That Man 2

by Nelle L’Amour

  “What happened?”

  “He was cheating on me. With his hygienist.”

  “The blond one with the big tits?”

  “Yeah, that one.”

  “That’s awful. Do you want to take the day off?” Hello, Mr. Nice Guy.

  Blinking back tears, she shook her head. “Thanks, Blake, but no. I think work will keep my mind off things. And I’ve got a lot on my plate. I want to review the focus group findings with Libby and start optioning these erotic romances. Plus, there’s the staff meeting.”

  She stacked the last book on the pile and awkwardly tried to gather up the bundle. “Let me help you.” I offered. My fingers brushed against hers as I grabbed the top half of the stack and stood up. She followed suit with the rest of the books and thanked me again.

  “Where would you like the books?” she sniffled, her pools of green burning a hole right through me.

  “On my desk would be just fine.” I led the way, and we set the two piles side by side next to my computer. She caught sight of the photo in The Hollywood Reporter, and her breath hitched in her throat. She bit down on her lip and her eyelids fluttered.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” I asked.

  She nodded, still staring at the photo. “I think about that night a lot.”

  “I do too.” Of how much I wanted her in my arms and her lips back on mine. Now that dream could be a reality. Dickwick was out of her life.

  She pivoted on her heel. “Well, I’d better get back to my office. I want to prepare for the staff meeting. Oh, and I almost forgot. Thank you for that cactus plant. I got it this morning.”

  “Just a little token of my appreciation.” Of my affection. We exchanged small smiles.

  As I headed to my chair and she to the door, she spun around and asked me a question.

  “Mr. Burns, one last thing. Do you know a producer by the name of Charles Palmer III?”

  I stopped dead in my tracks and swallowed hard. “Very well. But he’s very difficult to connect with. Let me know if you hook up with him. I’d love to meet him.”

  Another small smile curled up on her sweet lips. “I will. See you in a bit at the staff meeting.”

  “Later,” I retorted and she disappeared.

  Right now, I had to figure out my next move with Ms. Jennifer McCoy.

  Back in my chair, I stared blankly at the photo in The Hollywood Reporter. No more Kitty, Kirstie, Kristie, or Keira. There was only one girl for me. Only one girl I longed to kiss. But how was I going to make her mine? Then like a meteorite, an idea crashed into my brain. I speed-dialed my best bud. Jaime Zander.

  Chapter 14

  Jennifer

  The next couple of days were pure hell. While the mood in the office was festive because of the holidays, I was miserable.

  The last thing I wanted to do was go to the company-wide Conquest Broadcasting Christmas Ball. I was still reeling from the aftershock of my breakup with Bradley. Most of my single co-workers were bringing dates. All I had to bring was a broken heart. Worst of all, the party was being held at Greystone Manor, the club where I’d celebrated my short-lived engagement just weeks ago. Hiding in my bed, I threw the covers over my head. From beneath them, I heard my door crack open and footsteps approaching. Libby.

  “Come on, girlfriend. Get your ass out of bed and get ready.”

  “Do I have to go?” I groaned, one eye peeking out from the duvet.

  “The Christmas party will be good for you; you’ve got to get over being a victim.” Dressed in a black velvet mini-dress, Libby admired herself in my mirrored armoire as she clipped some sparkling earrings onto her lobes. “It was a blast last year. Mel Weiner from Finance got drunk and fucked a chair. They had to carry him out.”

  Big whoop. Seeing some fifty-old horny man getting off on an inanimate object was not my idea of fun. I had an excuse.

  “I have nothing to wear.” Over the past week, I’d had neither the time nor inclination to shop for a new dress. And I’d forgotten to pick up Chaz’s perfect little black dress from the dry cleaner. While I had several gowns that I’d worn to Bradley’s—scratch that, Dickwick’s—dentist events hanging in my closet, I truthfully wanted to burn them. In fact, maybe that’s what I would do tonight. Yuletide party for one.

  “Your fairy godmother has arrived.” At the sound of a familiar cheery, singsong voice, I bolted up to a sitting position. It was Chaz, Libby’s twin brother, dressed in outrageous black leather shorts, a red velvet blazer, and sparkling red high tops. Dangling from his hands were two monstrous Merry Christmas shopping bags with naked Santas dancing on them. He pranced into my room.

  “What’s Chaz doing here?” I asked Libby.

  “He’s our date for the Xmas party. No party is a party without Chaz. Last year, he got everyone to do the ‘Hokey Pokey.’” She broke into the juvenile song and dance. “You put you both boobs in. You put your both boobs out. You put your both boobs in, and you shake them all about,” she belted out in her husky off-key voice. Without reserve, she shimmied her C-cup chest, and then we all turned ourselves around as she continued to croon.

  Despite my doom and gloom mood, I burst into much needed laughter.

  “My lovelies, just consider yourself lucky.” Chaz beamed. “And here are your Christmas presents from yours truly.” He handed us each a bag.

  Libby squeed as she removed the contents of hers. “Oh, bro, it’s fabulous! I’m going to change!”

  She held up the dress in front of her. It was one sexy number. A bandage-like red sequined strapless dress—custom-made for her curvy little body and wild vermilion hair.

  Libby darted out of the bedroom with the dress draped over her arm.

  “What are you waiting for, Jenny-Poo?” asked Chaz.

  I frowned. “I don’t want to go.”

  “Stop it. Nonsense. You’re going as my date. And that’s that. And you’re going to be the belle of the ball. Now, take a look-see at what’s inside the bag.”

  Reluctantly, I reached inside the bag. Under layers of sparkly red tissue paper, a combination of silk, tulle, and sequins grazed my fingers. I removed the dress, laid it on the bed in front me, and gawked. It was dazzling. A strapless emerald green confection with a pouf of glittering layers of tulle that reminded me of the sprigs of an evergreen tree. A sparkling tulle wrap accompanied the dress along with a pair of matching green satin pumps.

  “Oh my God! It’s beautiful.” There was no doubt in my mind that one day Chaz would be right up there with Marc Jacobs and Michael Kors.

  With a wide Cheshire cat grin, Chaz gleefully clapped his fingertips together. “And it’s going to be even more beautiful on you. Now, my Cinderella, get ready before my Jeep transforms into a pumpkin.” He sashayed out of the bedroom.

  I had no choice. I was going to the Christmas party. Libby was probably right. It would be good for me. To get out of my misery. To meet new people with the company. And to show my boss that I was a team player. As I stepped into the green dress, an unsettling thought crossed my head—would Blake be there with a date? I shivered. Without a doubt. With one of his blond bimbos.

  All dressed up, I suppressed the disquieting thought and took a look at myself in my armoire mirror. I was actually startled. With the way I’d been looking and feeling over the last few days, I seriously didn’t think I could look this good. The dress fit me perfectly with the last layer of tulle grazing my mid thighs. The six-inch heels made my long legs look impossibly longer. With my contacts on, my eyes sparkled green—almost the same shade as the dress. My thick hair was gathered into a high ponytail, and on my ears, two cubic zirconia studs glittered like diamonds. I wrapped the tulle stole around my shoulders. I gave myself a little smile and my reflection smiled back. Cinderella was ready for the ball.

  Chapter 15

  Jennifer

  The Conquest Broadcasting Christmas Ball was already in full swing by the time Libby, Chaz, and I got there. Techno music was blasting and the vast club
was packed. It was hard to believe this many people worked for Conquest Broadcasting. In addition to the strobing disco balls, strings of colorful Christmas ornaments and glistening gold stars hung from the ceiling. The effect was dazzling. My eyes darted around the two-level nightclub. People were eating, drinking, socializing, and dancing. I recognized a few of my co-workers from SIN-TV. Even stoic Mrs. Cho was here. She looked fabulous in a gold lamé dress and was a dancing up a storm with an Asian man who must be her husband. Blake Burns, however, was nowhere in sight.

  “Let’s go to the bar and get something to drink,” insisted party animal Libby.

  “I’ll meet you there,” replied Chaz. “I’m going to the buffet for a bite to eat.” He sashayed away leaving me alone with Libby.

  Libby grabbed me by the elbow. “Come on. Let’s go. Have a drink ticket ready.”

  The company had issued each employee three drink tickets, a necessary precaution to prevent people from overdrinking. Thinking back to my embarrassing chocolatini spree back in Vegas, that was something I was definitely not going to do.

  We wove through the crowd. The bar was packed three people deep.

  “This is crazy,” grumbled Libby who wasn’t known for her patience. “I’m gonna check out the buffet and come back later.”

  “I’m going to stick it out.” I really needed a drink. Being back at the club where I’d celebrated my engagement and kissed that beautiful stranger was making my stomach bubble with nerves. Moreover, the crowd was making me feel claustrophobic.

  I inched closer to the bar. But some rude, aggressive types cut in front of me. From behind me, I heard a warm, familiar voice.

  “Well, hello, Jennifer. Are you enjoying your first Conquest Christmas Ball?

  I spun around. It was Blake’s father—Saul Bernstein, the head of Conquest Broadcasting. He was wearing an elegant pewter-gray suit and a bright red silk tie. Two recognizable women flanked him. On one side: his stunning wife, Helen, dressed to the nines in an elegant chartreuse silk sheath and a complement of sparkling diamonds, and her platinum hair swept up. On the other side: Blake’s octogenerian grandma, Muriel, in a silver-beaded dress that matched the color of her hair.

  I plastered a smile on my face. “Yes, Mr. Bernstein, it’s a lot of fun.” I just want to go home and crawl into bed.

  “You look absolutely lovely, my dear,” breathed Mrs. Bernstein.

  “Thank you. You do too.” She smiled graciously and thanked me for the compliment.

  “Bubbela, have you seen Blakela?” chimed in Grandma.

  The mention of his name made my stomach turn and my heartbeat quicken.

  “No,” I stuttered.

  “Vhat are you? Blind? He’s standing right over there.”

  My eyes followed her sweeping hand gesture. My heart skipped a beat. There he was leaning against a doorway close to the table where I had kissed that man. He looked absolutely devastating—clad in a forest green velvet smoking jacket over a crisp white dress shirt and black bowtie, and his hair slicked back. His eyes connected with mine. Every nerve ending in my body flickered. My legs turned to jelly. And then, he signaled with his index finger for me to come over to him. His eyes burned a hole through me from across the room.

  “Excuse me,” I stammered, my heart pitter-pattering.

  “Go kibbitz with him,” I heard Blake’s grandmother shout out as I headed his way. With legs of Jell-O, I don’t know how I made it through the dense crowd without tripping in my six-inch heels. Someone was looking out for me.

  I stopped in front of him. Still seductively perched against the doorway, he smiled that cocky dimpled smile. My breath hitched in my throat, and my heart thudded so loudly in my chest I could hear it. And I’m sure he could hear it too.

  “Hi,” I managed.

  “Hi, tiger,” he breathed back. His gaze traveled from my head to my toes and then his smoldering eyes looked directly into mine. “You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” I squeaked. One-word answers with one syllable were all I could muster.

  “Do you know where we’re standing?”

  “No.” I swore I wasn’t even sure where I was.

  “Under the mistletoe.”

  “Oh.” I gazed up and saw a small leafy branch with red berries dangling from the doorframe.

  “Do you know what means?”

  “No,” I murmured.

  His piercing blue eyes searched mine. We were a palm’s width apart, so close I could feel his heated breath on my face. Sensations coursed through me I had no right feeling. Heart palps. Shortness of breath. And hot tingles all over. And I couldn’t blame it on the alcohol because I hadn’t had a drop to drink. His velvety virile voice sounded again in my ear.

  “Jennifer, it means I have to kiss you,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving mine. “It’s good luck.”

  “Oh.”

  My vocabulary was down to one word. I swallowed a gulp of air. He was having an unnerving effect on me. I wanted his lips on mine in a sinful way. Nibbling, gnawing, biting. Parting them with his tongue. Sucking. Jennifer, get a grip. He’s your boss!

  “Bla—”

  Before I could finish saying his name, his mouth crashed onto mine, and his hand fisted my ponytail, yanking back my head.

  Oh. My. God. From the very second his lush lips latched onto mine, there was something familiar about him. Something déjà vu. The way he gripped my ponytail and wrapped it around his hand and pulled back my head. The delicious pain mixing with the delicious pleasure. The fierceness of the kiss. The way it made my head spin out of control. Oh. My. God. Could it be? Could it be him? And then when his tongue parted my lips and entwined with mine, there was little doubt in my mind. The taste of champagne on his palette. The way his tongue tangoed with mine. The moans, the groans. Oh God! It was him! That man I’d kissed at my engagement party. Holy, holy, holy fuck! I gripped his collar as I did the first time we’d kissed, this time because I thought I might faint if I didn’t cling to him.

  The world around me disappeared. Muted. I could vaguely hear Mariah Carey singing in the background, “All I Want for Christmas is You.” A chorus of moans and groans accompanied the song as his tongue tangled with mine in a hot sensual dance. He tugged harder on my ponytail, tightening his grip, until I was throbbing at the roots, desperate for more.

  My heart racing, my breathing harsh, I finally tore away. “You’re that man,” I gasped, one hand flying to my wide-open mouth. My eyes forgot to blink as a whirling dervish of emotions whished around in my head.

  Excitement.

  Shock.

  Confusion.

  Desire.

  “Yeah, tiger. I’m that man.”

  My eyes met his in a flurry of flutters. “How do I know for sure?”

  A saucy smile curled on his lips. “You were wearing a peach silk dress, those fake diamonds in your ears, and silver shoes with little bows. And there was a SpongeBob Band-Aid on your knee.”

  I gasped. He’d recited everything I was wearing that night, right down to the Band-Aid on my razor nick.

  “Convinced?”

  I nodded feverishly as he trailed kisses up my neck. Holy, holy fucking shit! Blake Burns, my boss, was that man! That beautiful stranger I’d kissed blindfolded in a game of Truth or Dare. Right here in this club. Almost in this exact same spot.

  “Good. Let’s get of here,” he breathed into my ear. “I think you need to be more than kissed.”

  Beneath my dress, all air escaped my lungs. He lowered my hand from my face and lifted it to his lips. Tenderly, he kissed the back of my palm. Clasping the hand he’d just kissed, he led me through the sardine-packed crowd. Dazed, I followed him, trying hard not to trip on my six-inch heels and hoping my knees wouldn’t buckle. I focused on the warmth of his hand, gripping mine. People were too busy socializing to notice our escape. Or his hand entwined with mine.

  “Where are we going?” I mumbled under my shaky breath.

  “Somewhere private.”
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  A hot throbbing wet mess, I let him lead the way.

  Five minutes later, we were standing face-to-face in a remote part of the club, far away from the party, in a dimly lit intimate room that resembled a bedroom. It was minimally furnished in shades of gray with a built-in big screen TV, a sleek credenza bearing an orchid plant, and a massive bed draped in satin sheets. The walls were upholstered except for the one facing the bed, which was mirrored. Catty-corner to it, was a door that could either be a closet or a connection to another room.

  My heart raced as my eyes stayed fixed on the inviting bed. “What is this place?”

  “A private room I keep here,” he whispered as he walked me backward toward a wall until I was plastered against the upholstery. His hips pressed against mine, and his palms against the padding, bracketing my head. His warm lips gnawed at my neck, my shoulders, my chest, and then made their way back to my hungry mouth. Oh those delicious lips! He deepened the kiss as his erection dug into my belly.

  Reality to brain. Come in, please. My breaths morphed into pants; my temperature soared. I was making out with my boss, Blake Burns, in what must be his fuck pad. That man whose lips had consumed mine on the night of my engagement party. Yes, that man! This was all so wrong. Yet so right. So unreal but really happening. I should have been flipping out and running for the door, but my mind was in meltdown and my legs in cement. I forced reason into my brain.

  “I should go.” I could barely get the words out.

  He nibbled my ears. There must have been a string attached to my pussy because hot tingles danced all around it. And then one word: “No.”

  “You’re my boss,” I gasped.

  “Yes, and I’m ordering you to stay. You want this as much as I do. Now, come to Santa, baby.”

  Before I could say another word, his lips returned to my mouth. His warm, long-fingered hands cradled my face as his tongue nudged my lips to part. Back inside my mouth, it twirled and whirled with mine, doing that dance. I was melting into him. Unable to resist. He was right. I did want this. Maybe even more than he did.