by Conn, Claudy
She pushed what she really thought of Mr. Uber-Sexy into the far corners of her mind, away from herself, as always. Thoughts like those went right next to her secret desire to eat an entire box of Entenmanns’s donuts by herself in one sitting, her hidden longing to have sex with a dominant stranger, somewhere in the Bahamas preferably, and her indulgent dream of being a sexy rock star who danced like Janet Jackson but sang and played guitar like Melissa Etheridge.
When the sexual tension got too thick to breathe, Rachael turned away from him with a swing of her hips and moved to continue on into the break room to grab what was left of her lunch from the fridge. She would allocate the leftover food in the box as her dinner tonight, say about nine o’clock she guessed, praying the roads didn’t give her too much trouble. Who was she kidding? She’d lived here in Northeast Ohio long enough to know a sky like the one out there right now meant trouble, turned a twenty minute drive into at white-knuckled, at least an hour if not more, taxing ordeal one hoped to survive.
***
“Hey, Rach,” Aaron spoke up as she passed his office door a second time, his voice still deep and in flirtatious mode, not phased by what she’d said, like he thought he still had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting her. “Let’s cut to the chase here. Tell it like it is. No sense one of us dying in a car accident just to be the last one to leave tonight. Truce? Let’s get out of here before things get worse than they probably already are. Sarah, the so-called bimbo, said they’ve already issued parking bans all over the city and are talking about issuing driving bans to all but emergencies in the next few hours. And, I know you wouldn’t want to get stuck here with just me. I mean, whatever would we do?” His voice had grown lower, deeper and huskier than usual, and he’d ended his question with a wink.
For a second, Rachael’s mind began to conjure up the concept of them alone, her on his lap, which still sported such obvious promise, his tongue in her mouth. She squeezed her thighs tightly together over the pulsing currently at the apex, just as firmly as she held her mouth shut. At the moment, until she could get those errant thoughts annihilated, along the lines of blowing up and sinking a warship in enemy territory, she didn’t want to risk saying anything.
Focus! Fire! Kill! Rachael aimed at her raunchy phantom visions. Yet, for some reason Aaron’s predictably irritating, but friendly tone sounded somehow slightly less infuriating at the moment. This unusual perception provoked, and scared the hell out of her. She wouldn’t have it. Big, mad-as-hell and horridly terrified unhappy face here. Though in real life she still sported a smile. So, his truce was nice? Get over it! Fast! Remember this asshole called you anal. In your meeting with the boss the other day he pointed out your presentation was too perfect to realistically work. Stay mad! Win! Win! Win!
She scrunched up her eyebrows and frowned, fearing she might lose her own mind game. Her hands moved to sit on her hips. “We would do absolutely nothing, together that is, Mr. Casanova In Your Own Mind. So, no, we can’t risk that. Wouldn’t want to blow your over-inflated self-image, now would we. No telling how fragile it really is.” She kept her voice flat, but over-gestured with her hands. “If you are up to something, though, with this truce of yours, please note, I don’t care. I was just leaving anyway. I was hoping to beat you out of here tonight, actually. I mean you’ve never actually seen real snow before. It’s newcomers like you who make the roads more dangerous, Carolina. I do so appreciate your concern for my safety, though, whatever your angle.” She smiled, raising her eyebrows up in the complete opposite extreme to her prior scowl.
They spoke in friendly enough tones, using inflection as their knives and their words to make sure the sharp blades were twisted in the wounds. Although, sometimes Rachael even cringed at the nasty things she said to him once she’d switched out of battle mode and replayed the game tapes later. They didn’t yell or get into heated arguments. Ever. Kept the boss happy most of the time. There were, however, the moments when their pointed banter made the boss man’s face about as red as a beet, and she feared the vein under his twitching eye might pop. On those occasions, the boss said Aaron and Rachael were worse than his two teenagers. Rachael always made an extra effort after that to find a moment to point out to Aaron that the boss’s teens were girls; to point out to him he fought like an immature female. It was a far worse criticism to him than it was to her.
After gathering her stuff together, she sighed, and walked back down the hall, meeting him at the elevator. This would be the only way they ever hitched a ride together. Hell would have to freeze over, more so than it was already doing at the moment, before she would get in his car in the snow.
At first, they rode down in silence. Aaron playing with his phone, turning it in his large hand and then tapping on it with his not-yet-gloved fingers. She willed it to fall to the floor and shatter.
“Sorry, bugging you?” he asked, catching her watching the phone.
Rachael smirked, no longer in the mood for him, but mentally gearing up into winter storm mode. No matter how long you lived in the Snow Belt, the first storm put everyone a bit on edge. The feeling of having quicksand and then glass under your tires as snow got matted down into ice, always took some adjusting to each year with the first few snowfalls. She gripped the handrail on the back wall of the elevator as firmly as she soon would her steering wheel.
With a storm like this in mid-December, by Christmas Rachael would be used to it again. The added thrill of a white Christmas made her smile. The temperatures were supposed to hold steady until then, so at least the grass would be white. The only thing she was asking Jolly Old Saint Nick for this year was to beat out Aaron for the new restaurant account. After she had the boss man won over, all wrapped up tight in shiny red paper with a silver satin bow, then she could enjoy the holidays, watch Christmas movies and listen to yuletide songs all day long until the fat man in the red suit came. Well, in her dreams he would leave his red coat open to show off his six-pack abs, no fat, just muscle. Rachael was a big girl, Santa could be anything and come any way she wanted him too.
Aaron would have fodder for a hundred digs at her expense if he knew how giddy and childish Christmas made her. The fact that she watched a Christmas movie almost every night in December, while dressed in one of her many pairs of holiday-themed pajamas, would give him far too much to use against her. Last night had been some sappy, made-for-television, romantic comedy, and black satin pajamas with a red present motif. Every workaholic needed an outlet or true insanity would ensue.
Rachael had her house decorated to the hilt. Something in every spot, no surface left unadorned. Each room hosted a different style. To say she had eclectic holiday tastes would be the understatement of the year. Walking around the stores, she loved it all, had to have it all. Well, almost all. She did have a few mild holiday limits. Her living room was country, all carved wooden ornaments, teddy bears in cable-knit sweaters, and vanilla candles in tin holders. Her dining room was formal with lace ribbons, blue flowers, gold beads for tinsel, and antique clear glass ornaments. Her bedroom was retro, vintage aluminum tree from Ebay and all. Nothing like reading a holiday novel with the pages turning colors as the big motorized color wheel spun, circa late-1950’s, at the foot of the tree. Aaron would raze her until next Christmas if he knew she had a tiny tree on the back of her toilet, base wrapped in a bath towel and decorated with rubber duckies. Yeah, thank goodness Mr. Probably Too Cool For Christmas So Let’s Give It A Big Humbug was never coming over.
He flashed her an award-winning smile in return for the one covering her face. His smile lit up his deep-sea blue eyes as if he’d brought with him part of the ocean he came from in the Carolina’s. The concept gulled her, him growing up, sitting on the dock of the bay and all, warm air, water, and sand, while she fought the temperamental seasons alongside Lake Erie. She’d had a wonderful childhood, just no beach. Lord only knew what Mr. I Have Way Too Much Confidence In Myself assumed she was thinking about. Okay, so she knew all the name-calling in
her head to be adolescent, but somehow, it gave her a grim sort of obsession mixed with a glib pleasure to create each of them.
Aaron’s early successes at the company had been a good kick in the pants for her. He had made her work harder at everything from her job, to her love life, which had barely been breathing prior, to focusing on her own appearance. Her brown curls now sported highlights, her eyes gained the full effect of some make-up set created for green ones like hers, her tops had gotten lower cut, and her skirts had lost the inches her high heels had gained. Rachael remained within the confines of professional business attire at all times, of course, her suits just now had skirts that showed her knees. When she sat just right, her legs crossed in his direction, they also showed a good portion of thigh as well. The matter of war between them was more one of being well matched, if not the winner in their battles: professional, personal and insane all included.
The thought of his strong, rugged looking hands on her body some days, like now, made her tremble. She cursed at her idiotic, female brain, finding herself thinking about him again. She guessed there was a little bimbo in everyone. Even in a suit and tie, you could tell how solid his body had to be. Many a times she’d tried to ignore the fact that she’d taken notice of how his confident gait threw the fabric of his pants against his muscular thighs. She may wish to always beat him, as in win, but she was still a woman, one with eyes and a healthy libido. She had to cut herself some slack here. The idea of actually hitting him though, of whips and paddles, him naked, had been a passing thought more than once. Okay, more than once a week. All of these images were stored in the dark recesses of her mind until said time she felt she could glory in them safely. She’d never been into that sort of thing, but the guy made comments worthy of a beat down on a regular basis.
Blame the day job of advertising, but in her mind, all matters, even passing blips of thought, remained free game. Her imagination, vivid, often went off on tangents she had to put a stop to. She only dared, in times of desperation – that is, after a string of bad dates – to imagine the sight of Mr. Carolina in a bathing suit, or better yet, skinny-dipping in high tide. The white caps of the waves would make his erection bob in the water. Hot Damn and Holy Hell! What is wrong with me tonight? You’d think I’d already drank too much of the bottle of whiskey waiting for me at home to warm me up.
With hurricane force winds, she pushed away her warm-weather thoughts. So what does Mr. I’m Too Sexy To Be Alive do? He shows up in her tortured mind in a bow, and only a bow, under her Christmas tree again. Rolling her eyes, she reminded herself of the fine line between love and hate. Only in her case, the matter stood between a healthy dose of lust and a knock down, drag out office competition. She internally cursed her heavy wool coat for making her so overheated. Stepping out the main doors into the abrupt change in temperature outside, she gloried in it, knowing her enjoyment of the cold would be short-lived.
Aaron waved, taunting, “Have a productive weekend,” as he walked to his car with a grin plastered to his face.
Attempting to ignore him, Rachael forced her attention to the snow. Thick and heavy, it made her feet cold instantly, despite her boots. She squinted against the wind; the one the weatherman had warned could reach sixty miles per hour. The gusts were pelting her with snowflakes, making them feel more like tiny blades of ice against the small bits of her exposed skin. Even with hat, scarf and gloves, the hideous cold permeated through to her core, making it seem as if her bones shivered hard enough to shatter.
“Rach?”
When did Mr. God’s Gift start calling me that? “Yeah. Oh, sorry. Thanks, Mr. Smart Ass. Same to you. On Monday, may the best Exec win Frank & Louie’s Brewing Co. account. You may want to put on gloves, though. Hard to accomplish anything with frost-bitten fingers,” she gloated, watching his hands, now clenched around his phone, as he pulled them a hasty retreat into his jacket sleeves.
By the time she’d gotten her back window cleared, the front one was covered with a mass of snowflakes again. She swiped at her black wool coat as well. Knowing she looked like a snowman herself, despite her efforts, brought to mind thoughts of frolicking in the snow with her nieces and nephews this weekend. Just because she was good at developing kick-ass marketing strategies, didn’t mean that was the sum total of her interests. She could go from grown woman to ten-year-old little girl in point five seconds.
Though Rachael didn’t act her age when the white stuff fell from the sky, she hated it soaking through her clothes. This went double for the times she was wearing a suit. Wet panty hose could be used as a torture device as far as she was concerned. Had she been wearing a heavy, fleece-lined flannel and jeans, had a longer, thicker coat, the inclimate weather would have been a welcome addition to her day. The frozen beauties would regardless return to plain old water in the heat of the car though.
“You need any help?” Aaron yelled across the two empty parking spaces between them.
“I’m the one who was raised here, Mr. Carolina Boy. I think I can handle it, just as I have for the past twenty-seven years of my life!” Okay, maybe twenty years. At least since I was old enough to hold a shovel. “You are the one who just moved here this summer. Maybe I should help you?”
He shook his head and got in his car. What? One snowstorm, and all the sudden you’re nice? I can’t downshift that fast, buddy. Some stray emotion rumbled inside her. Sighing out loud, she failed at her attempt to ignore it. On top of that, she couldn’t come up with the movie the downshift quote had come from. She refocused instead, wondering what his angle was, being all nice and shit suddenly, as she continued to swipe away at her car with gusto, thriving on the burn in her arm muscles.
Summer had proven the two of them couldn’t work together. He had flirted relentlessly at first, even been overly helpful, but all that had waned and then disappeared after working on just two account proposals together. August had found them hot and bitchy, snapping at each other like the territorial mama turtles she found in her yard each year. Yet, fall’s cooling temps had only fired them up, in the heat of battle, like burning leaves. By Halloween, the witchy season had made them outright, mortal enemies, like some dark magic spell had been cast over them. Lord only knew what this winter, now rearing its ugly head, would bring.
Hitting him in the head with a snowball would feel pretty damn good most days, she mused as she watched him get back out and swipe at the heavy snow on his car again. “Make sure you get the top too, Mr. Inexperience, or cleaning the back widow will be a waste of time once you start moving forward.” There, she had been nice, returned the favor. Rachael shook her head, thankful that was over with. Now the sick feeling in her stomach could abate.
At first the competition between them had been just to gain accounts and recognition as the top account execs at Social Living, a local company offering advertising and PR services in Cleveland, Ohio. But, as of the last few months, their fights had gotten downright ugly and moved beyond just business. They went at each other, behind the scenes, about everything, overtly and covertly. In fact, she’d started to feel like a CIA operative, spying, always on the alert, guns at the ready if needed. She was on a mission.
In fact, until him, she’d worked full time and only dated occasionally. Currently, thanks to a secret online dating account, she’d had a rash of dates, one often more hideous than the other. She endured this agony to keep up with his constant stories of the floozies Mr. Every Woman Wants Me bragged about scoring with every time he found Rachael within earshot.
If nothing else, she gave as good as she got. Who knew what percentage of his sexcapades were fabricated or exaggerated. The tall tales of her dates she talked about, when she knew he could hear her, could win her writing awards they were so fabricated. Last week’s Mr. Computer Nerd And Then Some, who would’ve bored her to sleep if it wasn’t for his constant onslaught of laughter – consisting of uneven vibrations and intermittent squeaks – had become a smart and wealthy man in her retelling of the night. T
heir fictitious, amazing conversation and dinner had gone head to head, and won in her mind, against his blond bimbo who gone down on him, in his car no less, on the way back to his place from the bar he had picked her up in. So one night! So cheap! Her guy held promise, she’d claimed, if only she could find the time to go out with him again. Not going to happen! Ever!
Warming her wet, gloved hands over the car vents, Rachael looked over at Aaron’s vehicle. The windows were too foggy to be able to see what he was doing. If it didn’t feel like some degree way below zero out there, she would’ve gone to see if he was reading the owner’s manual just for kicks. She remembered the ugly verbal battle they’d had when he’d purchased his new car for winter.
“I’m now ready for the first snowfall,” he had stated, coming into the break room one morning a few weeks ago. A set of keys had twirled on Mr. Look At Me’s finger.
“Buy a new shovel, I’m guessing, since you seem to feel the need to brag about everything you buy?” She had quipped. She’d imagined his plastic shovel breaking under the weight of their usual two-foot snows. He had yet to mention a snow blower, and she was not going to be the one to tell him that he’d definitely need one now that he lived in the Snow Belt.
“Why would I need keys for a shovel?”
“Keys? Are those new keys? Looks like the same old key chain to me.”
“Yes, they are new keys, to my new shiny black BMW 535xi. ”
“Ah, so you think that buying a sport activity vehicle is going to make up for the fact that you’ve never, as in ever, driven in the snow?” She’d rolled her eyes.
“It is being toted as an ultimate winter-driving machine. Great traction—”
“Spare me the commercial there, Mr. I Can’t Stop Being An Ad Exec. Driving in the weather here takes more than a good winter car. There is the matter of the inexperienced goof who thinks that driving in the snow is some innate ability of his. Snow and sand, totally different. You will see soon enough. Better put the tow truck on speed dial so it can pull your new vehicle out of a ditch.”
