by Brux, Boone
Demetria looked up and scowled. “What are you wearing?”
“They’re called clothes.” Nikki strode to her desk, keeping her gaze steady and confident. The woman had the honed skill of making her feel inadequate, but no more. Nikki dug in her purse for her keys and then dropped the bag into the bottom drawer. “Did you need something?”
“Where did you go last night? I went to the bathroom, and when I came back you and Tor were gone.”
Several different replies surged forward. Instead of sitting like she normally would do, Nikki remained standing. The heels she wore gave her a good two inches on Demetria and she refused to sit so the woman could speak down to her. She schooled her expression. The in your face dance would have to wait until after she saw Tor. Even though they’d had unbridled circus sex last night, in the office she needed to remain professional—at least until he said otherwise.
“Tor wasn’t feeling good, so I helped him upstairs.” She hit the power button on her computer. “We had a few things to go over before today.”
Like each other’s bodies.
“How did he act?” Demi’s stare was even more intense than usual. “Did he…” She seemed to fumble for the words. “Try anything?”
The need to shout, “Try anything? Did everything!” was only slightly tempered by the coincidental fact that Demetria had come to the right conclusion. Never in the short time of working at Kythera Cosmetics had the woman indicated that she found Nikki a threat where Tor was concerned.
Nikki scrunched up her face in an exaggerated look of confusion and shook her head. “What do you mean?”
For the first time ever, Demetria Mirrors looked unsure. “I mean…” She glanced around and then back at Nikki. Through gritted teeth she said, “Did he make a pass at you?”
Nikki propped one fist on her hip and the other on the edge of the desk and leaned forward. “Now, why in heaven’s name would you ask that?”
The attorney’s gaze narrowed and traveled down Nikki’s body, as if contemplating the realistic possibility of the boss bedding his assistant. Could he have taken this bitch to bed instead of me?
“Excuse me?” Nikki hadn’t seen Demetria’s lips move, but she heard the words clearly. “Did you just call me a bitch?”
The lawyer’s eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed once before saying, “How did you…” She stopped mid-sentence, her gaze narrowing. “Are you sure nothing happened between you and Tor last night?”
“Have you taken your meds this morning?” Nikki fell back on an insult, not wanting to give the lawyer the tiniest opening to suspect what had transpired last night. “Because you’re acting a little crazy.”
Demetria stared and slowly tapped her foot as if contemplating whether Nikki lied. Finally she straightened and smirked. “You’re right. It was a ridiculous notion.”
Damn, she’d walked right into that insult. “If you say so.”
“Now that I really think about it, the idea is completely ludicrous.” She gave a humorless laugh. “Tor would never be that desperate, no matter how much am—alcohol he had to drink.”
The hag was seriously killing her sex buzz. “Are we done here?”
“Absolutely.” Demetria smirked. “And you might want to do something with your hair. It looks like you just rolled out of the gutter.”
Nikki glanced across the office to the mirror, shock rippling through her. Her normally straight hair, which resisted every attempt at keeping a curl, had frizzed into what looked like an extreme case of bedhead. “What the hell?”
“Let me know when you want my hairdresser’s number.” The attorney swiveled on her orange stilettos, caught her reflection in the mirror, and gave her copper curls a little shake. “And after you get that rat’s nest under control, be sure to reschedule my meeting with Tor—ASAP.”
She ran a manicured fingernail along the edge of her lipstick, puckered mouth and strolled toward the elevator.
Intense irritation flared inside Nikki. Enough was enough. Her glower zeroed in on the four-inch spikes clipping across the carpet and like a hundred times before, she willed the heels to snap. Unlike a hundred times before—the left one did.
The whole thing happened so fast. One second Demetria was upright and the next second she was face down on the office floor, shrieking in pain. Her tight skirt was wrapped around her thighs, trapping her like an orange linen burrito.
Several seconds passed before Nikki realized what had happened. Shocked laughter bubbled up, and she barely bit it back before it erupted from her. Demetria’s squawk pushed Nikki into action.
“Oh my God, are you all right?” She scurried across the room and knelt, still amazed by the snapping heel. Had she just used her Jedi powers to inflict bodily harm? That would be totally awesome given who received the harm. She tried to wrestle some semblance of concern into her voice. “Where does it hurt?”
“No, I’m not all right, you moron.” Nikki heaved Demetria to her back and helped her sit upright. “I think I broke my ankle.”
Moron? Another flare of anger coursed through Nikki. With great effort she tempered her retort. Perhaps excruciating pain was making Demetria more of a bitch than usual. “Can you stand?”
The attorney shifted and cried out. “No.” She glared at Nikki. “Do something.”
Nikki rose and hustled to the desk. After dialing 911 and giving the dispatcher all the pertinent information, she rejoined her on the floor. Whether this was an actual emergency she didn’t know, but the guilt of possibly being the cause, no matter how crazy that thought was, rallied Nikki’s Florence Nightingale tendencies.
The paramedics arrived in record time with a gurney and complicated gel-cooled air brace. While the medical team examined Demetria’s quickly swelling ankle, Nikki stood next to the stretcher, toying with the black Velcro on the brace.
She slipped her hand inside the makeshift support. Its coolness enveloped her forearm. “This could hold a bottle of wine.”
“Yeah, and the wrist braces work great for cans of beer,” said one of the paramedics. He smiled up at her, revealing an adorable dimple and dreamy blue eyes.
A flush crept up her cheeks when she realized she’d said the comment out loud. “That’s very clever.”
“Yeah, it’s perfect in case you fall after drinking too much,” he said, giving her a quick wink.
Butterflies toppled inside her stomach. The man was seriously gorgeous. She leaned against the gurney, attempting an inconspicuous bit of sexy. No harm with a little flirting. Then she caught her reflection in the mirror. If possible her mass of tangles had grown, morphing into the before picture of a conditioner ad. She sidled to her desk and snatched up a hair elastic. With great effort she wrangled her hair into a vague semblance of her usual bun. It wasn’t perfect, but at least she didn’t look like a giant dandelion puff anymore.
“Hello. Would you two mind exploring your love connection later?” Demetria said through gritted teeth. “And refocus on me—the injured party.”
Mr. Dimples produced a pair of scissors. “Miss, your ankle is too swollen. We’re going to have to cut your shoe off.”
“Like hell you are!” She jabbed a finger at her shoe. “Those are one-of-a-kind stilettos. They cost more than you make in a month.”
“Sorry.” Not waiting for her consent, the medic slipped the tip of the scissors under the delicate orange strap and cut. “Might I suggest something in a comfortable loafer next time?”
Demetria gasped and fumbled for the shoe, cradling it like a dead child. “My poor shoe.”
The EMT joined Nikki at the gurney. From the look on his face, he was enjoying the attorney’s surly remarks. He retrieved the brace and crouched again, slowly sliding the apparatus onto her sausage-like ankle. “I’ll try to be as gentle as possible.”
“Ouch!” Demetria glared at him. “Where’d you get your training, Paramedics-R-Us?”
Though he didn’t reply, Nikki noticed that he gave an extra yank on the
brace to tighten it, eliciting another gasp from Demetria.
“I’m sure it’s just the pain causing her to be a complete hag,” Nikki said.
The second medic, a good-looking Hispanic man with skin like mocha and eyes the color of steel, snorted. “We get that a lot.”
He gave her a pearly smile that made her wish she needed a little medical attention—nothing too much, maybe just a splinter removed. She returned his grin. The morning wasn’t turning out to be so bad. Who didn’t like their coffee with a dash of EMT hotness?
Among Demetria’s constant stream of orders and complaints, the medics maneuvered her onto the gurney and strapped her down. Nikki waited at the elevator, holding the door while they loaded the gurney into the car. Demetria Mirrors was too stubborn to be down long, and she’d return way sooner than was needed.
Quiet descended in the office once the paramedics were gone, and Nikki returned to her desk and sat down, checking her phone. Only eight o’clock. Now that’s what she called starting her day with a bang.
Tor’s office door was locked, which meant he hadn’t arrived yet. Poor thing was probably sleeping off their night of passion. She shuffled some papers, read e-mails, and tried to stay busy.
Just before nine, Tor strolled in, looking fabulously delicious.
“Sleep in?” She stood, attempting a pose that looked natural but still gave him the full effect of her dress.
He stopped and stared, his eyes tracking down her body. If it hadn’t been for his furrowed brow, she would have been pleased by his reaction. “What are you wearing?”
His comment was like a pie in the face, and suddenly she felt ridiculous for wearing the outfit. “A dress.”
“I’ve never seen it before.” His tone sounded suspicious and slightly accusatory.
She reined in her growing irritation and fumbled for an excuse, though she didn’t know why she needed one. She looked great. “It’s laundry day. I didn’t have anything else.”
He continued to frown as he unlocked his office door. This was not at all how she’d imagined their first encounter would unfold after last night. “Is everything okay?”
He spoke over his shoulder but didn’t look directly at her. “Yes, it’s just…” He paused.
She moved around the desk but stopped about three feet from him. Intimacy was not the vibe she was getting from him. “Just what?”
He turned the key and pushed the door open. “Nothing, everything is fine.”
He stepped inside, leaving her staring at an empty spot. Her worst nightmare had come true. Obviously he regretted their encounter. Anger surged through her, taking Nikki by surprise. Usually she was more passive aggressive, doing things like not returning phone calls or sticking in ear buds when she wanted to ignore the chatty person that insisted on sitting next to her on the subway. But this morning she felt anything but passive.
Well, screw him, she wouldn’t let him see how much it hurt. Scrambling to appear unaffected, she fell back on routine and scooped up her phone, the pile of files, and followed him into his office.
“What do we have today?” He plopped into his desk chair and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Creed, right?”
“Um, yes,” She swallowed the diatribe threatening to erupt. She’d always dealt with situations rationally. Now should be no exception. There was probably a perfectly logical excuse for being a complete jackass. “Nine o’clock.”
Tor glanced at his watch. “Can you order me a pot of coffee from the dining room?”
“Coffee? But you never drink coffee.”
He collapsed against the back of his chair and rubbed his hands over his face. “I’ll make an exception this morning.”
“Do you have a hangover?”
“It would appear so.” He leaned forward and wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer. “I don’t remember drinking that much.”
She took a step toward his desk. “What do you remember?”
Nothing that I’m going to share.
It had happened again. He hadn’t moved his lips, but she had clearly heard his words. What the heck was going on? “Did you say something?”
“Please, Nikki, coffee.”
Her spine stiffened at his impatient tone. “Sure.”
She exited his office and tossed the files onto her desk, trying to compose herself. What had she expected, roses and a marriage proposal? No, but a little acknowledgement would have been nice. Of all the outcomes, Tor pretending their night together never happened had not been one of them.
She picked up the phone and punched the executive dining room button. “Could I get a pot of strong black coffee delivered to Mr. Stephanos’s office, please? Yes, thank you.”
She sat down, hanging up the phone. The morning morphed from euphoric to depressing. What was up with the voices in her head? Maybe she should make an appointment with her family psychiatrist. It had been years since she needed therapy, but obviously she was projecting her fears and assumptions onto other people.
She drummed her fingers on the desk, sifting through her options of what to do about Tor. Well, she wouldn’t do anything. If he wanted to pretend nothing had happened between them, fine, two could play this game. She certainly wouldn’t jeopardize her job for a man—not even Tor. Another wave of anger washed through her.
“Too bad I can’t give him a perpetual erection every time he looks at me,” she mumbled.
The thought made her smile. Had he been that drunk? She sighed. And would it really have mattered? No.
The night’s events replayed in her head. This time she tried to view them from an analytical point and not a lust-induced haze. Yes, he’d been amorous and open, so unlike his usual self, but she hadn’t pegged him as drunk. What a fool. She’d actually believed it when he said she was his in every way. The switch in his behavior seemed to have happened at dinner, after Creed had flirted with her. Was all this a power play, showing Creed she was off-limits because he liked having her on 24-7 speed dial? Why didn’t he just pee a circle around her or burn a brand into her forehead, telling the world not to mess with his well-organized life?
Disappointment washed away her indignation, leaving her suddenly tired. She inhaled and wiggled her mouse, bringing the screen to life. No big deal. So she’d gotten laid. Nothing else in her life had changed. She still had the same job and same mountain of laundry to be done, and still harbored the same unrequited love for her boss.
Nikki typed in her password and tried to ignore the fact that things really had changed. Yesterday she’d only imagined what it would be like to make love with Tor. Now she knew. How could she ever pretend that never happened?
Chapter Five
Tor shifted, trying to adjust the raging erection in his pants. Just looking at Nikki had made him hard. He stared at his open e-mail but couldn’t seem to focus on anything. He’d woken up this morning with a splitting headache and a barrage of erotic dreams that involved him and Nikki.
He silently cursed his mother for putting thoughts of his assistant in his subconscious. She probably did it on purpose, hoping he’d act on his dreams. The throbbing at his temples continued to drum a steady beat.
What the hell had been in the golden wine bottle? He was going to kill Demetria the next time he saw her.
And why did Nikki pick today to wear that dress? He’d never noticed her curves, had always pictured her to be—flatter—under her sensible blazers.
When he’d walked into the office, she’d taken his breath away. Again the images from his dreams came stampeding back through his mind. He tugged on the neck of his T-shirt. Until last night, he’d never thought of her as anything but an excellent assistant and his friend, as much as he ever made friends. Truth be told, he was probably closer to her than anybody else in his life. They were together nearly every day. It was only natural at some point his subconscious would stray down this path, especially with his mother’s voodoo at work.
Nevertheless, it had taken a little self-st
imulation, and fifteen minutes in a cold shower, to face her. The dreams had been so vivid he couldn’t completely shake their effect. Maybe the Fates were toying with him. They liked to do that ever since he’d refused to embrace his demigod status.
Those she-devils never missed an opportunity to throw him a curveball. Like the time they stuck his name on the bachelor auction list for an animal rights benefit. Those puppy-loving women nearly tore each other apart trying to win the bid, and he ended up escorting the overly amorous daughter of a New York socialite to her prom.
Fate bitches.
“Tor?” Nikki popped her head in. “Creed’s here.”
“Great.” He started to stand and then thought better of it. “Show him in.”
Creed Killion entered wearing a pair of straight-legged black pants and an untucked blue button-down shirt. He held out his hand. “Morning. You feeling better?”
“Much better.” Though the evening was foggy, Tor did remember saying he hadn’t been feeling well. When did reality morph to fantasy? Had Creed really been flirting with Nikki? The thought stirred Tor’s ire, but he pushed it away, rationalizing that it was still an effect from his vivid dreams. “Thanks for shifting your schedule for this.”
“Don’t mention it. I haven’t really settled into the job yet, so nobody is clamoring for my time.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.” Tor motioned toward one of the leather chairs. “Please, sit.”
Nikki strode to the couch and sat down, her leather binder open and pen at the ready. . He couldn’t ignore the way that green dress hugged her curves. It was as if his erotic dreams had transformed to reality. Another surge of desire raced through him.
Damn this stupid hard on.
Tor also couldn’t help but notice that her posture was a little rigid.
She looked up and gave him a tight smile.
“Is anything wrong, Nikki?” Something was definitely bothering her.
“I’m fine.” Her voice came out unusually high. “Just waiting to take notes.” She tapped the point of the pen against the paper. “It’s what I live for.”
