by Jody Gehrman
I hurry to the ladies’ room, checking my appearance in the mirror. It’s a good hair day, thank god, and I’ve taken a chance with my clothes. I’m wearing a figure-skimming black pencil skirt and a cherry red polka-dotted blouse. It’s not the sort of thing I’d usually dare under Felicity’s watch; in our department I stick out like a flamingo among penguins. Something’s definitely gotten into me.
I start to smear on my usual layer of workday lip-gloss, but hesitate. What the hell? Old-fashioned bright red lipstick’s not illegal, is it? Neutrals may be the thing this season, but Felicity’s not the Taliban. I feel like living dangerously. Plus it looks good with my freshly highlighted hair.
When I get to the conference room door, I smooth my skirt nervously and knock. It’s at the end of a long hallway, removed from the hustle and bustle of the office.
“Yes?” he calls.
I can feel my heart pounding inside my push-up bra. I open the door and stand in the doorway, shifting my weight from foot to foot like a scared kid.
When he sees me, he closes his laptop and stands. “Hi. Come on in.”
I close the door behind me. He eyes me warily, keeping his distance. What does he think? That I plan to pounce?
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. I saw what real happiness looked like on him when I lay beneath him, my body arched toward him in ecstasy. He’d grinned at me then, stroking my hair, reveling in my pleasure. This is a sad imitation of joy compared to that.
Don’t think about it right now, I admonish. Focus, for fuck’s sake.
“Please, have a seat.” He pulls the chair out for me.
I sit.
He sits.
Cue awkward silence.
“What did you want to see me about?” I know I sound stiff and cold, but this whole situation is weirding me out.
He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. God, those hands. I wish he’d keep them under the table so I wouldn’t have to look at them, wouldn’t have to dwell on all the things they’ve done to me.
“Okay, I know this is uncomfortable.” He stops, looks me in the eye. In this light, the amber flecks are more visible than ever. His eyelashes are so long. “I just...well, I had a situation once, back in New York. With an employee.”
“A situation?” I prompt.
“Yes. A girl who worked for me—young woman, sorry. Anyway, she accused me of something, and ever since I’ve been much more careful, especially at work.”
My head spins as I try to grasp the implications of this. Is he saying he slept with one of his employees and she blabbed about it? Does he think that’s what I’ll do—spread it around the office? As if!
“What did she accuse you of?” I keep my tone carefully neutral.
He clears his throat. “Harassment. It was ugly and expensive and essentially my word against hers. We settled out of court, but it was...infuriating.”
“Did you sleep with her?” The question’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Anger clouds his expression. A vein in his temple throbs. “That’s really not the point.”
“Meaning you did.”
“No! I didn’t, all right?” He blinks, trying to get himself back under control. A muscle in his jaw pulses. A very sexy muscle.
God, Ruby, stop!
“She threw herself at me, if you must know.” Anger continues to seethe just beneath his carefully unruffled surface. “I turned her down, and she took her revenge. The point is, I never want to be that stupid again.”
My spine stiffens. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
This time his smile is wry, sarcastic, maybe even a little mean. “Really?”
“What are you implying, Mr. Wright?” My words come out clipped and dangerously quiet.
He pauses, staring at me. Suddenly he stands, pacing the small room like a caged panther. “So when your friend set us up, you had no idea who I was? You had no idea I was the Wright on the company letterhead? This is all pure coincidence? Is that what you’re saying?”
Realization floods through me. He thinks I set him up! I’m so stunned I can’t speak. The words stick in my throat.
He interprets my silence as an admission of guilt. “I’m sure we agree it’s a bit hard to swallow.”
“I seriously had no idea!” I say, horrified.
“Ruby. Please.”
“Neither did Wanda,” I add, my cheeks burning.
“I find that hard to believe.”
“And I find it hard to believe you’d accuse me of something so desperate.”
He lowers his chin and levels me with a stony glare. “You know what they say. Fool me once—”
“Just because one stupid girl took advantage of you doesn’t mean we’re all like that.”
“You may be right,” he says coolly. “Anyway, let’s not lose sight of what matters here.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Meaning?”
“Let’s not allow our ‘date’ to interfere with our working relationship.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you fucked the fat girl.” I can’t believe I just said that. My emotions are so tangled, so mixed up. Tears prick at my eyes, hurt mixing with anger. I feel like a human tornado, everything inside me twisting and blurring together. I stand, unable to look him in the eye.
“That’s not—I’m not concerned about—” but he can’t seem to finish his sentence.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
He comes over and stands behind me, leans in so close I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. All at once the room is charged with such erotic energy, I can feel tiny veins of electricity zapping between us. I can’t help myself. I arch my back, press against him. Sure enough, I can feel his erection through my pencil skirt. It fits so perfectly against my ass, I let out a low moan.
He grabs my arm and spins me around to face him. His breathing is ragged. “What are you doing to me?”
“I didn’t plan this! I’m just as shocked as you are by the whole thing.”
Doubt flickers across his face. For the briefest moment I can see he wants to believe me—maybe even does believe me. But then his cynicism takes over. “I was naive the first time around. I can’t afford to be that naive again.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.” I blink back tears. “She must have been a real piece of work. But I would never, ever do something like that.”
His mouth tightens. “That’s my main concern.”
“I find it insulting you would even think that of me.”
“Ruby, I’m sorry if I—”
“Don’t!” I say.
He sighs. “Okay.”
I take a step toward the door, my posture rigid. “Will that be all, Mr. Wright?”
“Yes. That’s all.”
Chapter Fourteen
Not So Happy Hour
“And then he basically accused me of setting him up in some kind of—”
“Wait, wait, slow down. Who accused you—?”
I slam back the rest of my martini. It’s my second. Wanda was late, and I had to take advantage of Jo-Jo’s happy-hour prices. “Colin! Fucking Lancer, whatever you want to—”
“Lancer?” She raises an eyebrow.
I grunt in frustration. This day’s bringing out the Neanderthal in me.
“Colin Wright,” I say, enunciating carefully, “my boss, accused me and presumably you of setting him up.”
Her brow creases in confusion. “We did set him up. I mean I set you guys up. On a date. What’s the big—?”
“Not that kind of set up. He thinks I knowingly slept with him because I plan to ensnare him in a sexual harassment lawsuit or maybe even, I d
on’t know, blackmail.”
“Blackmail!” She looks horrified. “You’re not serious.”
“He didn’t get that specific.”
“What did he—?”
“He didn’t actually say blackmail.”
“Then maybe you misunderstood.” She covers my hand with hers.
I jerk away, too pissed off to be comforted. “Oh, I didn’t misunderstand! He’s a misogynist who thinks all women are out to manipulate—”
She looks distracted, her eyes moving past me, but I’m on a roll. “Um...”
“—to manipulate him by fucking him and suing him. He suspected I might jump him right there in the conference room.”
“Rubes?”
“And the worst part is I actually wanted to. Jump him, that is. God, he’s so sexy! He’s the only man who ever made me come on a first date—like over and over! I mean how can a guy who obviously loves women so much also hate them?”
“I don’t hate them,” says a deep, familiar voice right behind me. “But apparently I’m quite good at pissing them off.”
I can’t turn around. I won’t turn around. I know that voice.
Wanda’s face blends sympathy with “I tried to warn you,” which confirms my worst fears.
Slowly, very slowly, my blood turning arctic inside my veins, I rotate on my barstool. There he is, one hand on the bar. For a second, I’m paralyzed by mortification. My mouth goes dry. My tongue feels like a massive slug inside my mouth.
The bastard has the nerve to look amused! There’s a definite twinkle in his eye, the suggestion of thinly veiled glee in the parentheses bracketing his beautiful mouth.
It’s that twinkle that launches me out of my paralysis, back into hysteria. And okay, yes, the two martinis could have something to do with it.
“You think this is funny?” I growl.
He puts a hand up as if to ward me off. “No, not at all. I understand why you’d feel unfairly—”
“Some of us are honest, you know? Just because I have a vagina doesn’t mean I’m a lying, scheming whore!”
The couple at a nearby table exchange wary glances. I don’t care. It’s go time.
“How do I know you didn’t set me up?” I add, jamming a finger at his chest.
He gets that maddeningly distant look guys adopt when girls go off. “And why would I do that? Just curious.”
“It goes both ways, right?” Admittedly, this makes little sense, but I’m grasping at straws now, hanging on to my anger to slow the avalanche of shame and regret I know is coming.
He glances at the ceiling. “I’ve never heard of a CEO suing an employee for sexual harassment, but in America anything’s possible.”
“Oh, right! You wouldn’t set me up because I have nothing you want. You’ve got all the power here. You’re the big boss man, and I’m just a lying, scheming copywriter with a vagina.”
Wanda steps in. “Rubes, maybe you should calm down.”
“Calm down? Ha! Easy for you to say. You’re the one who got us into this whole mess! Some fantasy.”
She leans around me to address Colin. “I swear I had no idea Ruby worked for you. Neither did she.”
“You can understand why I jumped to conclusions,” he says wryly.
“He won’t believe you,” I sneer.
“Actually,” he says, “I think I do believe you. That’s why I followed you over here.”
That shuts me up. Even though the gin has fogged my brain, the message gets through: he believes us.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “After our talk this afternoon, I felt terrible.”
“You did?” I say in a small voice.
“It’s hard for me to admit when I’m wrong, but I think I was way off base this time.” I can see the effort it takes for him to say this.
I nod. “You were. Way off base.”
“I see that now, okay? And I’m so, so sorry for accusing you of...anything.”
Wanda beams. “See? All cleared up.”
“So, what do you say?” He grins. “Can I buy you two scheming vaginas a drink?”
Chapter Fifteen
Taxi
I didn’t mean to end up here. I really, really didn’t. I can’t blame the gin, though—not entirely. When it’s brain versus vajayjay, there’s just no contest.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he murmurs as his hands cup my breasts.
“I know,” I reply solemnly. Meanwhile, my fingers reach down to caress the bulge in his gray flannel slacks.
He pushes me roughly against the brick wall and kisses me hard. My mind goes blank. My whole body aches to be naked with him, to feel him inside me. We’re in the alley behind Jo-Jo’s. How exactly we got here is a tiny bit unclear. I know there were several rounds of drinks involved, pounding music, the bass beat so heavy it thrummed inside my bones. Dancing. Even in his suit, Colin Wright’s a sexy motherfucker on the dance floor. I’m just saying.
In other words, a series of highly questionable decisions lead us here. And somehow I can’t bring myself to regret even one of them.
His hips pin me against the rough brick. I can feel how hard he is through the fabric of my tight skirt. His mouth plants a series of desperate kisses down the side of my neck, then his teeth find my exposed collarbone. My head lolls back and I let out a soft moan.
“So many things I want to do to you,” he says, staring into my eyes. The yellowish streetlights cast a distinctly noir pall over him.
I smirk. “You mean you haven’t shown me all your tricks, Lancer?”
“Oh, Bettie,” he growls, “not even close.”
“You do live in New York,” I remind him reasonably.
He looks momentarily thrown. “Meaning?”
“We don’t work together on a daily basis. That’s got to reduce the chance of awkwardness, right?”
“Absolutely.” He nods.
“There’s no reason we can’t enjoy ourselves while you’re here.” My hand snakes back to his fly, adjusting him so he’s pressing against me even more mind-numbingly.
His breathing turns ragged. “I see only one problem with that plan.”
“What’s that?” I pull away slightly.
He slips his hand under my bra, sending shivers of pleasure through me as he fondles my nipple. “I’d need to fuck you every night, which means I’d have a hell of a commute.”
I kiss him, trying to say with my lips and tongue all the things I can’t possibly articulate. That he’s amazing. That I’d like to fuck him every night, too. That, in spite of all the odds stacked against us, I think I’m falling for him.
A light goes on in a window nearby, illuminating a second-story apartment above the alley. I can just make out the silhouettes of a few people standing there, maybe three or four of them. Colin sees me looking past him and glances over his shoulder, following my gaze.
“We’ve got an audience,” he whispers against my neck. Instead of pulling away, his fingers squeeze my nipple a little harder.
“Uh-huh.”
He studies my face carefully. “Does that turn you on?”
I hesitate. “Yes,” I admit.
“Does Bettie like to be fucked while strangers watch?” He hikes up my skirt with one sure, deft movement and presses his hand against my silk panties, which are soaking wet.
“Ruby wouldn’t dare,” I whisper, spreading my legs wider. “But Bettie loves it.”
He shakes his head at me, a look of wonder on his face. Grinning, I unzip his fly and free his cock. His head falls back and he sighs with pleasure. On impulse, I drop to my knees on the dank pavement and take him deep into my mouth.
“Oh, Jesus. That’s so good,” he groans.
My glance flits to the shapes in the windo
w. They’re not even trying to hide that they’re watching us. It’s incredibly erotic—dirty and delicious, like a good martini.
When Colin’s so close to coming I can taste salt on my tongue, he pulls me roughly to my feet.
“Come on,” he whispers, tucking himself into his boxers with effort and zipping up his pants. “I need to fuck you properly all night long. Let’s find a cab.”
I give a saucy wave to our friends in the window, then let Colin lead me by the hand back through the crowded bar. Wanda’s dancing with her Pilates teacher, Michael, and his boyfriend, whose name I can’t remember.
“We’re taking off,” I yell into her ear. She stops bumping and grinding with the boys long enough to flash me a lascivious grin.
“I wondered how long it would take,” she teases, glancing at her watch.
“Shut up!”
Colin leans over and kisses her on the cheek. He mouths something to her. I think it’s thank you.
We push our way through the crowd. I can’t help feeling smug as girls turn their heads to watch us pass. It’s exhilarating knowing I’m the one who gets to ravage this hot specimen, not these skinny hos. When their eyes slide over me, pouty and a little incredulous, I throw my shoulders back and give them my best you better believe it smirk. Their envy puts a bounce in my step. If that makes me shallow, so be it.
We push through the front door onto the street, kissing and groping and trying to hail a cab all at once. A thick fog has crept over the city. Classic San Francisco. The air smells like ocean and fried Chinese food. The sidewalk’s crowded with other partiers. It takes us several tries to get a cab. When we finally manage to nab one, a woman darts in front of us, grabbing for the door before I can reach it.
“Hey!” I say, indignant. “That was ours!”
The woman turns, and when I see her face I freeze. It’s The Stick.
“Ruby. And Colin!” She looks as shell-shocked as I feel.
Colin and I are still clinging to each other shamelessly. I feel his hands leave my waist as he recognizes Felicity.
“Hi,” he murmurs.
None of us know what to say.
The cabbie hollers, “Let’s go, folks! Somebody climb aboard. I’ve got a long night ahead of me.”
