by Jani Kay
"Damn smart." I chuckled. "And you even managed to get us a discounted rate. I’m proud of you, chick. Keep polishing those skills; something tells me we’re going to need it a lot."
Cassidy had studied architecture and we’d met during shared classes at the University of Sydney. Although Cass and I were worlds apart, we’d bonded because we were part of only a handful of females in a class dominated by men. And we’d instantly clicked, in spite of our differences. It was a blessing, because we complemented one another’s strengths and weaknesses. Together we made a kickass team. We had one another’s backs, and to me that was a big deal.
She threw back her head and laughed. "No, silly, it's because the rental agent thought our Australian accents were cute that he decided to let us have the place."
"You reckon? I guess that played a small part. But mostly I think Mr. Garcia was smitten by you—"
"What I want is a real man, honey. One with deep pockets and an Ivy League education, who can keep me in the way I am accustomed to. Oh, and small dicks need not apply." Cassidy was a sex freak and a self declared nymphomaniac. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how we were going to live together in a confined space once she started bringing guys home.
As for me? I had no interest in sex or men. I was building my career so that I could earn a decent salary to take care of my mother. She had sacrificed a lot during the years to give me the best she could, and it was payback time. Since Mum had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis a few months ago, it became imperative that I take care of her. I simply didn’t have time for romance, or anything else that might sidetrack me. I owed her that.
I cleared my throat. "Um, I was meaning to ask . . . Is it okay if I borrow your pretty white shirt? I can team it with my pencil skirt and pumps so that I’m presentable for my first day tomorrow." My cheeks burned as I waited for her reply. We’d never worn one another’s clothes because, well . . . mine were from cheap department stores, and hers from designer boutiques. On top of that she was tall and lean, and I was short and shapely, so I’d never be able to wear her pants or skirts anyway. Boob-wise we were equally well endowed, so I was sure her shirt would fit me.
"Of course you can, honey. Hang it in the bathroom so that the steam can get rid of the creases."
I let out a long breath. "Thanks, Cass. You’re a lifesaver."
She winked at me. "Keep your praise for when I really save your life by getting you laid . . . by a real man."
I laughed, shaking my head vigorously. "Not going to happen. Definitely not in the next six months."
Unless.
Unless I bumped into him. That stranger. I couldn’t get him out of my head. It was bizarre, but every time I closed my eyes, there he was, smiling, those green eyes boring into mine. I pressed my knees together to stop the dull ache in my core.
Luckily there was no chance in hell of that happening, so I was safe. And my rules were simple. No men. No sex. No relationships.
Easy.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
4 - Tyler
Seriously pissed off, I slammed the phone down, then proceeded to pace the office while rubbing my temples. I’d developed the fucking headache from hell.
What the fuck had I been thinking, to agree to Chase’s request? I didn’t take on interns. Never have, and never will. They were a pain in the ass. I could do everything myself so much faster than explaining myself repeatedly to some dumb-wit.
Three weeks.
Fuck.
What I needed was sex. What I didn’t need was an intern.
My late nights at work had spoiled my chances of hooking up lately. Usually I had a waiting list for my sexcapades, but every woman I’d called in the last few days either was out of town or busy. I’d never experienced a woman-drought before and my balls were aching.
I picked up the phone. "Ms. Oakes, get me the file on the intern from Mr. Spencer’s office."
"Yes, sir. Right away," she answered immediately.
Five minutes later she still hadn’t brought the goddamn file. I pushed my chair back and got to my feet, my pulse beating in my temples. What in heaven’s name was taking so long? Within seconds, I jerked the door open and stormed out of my office toward reception.
I opened my mouth to reprimand the redhead for making me wait, but before I could utter a word, she looked up at me with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. A gigantic bouquet of flowers sat on her desk. She signed the docket and handed it to the deliveryman, who scuttled off as soon as he saw my face.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Sinclair . . . these arrived moments ago . . . so unexpected," she said, flustered and out of breath.
I raised an eyebrow. Those flowers must have cost a fortune. "Who are they for?"
Ms. Oakes blushed, her cheeks nearly the color of her flaming hair. "Er . . . me. The . . . the flowers are for me," she said, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. "They’re from my fiancé. I got engaged last night." Her whole neck was blotchy and matched her crimson cheeks.
Fuck. That meant she was off limits. I usually didn’t care who the girl of the moment was, but my one simple rule was that she was unattached. I honestly didn’t have time for the shit that could arise from bedding a woman who had some fucker in her life, be it a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. Those I steered clear from—there were enough free and available women in Manhattan.
Except this week. What the hell was going on?
"Congrats," I mumbled. "The files, Ms. Oaks. I need them."
Still flustered, she nodded, and I watched her ass sway as her heels made clicking sounds on the wooden floors. Pity. She would’ve been a great fuck. I turned and strode back to my office and sat behind my desk, turning the chair to stare out of the large window into the distance.
I removed my phone from my pocket and scrolled through it until I found what I was looking for—the pictures I’d stolen a few days ago.
Doe-like brown eyes stared back at me. Her slightly oversized mouth with its full lips in a perfect heart-shaped face, topped with caramel-colored hair that reflected the sun, reminded me of carefree days and an innocence I’d never seen in a woman.
Why was it that this woman fascinated me so much?
"Come in," I barked at the rapping on my door.
"The file you requested. I’m sorry it took so long." She handed me the file and I noticed the huge diamond ring that she was practically waving in my face. Damn, she certainly had to be a great fuck if a guy had spent that much money on a ring.
I read through the files. The intern was twenty-three years old, single, and from Australia. She’d passed all her exams cum laude. I knew what that meant: smart and nerdy. She was probably awkward and plain, too. Unassuming and undemanding.
My mind went back to my first crush in grade school. Heather had long brown plaits and wore glasses, and everyone called her a geek. Because I was a bit of a trouble-maker, I was forced to sit next to her in the front row under the teacher’s nose. I got to know Heather. She was not only smart, but funny and sassy too. She’d help me with math and spelling, and patiently explained concepts to me that I otherwise would never have grasped. I fell in love with her intelligence and caring nature, even though the other boys relentlessly teased me.
Smart was sexy.
Tapping my fingers on the wood, I devised my plan. The Intern would become my new toy. I was a practical man. If I had to suffer her presence while Chase flew to London for some big-ass deal, I’d be sure to make the most of it.
She’d get her internship and I’d get sex. I had no problem with this at all: it would be win/win for both of us, and three weeks would go by in a flash. By the time I’d had enough, she would go back to being Chase’s intern and I could find my next conquest. Easy.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
5 - Brooklyn
I tossed and turned all night, jetlag keeping me awake till the early hours of the morning. When my alarm finally went off, it felt as if I’d just fallen asleep, and I was tempted to ig
nore the alarm and get back to some shut-eye. Forcing myself to get up, I knew I was going to have a grueling day running on approximately two hours sleep.
My phone beeped. Eager to see if the email was from my mother, I wiped the sleep from my eyes and opened my inbox.
Good morning Miss Bennett,
Unfortunately, I am boarding a plane to London in an hour and will be away for three weeks. My colleague has agreed to take you under his wing until I get back. I assure you that Tyler Sinclair is appropriately qualified and that you will learn a lot from him, so there is no reason for concern.
When I return, we will commence your training as per the program.
Yours sincerely,
Chase Spencer.
Senior Analyst,
McAdams & Williams Investments.
Disappointed, I let out a groan. I’d been looking forward to this day for weeks. Cassidy and I had done our homework before we decided I’d accept the position. Research on Google revealed that Chase Spencer had been in the top one percentile of students at Harvard. I’d studied his pictures on the Internet, and tracked back his career for the last decade.
Not only was he smart, he was rather cute too. His sandy-brown hair always looked neatly styled, and he wore sweaters instead of suits. He had a soft smile and hazel eyes that looked intelligent and kind.
"You’ve got a crush on Chase Spencer, and you haven’t even met him," Cassidy teased when she caught me staring at the screen with a smile. I wrinkled my nose. "Don’t be ridiculous. He’s cute, but how can I be sure he isn’t a child molester until I actually meet him face to face?" I quipped.
She shrugged. "Argyle sweaters? He probably wears matching socks too. That’s a dead giveaway, honey. He’s probably a campaigner for animal rights or something."
"Well, that would make him perfect," I said, laughing. "I’m referring to the matching socks, of course."
Wondering what this Sinclair guy would be like, and since I couldn’t get to the computer to check him out without waking Cassidy, I had to take my chances and hope Chase was right. Hopefully three weeks would fly by and it would be back to what I came here for.
Not wanting to be late, I made my way to the bathroom for a shower. The pressure in the pipes was random at best, and the water spluttered from the small showerhead. I soaped my body quickly, rinsed and dried in record time.
Luckily Cass had hung her blouse in the bathroom the night before, because I could hear her snoring through the paper-thin walls. Because I didn’t want her to fuss like a mother hen, I decided to let her sleep, so I dressed quietly and slipped out of the apartment without making breakfast. Dressed smartly, I felt confident that I’d be able to overcome any obstacles thrown my way with my stand-in boss.
I’d grabbed a banana and a protein bar, and decided to walk a few blocks so that I could save some of the subway fare and use it for a coffee. Grinning at my brilliant plan, I made my way to the closest Starbucks, which was only four blocks from the apartment. I yawned as I stood in line to get my caffeine fix.
Ten minutes later, savoring a steaming double-espresso, I peered at my watch and realized that I didn’t really have time to sit there and sip slowly. The price for this caffeine injection was that I had to walk quite a distance.
As I got to the door, a woman holding on to two kids bumped into me. Literally. The lid went flying off my coffee and the hot brew splashed all over me, burning the skin on my left arm and chest as it soaked through the white shirt.
"Oh my God, I’m so sorry," the woman said as I stared in horror at the stain growing on my shirt until it looked like the grotesque head of a monster.
With shaky hands, I tried blotting the brown shapes with the napkin, but it didn’t make any difference. Cassidy was going to kill me if I ruined her shirt—it was one of her favorites, and had cost as much as a week’s rent. This was a nightmare for which I had no Plan B, other than to go back to the apartment and change. I was definitely going to be late. And there was no caffeine in my veins. Damn.
"Don’t worry . . . it was an accident," I said, noticing the harrowed look on the woman’s face. There was nothing that could reverse what happened, so there wasn’t much point in going crazy about it.
"Can I get you another coffee?" she offered.
"No, I have to leave. Thanks anyway." I smiled weakly and pushed through the doors, tears building up behind my eyelids and threatening to spill over.
I’m so screwed.
I walked as fast as I could. The four blocks felt further away than when I’d come from the opposite direction. Just as I burst into the apartment, Cassidy came sauntering from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her.
"Jesus, Brook. What happened?"
"It was an accident," I said, my throat tightening so much that it burned. "I'm sorry if your shirt is ruined. I’ll get you a new one with my first paycheck, I promise."
She swatted my arm. "Don’t be ridiculous. It's not the shirt I’m worried about. You start work in fifteen minutes, and you still need to get across town. Doesn’t look good to be late on your first day."
I was halfway down the passage, stripping as I walked to the bedroom we shared. I rummaged through the closet, looking for the best thing to wear. Luckily, the skirt was black, so a few splashes of coffee wouldn’t show up. But since I’d worn Cassidy’s beautiful shirt, my own stuff looked like trash.
I found a black camisole and slipped it on, tucking it into the skirt. It wasn’t quite the look I was going for—it showed way too much skin to really look professional—but it simply had to do. I didn’t have time to fret or stress about it.
"Red lips will look awesome with that," Cassidy said behind me.
"I'm not interviewing for Tart of the Month, babe. I'm an intern at a financial institution. One with fifty years of history," I admonished.
"Fuck that. It's time to wake them up, then. Surely the men have eyes, and a little feminine touch will make their boring jobs so much better."
"I'm going to pretend you did not just say that being a stockbroker on Wall Street is boring. It’s the most adrenaline pumping job in the world—"
She rolled her eyes at me. "Yeah, yeah . . . get your sexy ass out that door. You better take a taxi, or you’ll be more than a little late."
I didn’t answer. There was no way I was spending money we didn’t have on a taxi, but I didn’t have time to walk the extra blocks, either. I’d compromise and take the subway from the closest station.
"Wish me luck," I said, checking myself in the mirror one last time before I made a dash for the door.
DEBONAIR: PART 1 BY JANI KAY
6 - Tyler
I glanced at my watch. The intern hadn’t shown up, and I sighed with relief at the small mercy bestowed upon me. Thank fuck. I got back into the work in front of me, punching out numbers as if there were no tomorrow. Deadlines were looming and budgets needed to be met. The higher I went up the corporate ladder, the more my dick was on the chopping block. One mistake could ruin everything. I’d seen guys who’d been at the firm all their lives get axed before they knew what hit them. This was a game for big boys with lots of spare cash and nerves of steel.
A soft knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Yes?" I barked, not in the mood for anyone.
The door pushed open and I glanced up just long enough to register a petite woman dressed in black, wringing her hands together, step into my office, before my attention returned to my computer.
"Mr. Sinclair?" she asked in a strange accent.
Australian. The intern.
Dammit. Nearly thirty minutes late, but here she was.
"You’re late. Close the door and take a seat," I growled without looking in her direction. My first impression and long-standing assumption had been correct. Angsty, nerdy, mousy—hiding behind glasses, she was everything I expected her to be. Except smart. Nobody who wanted to get ahead in this game arrived fucking late on his or her first day.
I ignored her w
hile I completed the task at hand. Fuck, I was pissed off at myself for committing to such a time-wasting exercise. She could sit there all day for all I cared. Countless minutes more ticked by as I became engrossed in the report I was preparing.
She cleared her throat. "Mr. Sinclair, can we speak? I know I was late and I accept full responsibility for that. No excuse in the world is sufficient, so I won’t bore you with one. I get that you’re probably annoyed to be saddled with me, and I get that you’re busy. But I’m here to learn, and sitting here doing nothing is wasting your . . . our firm’s money."
My gaze snapped to her face. She was deadly serious. I sucked in a breath as I studied her properly for the first time. She looks so similar to the girl in my photos. Only she was different. Her lips were pursed together, so I couldn’t tell if it was the same luscious mouth I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind.
Taking my time, I let my gaze roam over her, from her face to her feet, and then all the way back up again. The girl in my pictures owned a long flowing mane of golden locks and didn’t wear glasses. But the killer tan and petite body were the same, and the messy bun at her nape couldn’t disguise the thick and lustrous head of hair that refused to be tamed. Our gazes locked. She shifted uncomfortably in the chair but didn’t blink, staring right back into my eyes. Where were those big brown orbs that went soft like liquid chocolate?
"Miss . . . Bennett. Have we met before?" Surely she’d remember me after the brief connection we’d had the other day? I needed her to confirm that she was indeed the girl I’d seen.
Her back straightened. "That would be impossible, Mr. Sinclair. I arrived from Australia three days ago, and if you’ve been to Sydney, I doubt we’d move in the same circles to become acquainted."
"How would you know what circles I move in, Miss Bennett?" Amused, I quirked an eyebrow at her.
Her cheeks reddened. "Oh . . . I assumed," she said, taken aback.
"Assumptions are dangerous. It's better to stick to facts," I said dryly.
