Seduction in a Suit: An Office Romance Collection

by Monica Corwin

  That left clothes.

  “We’ll stick with what you need most,” Reese said. “One set for work, and a few things for going out, especially for your date.”

  His phone in one hand, Kenneth scratched his chin. “I’m supposed to be at my desk in two minutes and thirty-three seconds.”

  “Call them. This is an emergency.” She marched toward a rack of sweaters to the left of the store entrance. “Wait, what’s your size?”

  He glanced down at himself, confused. “I’m six foot four inches.”

  “Good enough. I’ll get started. Go get…” The memory of Kenneth’s hard abs and smooth skin rushed to her mind. Reese shook her head to clear it. Being a professional meant not imagining the client’s naked body, and she was a professional. “Go undress in the cabins and I’ll be right there. What are your feelings about this shirt?” She held up a wine-red cotton sweater for chilly weekends.

  “Brown is not really my thing,” he said.

  She chewed her lower lip for a second. So he was color blind, at least partly. That explained a lot. She would have to put together a system for him, but later. “Got it. Nothing close to brown. How are you on suits for work? You should have a nice suit and tie to wear.”

  Kenneth crossed his arms. “I wear a tie for meetings, that’s as close as I get to a suit.”

  He was anti-suit, which was too bad. They were delicious on tall, lean men with wide shoulders and a narrow waist, which an Italian-cut demonstrated to perfection. Tousled bed-head hair would contrast the serious business look, and a light-gray material would highlight those Nordic blue eyes. He’d be the heartthrob of the entire company, setting panties on fire on his way to the water dispenser.

  Maybe his pride would be his downfall. She wanted to see him in a suit. “But what about preparing ahead in case you get a promotion?” she asked.

  Kenneth chuckled. “A promotion? Good one. That’s not something I have to worry about, fortunately.”

  He thought she was joking. Why would he never be up for a promotion? He didn’t want to work the help desk for the rest of his life, did he?

  Reese shrugged in defeat. “To discuss another time. I’ll be right in with some things.”

  Jeans, chinos, slacks, a leather jacket, basic tees, dress shirts, flannel shirts, merino wool sweaters—skip the Italian-cut wool blend suit in charcoal (sigh)—cashmere coat for work, and matching ties. And a belt. He would need a belt for his slim waist.

  Arms loaded, she hurried to the changing cabins. “Kenneth?”

  “In here,” he said. A hand appeared at the top of a door. “I was getting worried.”

  “What’s your budget for wardrobe?”

  “I usually budget a couple of hundred a year, but I could make an exception to impress the woman of my dreams.”

  “Here.” She tried to lift several things over the door but was too short, and she groaned.

  “Wait,” he said, and the hand disappeared. “Let me logout of my account.” From inside his cabin, his phone cover snapped shut with a smart click. He opened the door a crack. “Do you need help?”

  “Here,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

  She held up her armful of clothes, accidently pushing the door wide. He still had his beige t-shirt on, but a corner of his tighty-whities winked at her from his hips. They screamed, “Take us off and throw us away! Far, far away!”

  Before she blinked, she couldn’t help but notice they cupped a generous package. A very generous package. She gulped.

  The word boxers appeared on her mental shopping list.

  She averted her eyes from both his underwear and the tops of his wickedly long, sculpted legs, and wound up staring at the silk screen picture on his t-shirt.

  A terrifying mash-up of a crab and a scorpion held up a hand-drawn sign: face hugs for free.

  “Good thing I grabbed some plain t-shirts for under your sweaters and dress shirts,” she said. “What is that monster and why would anyone hug it?”

  “This is a Giger baby alien face hugger, and I will keep my science jokes and sci-fi t-shirts.”

  “But a plain t-shirt is better under your clothes, and looks better in case you start to,” she paused, voice catching at the sudden images in her head, “take the work clothes off for someone.”

  “Nope. In fact, liking my t-shirts is sine qua non for a serious relationship. We all have our lines drawn, and we all set the bar somewhere, right? How can I love someone who doesn’t love my t-shirts?”

  Reese’s fantasies of taking off that horrible tee came to a screeching halt, and the sudden impact stung. She had no idea what a Giger thingamajig alien was or where it came from, and apparently it ruined her possibilities of ever hooking up with him. Which was just as well, because someone that in love with a freaky alien was not for her. Plus—he was client.

  “You are the boss when it comes to setting the bar, but the picture is visible through the dress shirt fabric,” she said.

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not good. Can we compromise? You keep the fun t-shirts for the weekends?”

  Kenneth nodded. “Lose the tee’s during the week. Understood.”

  “Try those jeans first. I’ll be right here.”

  She pulled the door closed and leaned against the opposite wall, waiting. In Kenneth’s cabin, the rustling of his clothes was interrupted by constant alerts dinging on his phone. The man must have a million notifications a day.

  “So, what’s your sine qua non for a relationship?” he asked, his feet visible below the door as they stepped into his jeans. “The one thing you can’t compromise on, beyond obvious things such as ethics and hygiene. You have a line in the sand, right?”

  “I have several actually, but if I had to choose one…” What would she choose from her description of the perfect man?

  Attractive, sweet, never forgets anniversaries? Boring shit.

  No, the one thing a man had to do was be her hero. Reese had to know he would rescue her if she fell. He would always be by her side to fight for her. And to lead her in a waltz. Or the lindy hop, she wasn’t too picky.

  “Dancing,” she said. “He should know his way around the dancefloor.”

  “Huh. You set the bar pretty damn high. But more power to you, really. Okay, I’ve got the jeans on.”

  “How do they fit around the waist?” she asked. “You need a belt anyway, but how do they feel?”

  “What do you think?”

  He stepped out of the cabin. The t-shirt had disappeared, as per her orders.

  Reese stumbled in place at the sight of his muscle-lined waist, jeans hanging low on his hips like the forbidden fruit ready for plucking. And oh, she wanted to pluck those things right off him and follow that V down the road to sin.

  His V card would be a thing of the past in seconds if she didn’t calm down.

  The sight of his bare chest and waist was better than the teaser she had gotten in the break room. This view would never get old, especially dressed up in jeans this time.

  “They look”—she cleared her throat—“they are perfect, in my opinion.”

  “Good. Should I try the other pants next?”

  “Yeah. And the shirts. I’m going to get some water from the fountain.” Which loosely translated meant I’m going to hose myself off in the bathroom.

  Kenneth was all wrong for her and had made it abundantly clear that she was wrong for him.

  But she still wanted a taste of that forbidden fruit.

  6

  Kenneth

  Kenneth escaped the clothing store, relieved as a lone Red Shirt in Star Trek to survive a hostile encounter on a new planet.

  But he was alive. He had cool swag to impress the ladies. The next Dungeons and Dragons night would be at his place and to celebrate his life, and he planned on splurging on chips and salsa in addition to Doritos.

  Next to him in the parking lot, Reese took a deep breath and smiled at him. “We did it.”

  Her phone
chirped. She checked the number and squeaked nervously. “That’s my boss.” Her face crumpled as she read the message. “Damn it, she needs a document right now. Fuck. I have to run. I’ll send you a message for tonight!”

  “What’s wrong? Can I help?” He followed her quick trot to her car.

  “She says she needs a report today, but it was supposed to be for a meeting tomorrow. The meeting was bumped up. I’m screwed. I’m supposed to be at my desk by at least two o’clock.”

  “Wait.” He put his hand on her arm. Setting the five million shopping bags on the ground, he didn’t waste a second in whipping out his phone. “You have the report in your files at work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me solve your problem for you.”

  “I don’t think you can—”

  “Wait for it…” He flipped through his apps, found the remote work connector, logged on as himself and then requested to access an adjacent file. “Wait for it…”

  The verification code bar opened, and he punched in his codes. It requested the login for the adjacent files.

  “All right.” He handed her his phone. “Log on with your name and password. We’ll pull up the report and send it through your email. I’ve told them a hundred times that the security is less than optimal once you get inside the company system, but for once it works to our advantage. Go ahead. Log on.”

  Reese took the phone in a daze but connected herself. He helped her navigate the files, and she found the one she needed. He saved it in the company cloud system and then connected her to her email.

  “That’s it. Hit send. Problem solved.”

  “Wow. You just saved me. You’re my hero.” Her forehead crinkled, but she smiled at him. He had no idea what crinkled forehead plus smile meant.

  He shrugged, noncommittal. When in doubt, play along. “Yeah. You’re saving me, right?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am. I hope so. I’ll send a message for tonight and the worksheets to answer. Thanks again for saving me.”

  She waved.

  He waved.

  She climbed into her car and waved again.

  He stood there, watching her drive off while comparing the size of the bags to the space in the trunk of his tiny Mazda Miata. He would be driving back to work with his new shoes on his lap.

  But he was Reese’s hero.

  The club that Reese sent him to had a dance floor. Kenneth stared, telling himself he was not breaking into a sweat at the sight of it. The temperature in the nightclub was too high for this time of the year. He loosened his tie.

  Yeah. It was too hot here.

  Reese pounced. “There you are! Right on time.” She grabbed his arm and pulled him dangerously close to the dancefloor before veering around a large table and heading to the bar. Thank God. “You didn’t change into your new clothes.”

  “I thought I was supposed to save them for my date.”

  “Well, this way you’ll be safe from the cougars.”

  It was Nostalgia Night at the Electric Palm Tree, the best of the seventies, eighties, and nineties, so nothing he recognized was playing. On the bright side, there weren’t too many people there relaxing on a Tuesday night, and with any luck, Reese wouldn’t make him dance. After all, he was obviously not her dream date.

  Her text from earlier had been vague. He was supposed to meet her ASAP at the club after work, and he would practice picking her up at the bar.

  The old pick up the chick in the bar was apparently one of those rituals dating people did. He had heard of it, of course. A few of his nerd friends had battle scars and horror stories they shared from the safety of the Dungeons and Dragons table late at night.

  She had also sent him five pages of self-examination questions to answer. The instructions on the worksheets read: light a candle and have a hot tea or glass of wine, or if you prefer, go to a cozy café. Think carefully about each question, do not be afraid to dig deep and be completely honest with yourself. These answers are confidential. Allow yourself to swim in the ocean of your soul and observe the beautiful ecosystem of your thoughts.

  Kenneth had to wonder if the fish in the ocean of his soul appreciated the sushi at lunch.

  Reese squeezed his arm. “What’s the first rule of buying a girl a drink?”

  “Don’t be a dick about it?”

  “Close. Remember, when seducing a woman you don’t think about fulfilling what you want, but fulfilling what she wants. Which means?”

  “I might not get what I want?”

  She grinned, pleased with his answer. “Someone has done his homework. Good. To seduce a woman, you give her what she wants or needs, but you don’t earn any compensation. You don’t deserve to get anything from her. You offer, and she may or may not accept. That’s how it is with drinks.”

  “Got it. I offer, that is all.”

  “All right, you stay at this end for now and I’ll go down there. Come and ask me if I’d like a drink, however you normally ask girls.”

  “I don’t ask girls—”

  Ignoring his protest, Reese steered him to a chair and went to find an empty spot several feet away.

  The idea of approaching a woman definitely had him sweating. But Reese wasn’t just a woman. She was part of his team. Practically one of the guys. This was a practice run and it wasn’t as if she would turn him down.

  Kenneth stood up and walked the length of the bar. He stood next to her shoulder and cleared his throat. “I would like to purchase a drink for you. What will you have?” he asked.

  She crinkled her nose at him and smiled. He knew that kind of smile. “Um, that was all wrong.”

  “But I thought—”

  “This confirms what I had suspected. When you are nervous, it radiates insecurity. I feel it, and it creates an air of discomfort between us. A woman doesn’t want to be uncomfortable. However, you shouldn’t be overconfident, either. A demanding, presumptuous male who forces a drink on a woman at a bar is warning sign for her to get out of there. He could be a predator. You need to find that happy, exciting place between nervous and pushy. But most of all, you need to wait for a woman’s signs that she is actually interested in you. The flirting signs. Eye contact, dropped gaze, eye contact again. A little smile, and she might lick her lips. A come-hither motion with the head, and once again the eyes drop as if looking at where she would like you to be. Those signs. You should feel her pulling you like a magnetic force, not you pushing your interest on her.”

  This was even more hellishly complicated than he ever imagined. “How many times does she drop her gaze before I approach?”

  “Do you want to write these down? I know your memory is great, but…”

  He shook his head. Notes weren’t going to save him.

  Too many rules, too much gray zone, and way too much body language to keep track of at one time. He shook his head. This was exactly why he didn’t go out in public unless strictly necessary.

  For example—if there was a fire in the building. That was a good reason for going out.

  “Try again. I’ll send you the signals so you’ll start to recognize them.”

  Kenneth returned to his seat and sat down hard. Was he allowed to get himself a drink first? That seemed reasonable. The bartender had left, though. As he glanced left and right for her, another one came, carrying a crate of glasses. Kenneth caught his attention and asked for a beer.

  At the far end of the bar, Reese drummed aimlessly on the wooden counter, and she gave him the barest of smiles before looking down.

  Wow. He wouldn’t have seen that without a slow-motion replay if she hadn’t told him about it. His beer arrived.

  When she looked his way, he lifted his foamy glass in cheers. This time she half-smiled and tilted her head.

  Was that the sign? The elusive female come-hither? She tapped the bar, attention on her hand.

  All right. He could do this. Again.

  Kenneth strolled to her side, careful not to slosh his drink or run away. “Hello,” he
said. “Would you care for a drink?”

  “No, thanks.” She glanced away.

  Was that another signal? His flight instincts were kicking in, the same panic that had kept him single throughout high school, college, and most of his adult life.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t care for something to drink? This is a bar, and you are sitting alone. Right?”

  She pressed her lips tight in contemplation and shook her head. “This isn’t working for me. The stiff approach, the hammer to the nail question, and everything. No.”

  “I don’t understand,” he said, setting his beer on the bar. “What is it going to take for you to accept a drink?”

  “Hey, buddy!” barked a voice. The bartender leaned menacingly across the counter. His snarl reminded Kenneth of a scene from every spaghetti Western he’d ever watched. “If she doesn’t want a drink, she doesn’t want a goddam drink. Understand? Or do I need to explain it in a way your pea-brain can understand?”

  “No, it’s all right,” Kenneth said. “I’m not picking her up. It’s not like that. I paid her earlier. I’m her client.”

  The bartender flicked his gaze at Reese and then nailed Kenneth to the spot with narrowed eyes, his face darkened to a furious red.

  “Why don’t you get the hell out before this gets ugly?”

  7

  Reese

  Whoa! Hold up, that sounded bad,” Reese said, waving her arms like a teacher erasing cuss words from the chalk board. “This isn’t at all what you’re thinking!”

  “I don’t care if you’re a call girl or not, no one tells a woman when to drink in this establishment,” the bartender said. He pointed at Kenneth. “And this asshole thinks he can tell you what to do.”

  “I’m not a call girl! I swear, I’m a life coach. I’m his coach. I told him to try and buy me a drink so he could practice approaching women with confidence and ease. He has nothing but respect for women. Tell him, Kenneth.” She elbowed him.

  “Absolute, total respect. For women,” Kenneth said.