records ready to go…right?

  * * * * *

  One week later, I shifted impatiently, waiting for my turn at the registration table.

  Truthfully, I looked forward to the night. I might have held back from offering more than kisses to the three on our individual dates, but they hadn’t pushed for more nearly as much as my ego would have liked. If I left them a little achy, it was nothing compared to the state in which they left me. I’d almost forgotten a major point in my presentation the day before, looking from one of them to the next in the audience. That just couldn’t go on.

  How would they do this? I hated surprises, but tonight anticipation of the unknown sent little tingles crawling throughout my body. There were unconfirmed rumors about the three. Rumors that suggested they liked to share more than just projects. The imagination they accused me of lacking ran wild.

  Oh, I hoped those rumors were true.

  I found myself fidgeting with the bottom hem of my top. The guys had sent a shimmering silk toga-style dress with tiny pleats for me to wear. It was a blend of pale peach and gold. Wide swathes of silk crossed my chest to fall down my back and attach at the belted waist. The unusual strap design was just the sort of thing Larry would come up with, but it was a little strange since another bit of pleated silk falling just below the breasts also acted as a top. The long skirt gave the illusion of simple overlapping panels but was actually stitched closed at my upper thigh, which was a really good thing since they didn’t include any underwear and specifically said I should go to the dance in only what they sent. Fortunately, they did remember shoes: high-heeled sandals with straps that wrapped around my calves. I was willing to make another bet that Stanley chose the color and fabric. The way the silk caressed and teased was just like him. John, of course, would have set the overall design parameters and style.

  I gave a little snort. Well, this process would have certainly been different from the norm. I could barely keep from laughing as I pictured them discussing the best way to optimize dress design process flow.

  For my part, I wore my hair up in a carefully careless arrangement that spilled blonde curls over one shoulder and put on a whorish amount of makeup. It looked good on me, sort of like a pale, green-eyed Nefertiti.

  In fact, if you ignored the faint freckles, the whole goddess look suited me just fine ‑‑ but this goddess was getting tired of waiting. How much longer was that couple going to hog the attendant’s time? Geez, sign in, take your mask, and go already. At last, they moved on.

  Finally, my turn! I considered giving the hostess a few hints about how to run this more efficiently, one blonde to another, but stopped cold when I saw the mask she picked up for me.

  It was lovely: a dark peach velvet half mask that would cover my eyes while leaving me free to enjoy food, drink, and, I certainly hoped, kisses. It made a well-matched accessory for my gown. There was only one problem.

  Momentarily stunned, my jaw dropped. Quickly I gathered myself. Obviously, they really needed some project management and quality control here.

  “Um, miss, the mask doesn’t seem to have any eyeholes, but no problem, really. If you have some scissors or can tell me where to find some, I’ll fix it and won’t make a complaint to the management.” How generous was that?

  Instead of looking embarrassed by their faux pas, she just snickered quietly as if she was trying to not laugh louder!

  “It” ‑‑ snicker, snicker ‑‑ “it’s intentional.”

  My glare finally got through to her. Her smile faded and a cool, professional look took its place.

  “You are to wear the mask as is. Tony here will escort you in once the mask is in place.” She gestured to a tuxedoed young man with dark hair, a mustache, and near-zero tan. Okay, I know tanning is unhealthy, but did this guy ever get out? He smiled speculatively and bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the blonde’s introduction.

  Suddenly, my swearing to blind trust took on a whole new meaning. Damn, the glimpses I got of the ball when the doors opened and shut were very intriguing. The lighting was subdued, but I could make out gold-and-silver-covered tables and large swathes of the same colors draped from corner to ceiling in the room giving the effect of being inside a giant Christmas ornament. I wanted to look more and soak in every detail, but apparently, that was not part of my stooges’ project plan.

  With as much grace as I could muster, I tied the ribbons at the back of my head and held out an arm for my escort.

  “Don’t worry, madame.” He laid my forearm along his and let me grip his hand. “I will not let you run into anyone or anything. We will go straight to your gentlemen.” Well, if I were blinded, at least my escort had a lovely voice. The accent wasn’t French, but from somewhere else in Europe. I just couldn’t quite place it.

  The sound of music swelled around me, drowning out most voices and making me feel doubly blind. True to his word, Tony skillfully maneuvered us through the crowd with only a few people actually touching as they brushed past.

  We walked slowly. I started wondering if the guys had chickened out. If they ran for it, would that mean I won?

  “I’ll take her.”

  The sound of that smooth, smooth voice vibrated all the way through my body.

  Chapter Two

  John. I would know his wonderfully smooth voice anywhere.

  “You mean we’ll take her.”

  The second voice came from behind me. Larry. I knew his voice ‑‑ crisp, clear ‑‑ but never noticed that tone before. Hmm, normally he, John, and Stanley seemed to compete as to who could come up with the lamest puns or old movie references, but tonight Larry sounded different.

  Tony handed me over to John, and I ceased my wondering. He pulled me close and guided my left hand up to his shoulder, put one arm around my waist, and took my right hand in a classic dance pose I could recognize even blindfolded.

  “My dance, I believe.” Ooo, the vibrations of his lovely voice ran through all of what I knew was an equally lovely chest. I would do just about anything he asked when he held me close like this, but there was one teensy problem…

  “Um, John, dancing might not be such a good idea.”

  I could feel his muscles bunched, ready to begin, but he froze when I spoke.

  “Don’t worry, Belle. I won’t dance you into anyone. Blind trust tonight, remember?”

  I caught a whiff of his skin through his shirt. I had never felt like this before. I just wanted to rub against him like a cat. Was it the mask? Oh, damn, what was I saying?

  “It’s not the trust, John. It’s the dancing. When you all gave me the invitation to the ball, I, of course, scheduled in a few lessons. But I’m really not good enough to do this blind.”

  A chuckle rumbled out of his chest, and then Larry spoke from behind me again.

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  Commanding. That was the difference I noticed in his voice. Was it from those few years in the army between high school and college? Normally, his surfer looks distracted me, but not tonight. Could I be as guilty of stereotyping the guys as fun, but shallow, as so many people initially labeled me?

  Blonde hair, big b
oobs. Obviously I had a negative IQ, right? You’d think I knew to look past the surface…wait a minute; all three of these guys deliberately teased and baited me. It wasn’t my fault.

  “Belle? Did you hear what I said?”

  Oh, damn, Larry had said something more.

  “Uh, sorry? I was just so embarrassed ‑‑ about the dancing ‑‑ I got distracted.”

  “What Larry means,” Stanley spoke, his voice like liquid satin. “Is that we all took ballroom dancing classes way back in high school.” His breath tickled my ear. “It was a great way to meet girls.” He spoke this softly to me, his lips just caressing my ear, as if he imparted a great secret. Like any of these three had ever been shy! Hah. “We know enough to make sure you enjoy…all your experiences tonight.”

  A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine. That weasel. I could practically see the teasing smirk on his face, but I didn’t berate him. Then, I could feel Larry’s hips snug behind me. Suddenly I felt barely more than naked, surrounded by male heat and covered by only a thin layer of silk. I was acutely aware of John’s hand still pressed to my lower back. My nipples pointed right into his shirt.

  Larry’s arms snaked around me and slid up my sides beneath the loose top.

  “Your dress needs adjustment, Belle.” His hands first cupped the outside of my breasts then his fingers fanned over them, lightly abrading the nipples. He ran the fingertips teasingly down the valley between them and then tugged the material back so that only the short tunic top kept me from being exposed.

  “Much better,” Larry murmured.

  “What?”

  Larry casually tweaked my nipples. I snapped back against his chest. The pleasure shot straight to my cunt. “No protests, Belle. Remember, no control tonight. You’re ours to be touched, exposed to us in any way.”

  I swear I could feel the eyes of all three of them on me then. My breath caught in my throat. Another hand softly tugged my head to the side; it had to be Stanley.