by May Sage
Now glancing towards little Cassie Frank, the cute former employee who Carter had very recently started to date, he wasn’t so sure. The couple may be in their honeymoon phase, but his eyes didn’t miss all the gestures, the tenderness, and the adoration.
Dammit. Childish as it was, he hated to lose. Trick didn’t actually give a fuck about holding the extra four percent - god knew Carter would never make a decision without asking him first… but he’d ended up valedictorian, quarterback, and president of the chess club - he never even lost a hot-dog eating competition. When he entered a race, it was with his eyes on the prize.
This time, he might not have a choice; unless his mother’s taste drastically improved overnight. Trick sighed, recalling the other contract - the piece of paper that did determine what marital bliss might mean for him.
“Man, you genuinely go through assistants quicker than a pack of toilet paper.”
He might have retorted something witty, if that hadn’t been true. He bought his toilet paper by lots of two dozen, and he’d never kept an assistant more than a month.
“It’s problematic, though,” Carter reflected, his expression now devoid of amusement. “I mean, after the launch, you can use all the help you can get.”
He nodded with a sigh. Every year, the development floor busted their ass for about six month straight then, the PR and marketing started, and finally, after they’d launched, it was his turn to step in.
They’d released their latest products three weeks prior, which meant that over the next quarter, Trick would analyze their profits, and come up with a budget, and a business plan for the following year. Frankly, his department worked like a well-oiled machine after a while, but at first, while they were gathering all their data, they were always rushed off their feet. Not having an assistant familiar with his schedule through November would be a major pain in his backside.
“I don’t have the time to train anyone to do the job,” he sighed. He’d attempted to get the senior administrative staff to send their best employees before, but there was a difference between being a secretary and being his assistant. Trick needed someone with a brain, an understanding of the business needs, and preferably, someone who could keep her tits and ass under wraps. Of course, he would have loved to hire a guy, but the thing was, there just wasn’t a lot of male applicants.
“Hm,” Carter replied, frowning.
He didn’t add anything, but Trick knew his friend well enough, so he raised an eyebrow in his direction, inviting him to go on.
“Well, I’m pretty much going to work with the PR department for the next month…” he glanced towards the other end of the table and, after finding the two women engaged in a conversation, Carter whispered, “I can probably do without Lucy.”
Trick coughed his champagne back up, some of it making its way through his nostrils. He winced at the burn, grabbing the first napkin to clean up, before turning back to his friend, who, for some reason, didn’t look like he was joking.
“What?”
He’d heard him perfectly, but the idea was ludicrous.
“She’s the best,” Carter said simply, with a shrug.
Maybe, maybe not. Trick had no idea, because every time he turned up, she stopped whatever she was doing and started to glare like she was contemplating murder.
“Right. And she hates my guts.”
“She doesn’t hate your guts,” Carter lied, before considering his words. “Okay, so maybe she does, but she’s still the best. You just need to go through the internal audit and whatever you do when you run around for a month. She’ll do it for me.”
There it was, the usual wave of stupid, uncharacteristic, and plain misplaced annoyance. He’d long ago realized that Lucinda and Carter’s friendship was completely platonic, but he’d always felt rather sour about the fact that the woman could laugh and smile with his friend, while she looked at him like he kicked kittens for fun.
He wasn’t that bad at all; and he had never done a thing to her, so it felt unjust; yet what could he say about it?
Trick opened his mouth to say no thanks, but stopped when his brain caught up. Maybe that was it. Working with her for a month would mean that he’d get to prove he wasn’t the asshole she believed he was.
He knew his type often seemed arrogant; he’d been raised with money and it showed; he couldn’t do the whole casual thing the way Carter did. In his childhood, he’d been taught to stand properly, thank everyone charmingly, and call his parents “mother,” and “father.” No affectionate nickname at the Johnson’s.
“Right. Well, it’s worth a try.”
Lucy
“Dance with me.”
The music was loud, as their booth was close to the DJ she’d hired, but Lucy heard Carter’s tone, and wondered why she’d never fancied her boss. The guy was handsome, and he definitely could turn the charm on when he wanted to.
Of course, Cassie jumped to her feet and followed him.
To say that things became uncomfortable when the couple decided to leave them to their own devices to grind their bodies together on the dance floor, was a slight euphemism. Like, roses are red, the sky’s blue, oceans are wet and violets are purple - that kind of thing.
“So Lucinda,” she refused to turn towards the direction of the sexy as sin voice playing havoc with her clit without even trying. He said her name, and that was that - the equivalent of B.O.B. right there. “I don’t think I’ve seen you in a while.”
“You haven’t,” she replied, neither confirming nor denying that it had been purposeful.
Lucy looked around, hoping to catch the eye of someone who might want to come rescue her; but people around her seemed to be having way too much fun to pay attention to her distress. How selfish of them.
Good thing she’d never been much of a damsel in distress, anyway. She opened her mouth, about to announce that now was the ideal moment to go powder her perfectly powdered nose, but the damn guy beat her to it.
“Don’t you love a party?”
He was actually trying to engage her in some small talk? With effort, she managed to prevent herself from snorting or otherwise reacting. She just let out a noncommittal, “Hm.” Because that was what dumb playboy bunnies did.
Oh, god, it had been years, but she was still so angry. Unreasonably so, she was aware. Most guys disrespected women on a regular basis; she heard variations of that every week, and normally, she didn’t care.
But he was Patrick Johnson. The boy she’d had the biggest crush on, the man she’d non-creepily stalked, reveling on his triumph when Harris Toys was launched. He was - he had been - her god.
It wasn’t his fault that she’d put him on such a pedestal, but thinking about the admiration she’d felt for him, and the humiliation of that day always made her grind her teeth, and want to punch something. The fact that she was still reluctantly attracted to him, despite her best intentions, had actually made her buy a punching bag she used every time she saw him.
“This was well organized, compared to last year,” he commented, and she couldn’t help responding to that.
“I know.”
She’d fully intended to leave it at that, but the man stared at her until she had to cave, elaborating, “Last year sucked, we ran out of booze. The band was dreadful - so, I organized the party this time around.”
Which was the only reason why she was holding a virgin mojito right now, rather than something with a decent alcoholic content. If she didn’t find a way to get away from him, though, she’d beg the bartender to add a measure of rum or ten in her next drink.
Finally, just when she’d been about to start talking about periods to get him to bugger off, deliverance came in the form of Jeffrey from the first floor - something boring like maintenance. He wasn’t high up enough in the food chain for her to actually remember what he was up to.
The guy tried to suck up to her whenever he could, aware that Carter came to her before even thinking about promoting anyone. Normally, she r
olled her eyes, wondering why the guy hadn’t yet worked out that kissing ass didn’t actually get anyone anywhere; the secret to success was kicking ass. Tonight, though, he won a handful of brownie points.
“Lucy, you’re not dancing?” he asked in an awkward attempt at flirtiness that made her want to coo awe, how sweet, and pinch his cheeks.
Under any other circumstances, she might have; right now, though?
“Well, you haven’t asked me, yet,” she flirted back, slowly lifting her lashes to him.
Puppy Boy from the first floor was almost as astounded as Trick.
The kind thing would have been to take the unexpected deliverance for what it was; shift from one foot to the other in rhythm for two minutes, before making her gracious exit. But as her name was Lucinda Warner, she couldn’t help it, her hands lifted, and slowly, sensually, she let the music take her, eyes closed like she was the only person in the world.
Well, that wasn’t quite accurate today. This wasn’t about her. When her hips curved, when she ran her fingers down her naked arms, it wasn’t because she felt like it - and it certainly wasn’t for the benefit of the confused, enamored idiot trying to keep up.
It was because, without having to steal a peek, she felt Trick’s eyes on her, and silently, secretly, she told him something she’d never voice out loud. No one had her, and she had no intention to belong to any man. She was independent, free, and she intended to keep it that way; but as she danced today, her show revealed her one secret.
Six years ago, he could have had her; and she was petty enough to give him a glimpse of what he was missing.
When she opened her eyes, she was taken aback; not because he was watching her; that, she had expected. But there was something in his look she couldn’t quite place. Something that made her feel a little vulnerable.
Patrick looked exactly like a man watching a chessboard, ten moves away from a certain victory; way before his opponent could hope to guess his strategy.
She wasn’t sure why - it might have been the crisp suits, or the amiable demeanor he’d hidden under for so long - but she’d forgotten. Trick was also a winner. And right now, he made her feel like his prey.
So, yeah. She smiled and bit her lip.
Being sane was overrated.
Back to her regular schedule the next Monday, Lucy walked to her floor, dragging her heels like she always did. Most people disliked Mondays, but she really, really hated them. Everyone in the office knew what it meant: she didn’t even try to look pretty, giving up on the whole contacts thing. Sometimes, the hairbrush thing was also optional.
Carter let her get away with it, because the man couldn’t tie his shoelaces without her and he knew it - so he’d just elected to call Mondays dress down days - the executives never had face to face appointments because of it.
Yet, by the time she arrived at the office, she was wishing she’d made an effort for once. Because she remembered the look…
If Patrick had somehow decided to pay her attention, she wanted to have the satisfaction of shooting him down while looking fantastic, dammit. Maybe she could go home and change? Carter hadn’t made it yet. A glance at the clock, and she sighed; she lived too far for that to be an option.
The first thing she did after starting her computer was opening her calendar to see if the finance department had scheduled a meeting; not that it meant much. Patrick turned up whenever he wanted to.
She frowned, when she found the day completely blank. She knew there were supposed to be things on there; her calendar was synchronized with Carter and she could recall at least three phone calls, at the top of her head.
What the…
“You’re early,” Carter said, startling her.
She generally was hard to surprise, but her confusion had made her oblivious to anything else around her, and she’d missed the beep of the elevator signaling his arrival.
Lifting her head, she found her boss standing with two coffees from her favorite shop, three blocks away. She immediately frowned suspiciously.
“What have you done.”
He’d picked up her coffee seven times in six years, and each time, that had meant he’d required her to work fifteen hours straight, or spend some time smooching an idiot.
Then, her boss opened his mouth and told her what he’d done this time.
"No."
The answer was unadorned and final. She wasn't going to let him talk her into it. No way, no how. Nope, nein, non, iie.
She was willing to learn to say it in another hundred languages, if it helped getting her point across.
“Lucy, it's a sensitive time. We're sorted here; everything we needed to do pre-launch has been done. But the finance department is a mess, and I just can't afford to hire someone else and spend weeks of training, only to lose her after a month. You know Harris Toys like no one else. Do this.” Then, because he was an asshole, Carter added the one thing that she couldn't resist. “For me. Do it as a friend.”
She couldn't believe he'd gone there. Lucy was fierce in her devotion; it took a lot for her to let someone close, but she had her friend's backs, as they had hers. Carter had proven himself, helping her out each time she’d needed him, so she didn’t have a choice and he knew it.
“Did you seriously just say that?”
“Oh yes. Yes, I did.”
Fuck.
Lucy couldn’t believe this was happening; but like it or not, it looked like she was Patrick Johnson’s assistant from now on.
Trick
He could do this. Actually, it would be easy. A piece of cake. Just like working with any other assistant the HR department had ever sent his way. Sometimes, he found them pleasing enough to look at, and it didn't stop him from seeing them as nothing more than what they were, once they were working for him: employees.
He'd convinced himself of the truth behind his words when he pushed the door leading to his office, but then, reality hit, and he inwardly cursed.
Why, oh why, did he have an open office?
Unlike Carter, who'd been smart about it, he had insisted that no door should cut him off from anyone wanting to speak to him in his department, so most of his floor was an open plan, with a staff room, bathrooms, a stationary cupboard and a copy room tucked on the side.
His desk was at the far end of the humongous room, against the large window; he had nowhere to hide from his assistant, whose work station was set up just next to his.
Fuck. He was going to have to look at that all day, and he couldn’t even hide behind a closed door to relieve himself.
Lucy must have been feeling particularly cruel that Monday: like everyone else in the office, she was wearing casual clothes - in her case, that meant form-fitting yoga pants hugging her luscious hips, showcasing the form of her thighs, and a white t-shirt over a black bra. He tried to prevent his eyes from roaming, but they couldn't help it, taking in the sensual figure…
Dammit. There was no way those boobs were real, right? The seemed heavy, and round and he wanted to bite them, while he relentlessly pounded her.
Variations of that image had constantly been on his mind since he’d watched her dance with the idiot he was not jealous of. Lucy hadn’t let the boy so much as try to touch her, so he was allowed to breathe.
But the way she’d moved her hips and teased her own body with her hands, caressing it, undulating with the beat had been a nail on the coffin. Until then, Trick had reluctantly admired her, wishing the attraction away every time he had to acknowledge it, because, first and foremost, it wasn’t reciprocated, and secondly, because it could lead nowhere.
Now, though… he didn’t have a choice. There it was, the simple, unadorned truth: he was fascinated, enraptured, perhaps a little obsessed, too. Other women wouldn’t do because they happened to not be Lucinda Warner.
He steeled his resolved, repeating to himself, I can do this. He could. He would. He had no other choice.
Trick knew that the attraction was one sided; Lucy wasn't one to h
ide anything - her feelings were written on her face. She flirted liberally whenever she met anyone who picked her fancy - business associates included - and she'd never looked at him with anything but the most professional indifference.
It was, in fact, a blessing in disguise, because if she had liked him, he would have had nothing to offer, other than a few romps under the sheets.
She wasn't a real option: his mother would never approve, and while most people didn't need to think of such things, he did, as his inheritance wouldn't be his until he tied the knot with a woman Arabella Johnson was happy with.
His father had died when Trick had been just eighteen, and much more reckless - back when he'd earned himself the nickname he still wore with pride. At the time, he’d been desperate for distraction, and his hobby of choice had been hacking. There had been no challenge equal to getting in systems he had no business touching. Hacking the FBI's files might not have been the wisest idea, but it had needed to be done; at least once. However, the feds weren't as useless as he'd believed, because they did manage to track him down.
He got out of it with nothing more than a "don't do it again," thanks to the depth of his daddy's purse; but his father had been diagnosed with cancer a few months before. Given the circumstances, it was entirely understandable that the old man had believed him too immature to inherit his billions quite yet, so in case anything went wrong, he set up the annoying conditions on his will and testament.
He died months later, never seeing the man his reckless son had become, so Trick understood the will, but it frustrated him to no end, because for lack of better word, his mother was a shallow, prejudiced woman, who would have gotten along quite nicely with Mr. Darcy’s aunt.
He ignored the little voice at the back of his head telling him that the damn aunt hadn’t deterred Eliza Bennet in the book; and god knew Lucy could have held her ground as well as any Jane Austen character, if she’d found something worth fighting for.
