by Jina Bacarr
A sheet over my face was a better idea.
I’d die of embarrassment if anyone I knew saw me lying spread-eagled with raw fish all over me.
Then I recalled Ms. Sims snarling at me to pack up and leave, waving her broomstick if she’d had one. A surge of daring rose up in me. This was my only chance to confront Mr. Briggs and find out why I was terminated and wiped off the face of the employment roll like an outdated floppy disk drive.
The question was: How bad did I want my old job back?
Enough to take off my clothes?
I looked down at my own Barbie cleavage peeking through my flannel shirt missing two buttons. The idea of taking down that superstud who had me bare-assed over the copier was also a big incentive. Once I got his attention, I’d fill Mr. Briggs in on the burglary and give him a detailed description of the thief, though I’d leave out his dick size.
There were some things they didn’t show you in a police lineup.
Besides, he came and I didn’t.
It was payback time.
* * *
Mary Dolores O’Malley, Steve read, peering at the data from the secure site popping up on his computer screen. Date of birth unknown. Place of birth unknown. Parents unknown.
He tossed his empty foam cup into the trash can next to his desk. That was a heavy load to carry. No trace of who you were or where you came from. His problem was just the opposite. He knew all too well where he came from.
His mother was a decent sort, but she’d gotten knocked up by the local bad boy and had then produced Steve’s older brother. Tom knew his way in and out of trouble better than any comic book hero. When Steve was a kid, Tom was his hero after his old man took off. He looked up to him. Tom taught him how to hot-wire cars and jimmy open locks and every other ruse in a thief’s bag of tricks. He could con a con man. Steve wanted to be just like him.
Until a bullet stopped Tom cold.
A bullet meant for Steve.
Tom had tried to go straight, but it didn’t work. He fell in with a bad crowd and pulled his kid brother in with him. He died in the dirty street surrounded by a rival gang, kicking and beating his broken body.
No hero’s death for him.
Before he died, he begged Steve to get out of the old neighborhood and not to end up like him. Only through the intervention of the local priest did Steve escape the streets and his past. The clergyman helped him sign up for the army. Afterward, he went to college and then joined the Bureau. There, while taking down the bad guys, Steve could use the special “talents” he’d learned from his brother.
He was about the close the file, when—
Hey, what’s this?
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Pepper had applied to various government agencies, including the CIA and ATF.
And the FBI?
She’d filled out the paperwork, taken the Phase I entrance exam and scored quite high. She’d been invited to take Phase II, but she never followed through. She got cold feet.
Why? he’d like to know.
As if he ever would. No reason to keep her on his radar. Mary Dolores—Pepper—was clean. He was convinced her playacting with him in the copy room was harmless. Thank God, she hadn’t done his case much damage. He’d found another way to get to Briggs and he intended to put that plan into action right away.
Meanwhile, Pepper had no idea who he was. He had to keep it that way.
Steve grinned. He wondered how she had explained their rendezvous and the out-of-control copy machine to the woman he’d brushed by in the dark hallway. He imagined her embellishing the story and turning it into a wild tale. Most likely, she made him out to be her boyfriend needing a little late night nooky.
He sighed deeply. Too bad it wasn’t true.
Steve looked at his watch. It was almost twelve. He had a meeting with Briggs and he couldn’t be late.
He clicked off his computer and watched her file disappear into a cyber never—never land. He had to get Pepper O’Malley off his mind. The last thing he needed was a sexy computer geek with a great bod tangled up in his life.
* * *
He’s here. Coming closer to the table filled with sushi where I lay spread out like a topless mermaid on a giant half shell. I recognized his gruff voice.
Seymour T. Briggs.
My ex-boss.
I drew in my breath and squinted through my fake eyelashes, twisting my head and moving my shoulders, nearly shaking loose the yellow pom-poms glued to my breasts. Petals flew though the air, landing on my nose. I blew them off to get a better view.
Damn, who was he talking to?
Tall, dark-haired, well dressed. Moving through the restaurant with the assurance of a man who knew women wanted him. He kept his eyes straight ahead; his shoulders were broad and powerful, propelling him forward like a sleek jet fighter ripping through the skies. A trip to the moon and back.
And he’d taken me with him.
Damn. It was him.
The stud from the copy room.
What the hell was he doing here?
He sat down at the table with Mr. Briggs and barely glanced at me.
But I recognized him, even without my specs. My throat was dry, my heartbeat went wild, and I swore my honey juices drizzled down between my legs. Talk about embarrassing, since I already had a customer sitting at my table. The man sniffed, smiled and then picked up a piece of fish on my leg with his chopsticks and popped it into his mouth.
I hardly noticed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off Mr. Stud.
My, he cleaned up nicely.
Gone was the rugged biker look. He was a GQ ad in the flesh. He looked smokin’ hot in a pinstriped dark suit with a cool-blue shirt and midnight-blue tie. Professional, but I knew that an air of wildness existed under that polished exterior. His dark hair was cut sleek on the sides with just enough length on the top to give him that bad-boy look I loved.
That didn’t explain his covert activities copying Mr. Briggs’s file.
Who was he?
A sudden rush of fear made me shiver, and cool perspiration dripped down the sides of my face, my nerves attacking my courage. A sudden twitch in my leg made me jerk wildly as if I were a puppet and someone yanked on my string. My gyrations made the sushi rolls sitting on my thighs bounce up and down, giving the customer sitting within striking distance the opportunity to grab one with his chopsticks. He pinched me, but I felt no pain. I was distanced from what was happening to me, as if I existed in a parallel dimension.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart. It wasn’t like I could get up and leave. I had to stay. Or Cindy would lose her job. And I wouldn’t get my job back.
Yet all I could think about was—
The stud wouldn’t recognize me without my glasses and my clothes, would he?
Only a foolish girl would think that.
It wasn’t as if our shoulders merely touched when we bumped into each other in the copy room.
We had sex. Him thrusting, me pushing.
I breathed him in, filled with the warm, evocative memory of that night. Heady musk mixed with the rich smell of office leather, cool AC blowing in my face. I loved it. Sexy encounters like that rarely happened to me. It wasn’t like I had this prejudice against intimacy. I was afraid of where it would lead me. Someplace I didn’t want to go, where I would have to face who I was, where I came from. So I went for the cheap thrill, the quickie sex.
This was the first time it had backfired on me.
Or had it?
What was I afraid of? He was the thief, not me.
I licked my lips, a new plan orchestrating itself in my analytical brain.
All I had to do was convince Mr. Briggs this man was a burglar. A denizen of the night with criminal intentions that went way beyond seducing an innocent victim. Me, of course. Then I’d have my old job back in spite of his office manager firing me during one of her Queen Bee moments.
I wiggled my pink-tipped pedicure with the red rose petals stuck be
tween my toes and smiled. I was all set to show my ex-boss he couldn’t mess with Pepper O’Malley—and get even with Mr. Stud. You know what they say.
Revenge was sweet.
Even when it tasted like sushi.
* * *
“Mr. Briggs...Mr. Briggs,” I whispered, trying to get his attention. He couldn’t hear me. The creepy customer at the end of the table was making slurping noises. I motioned for him to back off, but he was intent on scoring another sushi roll off my thigh.
“I’ve been trying to crack the Japanese market for two years with no luck,” I heard Mr. Briggs say to the stud from the copy room. “What guarantee can you give me your company can do better?”
“We have experience in the Asian market, Mr. Briggs,” he said, choosing his words and his sushi with care as he plucked a sliver of toro off my leg.
I winced and my mouth dropped open. Experience? He had experience all right. He knew how to fuck. So what was he doing here with Mr. Briggs?
“A Japanese manager won’t research new software on his own,” he continued, “but ask a colleague for a recommendation.”
“And your company can provide me with such recommendations?” Mr. Briggs asked, curious.
“Yes. Our strategy is to partner with Japanese insiders familiar with what we call ‘the hidden market.’ My company prides itself on having a strong network of well-informed personal contacts familiar with Japanese business strategies.”
Listen to that bullshit he was feeding Mr. Briggs. Where did he get off acting like a big shot?
I’d grant him one thing, though. Up close and personal fit him. The burning in my belly reminded me how personal.
“It will take more than lunch in a Japanese restaurant to convince me you’ve got these contacts,” Mr. Briggs said, picking up his chopsticks and grabbing a wiggly piece of octopus off my stomach. Yuk. “Though I admit using the body of a beautiful woman to please the eye is innovative.”
“Very beautiful,” the stud said, surprising me.
Beautiful? Me?
Nah. He didn’t mean it. He was cozying up to Mr. Briggs. That was all.
They chattered on for endless minutes. Another businessman sat down at our table and ordered a beer. I paid him no mind. I was waiting for the right moment to get Mr. Briggs’s attention. My sixty-minute gig was almost over. Another model would be here soon to replace me.
Finally, the moment came when I saw the stud from the copy room turn around to order drinks from the kimono-clad waitress.
“Hey, Mr. Briggs,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth. “It’s me.”
“Who?” he asked, choking on the octopus.
“Pepper O’Malley. I used to work for you.” I rushed my words. “I’m a software programmer. Video games, commercials. I’m the whiz kid who rewrote all the codes for the Dragon Beware game after the last guy screwed them up.”
“I—I have no idea what you’re talking about, young lady.” My ex-boss looked flustered, pulling at his collar, his walruslike double chin tripling in size. “I don’t know you.”
“Yes, you do. Your office manager fired me after this bozo sitting next to you cornered me in the copy room—”
Mr. Briggs glared at the customer dribbling soy sauce on my thigh.
“No, not him,” I sputtered, giving the jerk a dirty look when he smeared the salty mixture on my leg. “The guy ordering drinks.”
“How did you know I was here?” Mr. Briggs whispered, the angry look in his eyes telling me he did recognize me.
“That’s not important. I want my job back—” I clammed up when the stud turned back around and handed Mr. Briggs an Echigo beer.
“Imported from Japan,” the stud said.
I rolled my eyes. Mr. Briggs was not a Miller-time kind of guy. Expensive champagne was more his style, according to the accounts I saw on his computer. Very expensive. And here I thought he was a cheapskate. The company was doing better than I imagined.
Not Mr. Briggs. He looked like he was about to throw up. I wasn’t sure if he looked sick because of what I’d said to him or the ice-cold beer staring him in the face.
“How come the model can flirt with you and not with me?” said the jealous customer, sticking his chopsticks straight up in his rice bowl. Bad manners in a Japanese restaurant.
“She’s not flirting with me.” Mr. Briggs put down the beer and wiped the sweat off his face with his monogrammed napkin. “She—she used to work for me.”
I cringed.
This was getting dicey. The stud was giving me the eyeball, his eyes questioning, his heated glance moving over my heaving breasts and then down to my crotch. I should have kept my mouth shut.
Mr. Briggs turned to him. His voice shook as he said, “I think we should finish our business elsewhere.” He threw down his napkin and then got up from the table and left.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, Mr. Briggs,” said the stud, nodding toward the quiet customer about to grab a slice of avocado off my shoulder. Without changing his deadpan expression, the man put down his chopsticks, got up and followed Mr. Briggs.
I couldn’t believe it. They were working together.
My back stiffened. So what happened now? They roughed up Mr. Briggs in a dark alley? Stole his credit cards? Drove him to the ATM and mugged for the security cameras?
I wasn’t prepared for the stud’s next move.
“Well, if it isn’t the sassy redhead from the copy room,” he said with a smirk. He grabbed a spicy tuna roll off my thigh and ate it in a sensual manner, smacking his lips and rolling his tongue.
“Surprised to see me?” I quipped.
“I didn’t recognize you without your glasses.” His dark eyes roamed up and down my nearly nude body. The look in his eyes was hot enough to burn the flower petals to cinders. In a low, sexy voice he said, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Trying to get my job back,” I shot back at him. “Until you screwed it up,”
I’d rather die than let him know how seeing him again affected me.
He slid his chopstick under the flowers covering my breasts in the pretext of grabbing a slice of fish, rubbing my bare skin and sending tiny sparks through me. I clamped my legs together.
Damn, why did he have to do that?
“You shouldn’t interfere in matters that don’t concern you,” he said.
“I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t seduced me.”
“I seduced you?” He laughed. “You’re the one who tried to convince me you’re as hot as your name.” He leaned over and dangled a chopstick dipped in hot wasabi over my quivering tummy. “Pepper, isn’t it?”
“I’m surprised you remember.”
“That’s not all I remember,” he insisted, pulling yellow flower petals off my breasts with his chopsticks, one by one.
“Hey, sister, talk to me, too,” yelled the disgruntled customer at the end of the table, grabbing his chopsticks out of the rice bowl.
“The lady isn’t talking to anyone.” The stud jabbed me in the buttock. I winced. “Anyone, is that clear?” he said. “Or she’ll find herself swimming with the fishes instead of lying with them.”
“You can’t threaten me,” I said in a clear voice, though I was shaking inside. “If anything happens to Mr. Briggs, I’ll go straight to the police and tell them what happened in the copy room.”
“Everything?” he said, egging me on.
“Everything.”
“You want your job back that bad?”
“Yes. I—I need the money to pay my rent. And to eat. I don’t get to take home the leftovers.”
He looked surprised. “You’re not kidding me, are you?”
I shook my head.
For a moment, a look of tenderness came over his face and I almost trusted him. Almost.
Then he retrieved a wad of bills that made my eyes bug out, peeled off several and stuffed them into my hand. “Now we’re even. Keep your mouth shut or Mr. Briggs won’t be walking so good.”
>
I could feel the crinkly bills filling my palm, tempting me, but that wasn’t my style. I tossed the hundred-dollar bills down on the black velvet table. “I don’t take bribes.”
“Consider it a tip.”
“I’m not allowed to take tips,” I said, echoing Cindy’s words.
The unhappy customer tried to pinch a hundred with his chopsticks, but the stud was faster. He grabbed the wad and stuffed the bills back into his pocket.
Snickering, he turned and said to me, “I’ll see you around...Pepper.” Then he grabbed another tuna roll off my thigh and jammed out of the restaurant before I could say sayonara.
* * *
I kept pressing the on button on my cell phone, but nothing happened. It was dead. Damn, they shut off my service. I told them I’d pay them soon. A lot of good that did me. How was I going to call for help? There was no pay phone in the dressing room or anywhere in the restaurant.
I grabbed the short pink kimono Cindy had left hanging on the door and put it on and then peeled off the yellow flower petals sticking to my breasts. The thick adhesive tape smarted when I pulled it off. I let the kimono hang loose as I walked around the dressing room, pressing the button and then sliding and tapping my fingers all over the screen, trying to make it work—
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
I spun around. It was him.
Looking angry but gorgeous. I let out a deep sigh. Why did this guy have to be so damned good-looking? I almost wished we were back in the copy room. Me with my butt up in the air and him behind me, sliding down my jeans.
That was before I knew he was a thief. I couldn’t drop my guard around him.
Not this time.
“Did you forget something?” I said, cocky.
“Yes. You.”
“What?” I asked, not understanding.
“I had a feeling you wouldn’t follow my orders.” He came closer; I stepped back. “Put down that phone.”
“What if I don’t?” I said, stalling. I pretended to text a message on a screen that was darker than my roots. Lucky for me he couldn’t see that.
