Play with Me (Novella)

by Jones, Lisa Renee

  “You keep having to say that for a reason.”

  “Because you keep assuming incorrectly,” I reply, irritated at myself for noticing the rough, sexy quality of his voice. “I want this job. I’m going to do it well.”

  “Terrance said you were eager to get out of there tonight. I thought maybe you might have changed your mind about the job. Maybe I intimidated you after all.”

  “I—what?” I sit up. “I didn’t say I was eager to leave. Or I did, but to be rested and ready for tomorrow. I just got into town last night. It was a bad day, and—”

  A low rumble of laughter fills the line, sending a shiver down my spine and heating my skin. If Vegas is sin, this man is its poster child. “I guess you really aren’t intimidated by me,” he comments. “And I know what you said to Terrance. I only wanted to see how you would respond.”

  “Playing with me?” I ask. “That’s not very nice, especially since what I’m intimidated by is the idea of being unemployed.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  Surprised—especially after what I read about him—I ask, “You’re intimidated at the idea of being unemployed?”

  “It’s more about fearing failure, and losing my job would be failure. It would mean I’ve let down customers, employees, and the board of directors. Those are big demands, and I feel the pressure like everyone else.”

  I’m blown away by his confession, especially his use of the word “fear.” I’ve known men I would have thought were like him, but none of them would share vulnerability with someone they knew well, let alone just met. “Do you enjoy that kind of pressure?”

  “I’m sure it’s similar to you getting a big story as a journalist. We are both chasing success. Sometimes—often—that means getting past a problem. The positive outcome is the high. I need someone who isn’t afraid of the pressure or of me. And, as you have already guessed, some people are afraid of me.”

  “Do they have a reason?”

  “Why don’t you judge for yourself? And I do mean yourself, Ms. Miller.”

  “I have a mind of my own.”

  “You’ll have to if you want to stay in this position.”

  That part of me craving security demands I confirm what he has just inferred. “Can I? I mean, is there a chance I can become more than a temp?”

  “I wouldn’t have hired you if there wasn’t.”

  “Circumstances forced you into hiring me.”

  “I don’t let circumstances force me into anything,” he counters, and it’s much more comforting coming from him than from Terrance. “If I hadn’t been impressed with you,” he continues, “I would have insisted Dana cover until I picked a replacement.”

  “I impressed you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s why,” he replies.

  “What’s why?”

  “You might fear being without a job, but it doesn’t stop you from being you or asking questions. And questions are good. They lead to answers. In fact, I’m interested in finding out what you think of the staff once you get done with the inquisitions I know are coming. We can compare notes when I get back.”

  “To judge them or me?” I ask, the entire idea opening a barely sealed nerve ending. I’ve been judged, and I don’t like it.

  “I simply want to know how our thoughts come together.”

  “To assess my judgment.”

  “To assess my judgment.”

  His answer is unexpected. Everything about him is unexpected. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “Then don’t say anything. Just be you and I’ll be me and we will see if we like where that leads us.”

  I swallow hard against the thickness in my throat. “Where that leads us?”

  “Yes. Where that leads us.” And when I can easily imagine there is intimacy in those words, he shifts, leaving me dazed and confused. “Call me when you get to your desk tomorrow, Ms. Miller.”

  “Wait,” I say, and I mean to ask about his prior assistant, but somehow I blurt, “What will your caller ID say when I call you?”

  “I’m DW and you’re KM,” he replies.

  I am surprised and pleased with this answer.

  “Is that what you wanted to hear, Ms. Miller?”

  “Yes,” I respond simply, hoping to discourage him from asking more questions, since I can’t answer what I don’t understand. I simply don’t want to be just a number or “the temp.”

  “Well, then,” he says thoughtfully, drawing out the words and seeming to hesitate on something he wants to say, before he finishes with, “Good night, Ms. Miller.”

  “Good night, Mr. Ward.”

  Neither of us hangs up. Seconds tick by, and I think we both expect something to happen that never does. And then the line goes dead and the call is over, unfinished in some way that feels wrong where he feels right. Despite all that has happened today, I have this sense that I am where I’m supposed to be. And the last thought I have before the shadows of slumber overcome me is of when I fell backward in the elevator and he caught me.

  Part Four

  What just happened?

  Morning comes, and I’m determined to make it a great first day at work. By seven forty-five, I am at the human-resources office. The receptionist, a rather standoffish twenty-something woman with light-brown hair, offers me coffee. I decline, and she points me to one of about ten burgundy lobby chairs. By eight-thirty, I reconsider the coffee. At nine, I am feeling antsy when a slender woman with spiky black hair and wearing a fitted navy dress walks down the hall. A curvy, very Bette Midler–ish redhead is on her heels.

  “I really need to go to my desk and pick up my pictures,” the brunette insists, turning to the other woman. “They’re very personal and sentimental. Irreplaceable in every way.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” the redhead says, giving her simple black dress a sharp straightening that screams of irritation. “Have a seat and I’ll be with you.”

  The brunette’s back is to me and I can’t see her reaction, but she says nothing, turning and walking to the coffee machine to get a cup for herself. It is an obvious act of rebellion, a statement that she will go with her chin held high, and I am not the only one who notices. The redhead glares at the other woman for several long beats before shifting her gaze to me. “Ms. Miller?”

  “Yes.” I pop to my feet, reaching for my purse and briefcase. “That’s me.”

  “Actually,” the woman replies, an irritated look reddening her pale complexion, “I need to take care of another matter before we meet.”

  It is all I can do not to slump in defeat. There is no apology. No real explanation. Just basically sit and behave. “Can I start working and come back later?” I ask hopefully.

  “No. You need clearance from me or someone in HR first. And I’m the only one available.”

  Except that she isn’t available. But I nod my acceptance—not that she sees me. She is already rushing away by the time I sit down. My attention returns to the receptionist’s desk, where I find the brunette resting a hip on the desk and the two women’s heads dipped close. The rasp of whispers I can’t make out is fuzzing up the air, and the unease of a gut feeling that I am their topic is impossible to shake.

  I glance at the hallway, where the redhead has disappeared, and grimace at being left to wallow in discomfort. She did not even introduce herself to me. Note to self for my analysis of the staff, I silently say. The redhead is not a woman who makes new employees feel warm and fuzzy. If Mr. Ward cares. After last night, I am going to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  Abruptly, the brunette lifts her head, and her eyes soften as they land on me with something akin to sympathy. Oh, God. What does she know that I don’t? She shoves off the desk and abandons her coffee, heading toward me as if she is on a mission.

  She sits next to me and motions to the unfriendly receptionist. “Carrie says you’re my replacement.”

  I’m stunned. She’s the one who made the mess a
ll over the desk? “I … uh … am?”

  “Yes,” she confirms. “I’m Natalie. Mr. Ward fired me yesterday. Or, well, he had his bulldog Terrance do it. Bastard didn’t even have the courage to look at me eye-to-eye. I have two kids at home.” Her voice cracks, and dampness glistens in her brown eyes. “What am I supposed to do now?”

  My gut twists. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say.”

  She swipes at an escaping droplet. “I’m sorry. I swore I wouldn’t cry. I didn’t want to come today, but they wouldn’t give me my severance until I did exit interviews. Two years and I was turned into a paper file in two words. ‘You’re fired.’ I just moved to a bigger apartment. Be warned. You’re about to be working for a coldhearted snake.”

  “What happened? Why did he fire you?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “One of my kids is sick, and I was distracted and made an error. It made him look bad and he fired me.”

  I was right. I didn’t want to know. “Because you made a mistake?”

  She sniffs. “Because I made him look bad. You do not make him look bad or you’ll be gone.” She squeezes my arm. “I wanted to warn you. I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t.”

  A shiver chases her touch up my arm, and it’s an odd sensation. Something is off. Me. Her. Mr. Ward. I’m not sure. “Can he do that?” I ask. “Fire you for simply making him look bad?”

  “There’s some clause in the employment agreement about damaging the company reputation, and, let me tell you, it’s so all-inclusive that, in management’s opinion, you could sneeze in public at the wrong time and get axed. Something should be done about it, but I don’t have the strength to fight him and fight for my kids.”

  I resist her claims, and I am shocked at how badly I do not want my new boss to be the same arrogant, rich, self-righteous jerk I’d assumed he would be. That my father is. That Kent is. But considering my life has always drawn precisely that kind of man, Mr. Ward being like them would be fitting. And if he is, my attraction to him will be over—or, I vow, I will seek counseling.

  It’s also the start of a familiar cycle. I get wrapped in the glove of power of one of these men and then smashed beneath the shoe of their contempt.

  I inhale and stiffen my spine. Not this time. Not. This. Time. “Listen, Natalie,” I say, “I can’t get you your job back, but I’ll try to get you justice. I’m a reporter. I’ll write a tell-all and expose him for what he is. But I need time to gather facts. If you have things I should look for, then call me.”

  This time, she looks stunned. “You’re a … what?”

  “A reporter. I got laid off, but I know how to get a mass press release out that will draw attention.” I’ll be helping others and helping my own career.

  “Oh … well, yes. Thank you. I—” The lobby door opens, and her gaze jerks beyond me.

  I turn to find Terrance standing there, and he is as good-looking as I remember but not nearly as friendly. In fact, at the moment, his handsome face is carved with so much intensity, I think he must be channeling Mr. Ward.

  He gives me a short nod. “Kali.”

  I lift my hand in greeting, but his attention has already moved away from me to Natalie. “Time to leave,” he says to her.

  She pushes to her feet. “I assumed you were here to walk me out.”

  “As promised,” he replies, and there is none of the friendliness in his tone that he’d shown me the night before.

  “I need my personal items,” she says.

  “We’ll talk in the hallway” is his response, and I have this sense that if she asks for her pictures again, he will have her arrested. It doesn’t make sense.

  Natalie hugs herself, then gives me a sympathetic look. “Good luck,” she says softly, before defiantly lifting her chin and walking toward the door.

  Terrance does not follow her, his blue eyes landing hard on me. “Is there a problem I should know about?”

  My fingers dig into the chair I’m occupying. “Aside from me sitting here for two hours when my boss wants me at my desk, no.”

  “Ms. Miller.”

  My head jerks at the familiar tone of the redhead’s voice, and I stand up. “Coming,” I say, making eye contact with her but caving to Terrance’s silent command that pulls my gaze back to him.

  “Call me if there’s a problem,” he says, and it’s an order. “And I mean any problem, Kali.”

  “I will,” I assure him, but I am truly lost. I feel as if something has happened that I should be aware of, but I’m not.

  He gives me a few seconds more to squirm under his inspection, which at this moment is intense enough to rival my boss’s. I do not look away. Once again I’m being sized up, and I survived his boss, so I’ll survive him. His eyes narrow, almost as if he hears my thoughts, and then he surprises me and smiles. It transforms him into the easygoing guy I met the night before.

  “I have a feeling you and your boss are going to be quite the interesting matchup. I might even pop some popcorn to watch.” And with that he turns and leaves. I gape after him, as confused as the Bambi I am not.

  *

  Twenty minutes later I still don’t know the HR person’s name, but my badge has been issued and I’m alone in her office, sitting in the visitor’s chair. And while my mission when I got up this morning was to start a new career, it’s now to write a story about this place that will relaunch me into reporting and help some of the poor employees.

  “We need to go down a checklist together,” the HR person says, returning and sitting behind her desk.

  My cell phone rings. Her lips purse. “It would be appropriate, Ms. Miller, to turn that off.”

  I reach for my purse to retrieve it. “I would, but—”

  “There is no ‘but.’ It’s inappropriate.”

  I grab my phone and glance at the caller ID, which reads DW. I quickly accept the call. “Hello.”

  “I’m surprised you answered, Ms. Miller. I’m told you were a no-show to work.”

  How his voice manages to be both sexy and cranky is beyond me.

  “Ms. Miller,” the redhead warns sharply, but I ignore her.

  “I’m in HR,” I tell him, trying to explain myself. “I’ve been here since a quarter to eight.”

  “Ms. Miller!”

  “Who’s barking your name?” he demands, and if he was cranky seconds before, he’s thunderous now.

  I glance at the redhead. “I, uh, don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” he challenges.

  “I haven’t gotten a name.”

  “You’ve been in HR for two hours and you don’t know the name of the person you’re with?”

  I cut my gaze from the woman to her desk. “I was in the waiting room for most of the two hours.”

  “What? You have got to be kidding me,” he mumbles under his breath. “Put whomever you are with on the phone.”

  I really don’t want someone else’s job on my conscience, either.

  “Ms. Miller,” he says, and my name is a reprimand.

  “Yes?”

  “Put the person on the phone.”

  “Please don’t make me do that.”

  “You do not follow direction well, do you?”

  “I’m about to head to my desk now.”

  “Put the HR person on the phone.”

  I sigh and hold my cell out to the now-pale redhead, who has clearly figured out to whom I am talking. She accepts it and presses it to her ear. “Mr. Ward—”

  He obviously cuts her off as she goes silent, then says, “Yes. Yes.” Silence. “I didn’t know.” More silence, and she glances at me. “Right. I do know. I’ll make it happen.” She listens another few seconds and then hands me back the phone. “Your turn again.”

  “Hello,” I say, placing the phone to my ear.

  “This isn’t how we operate, and Maggie is normally amazing. I apologize that your day started like this, but right now I’m going to make it worse. I have an important meeting in an hour, and t
he computer is saying the documents I need are inaccessible. Tech support is on it, but I need you to pull the hard copies and scan them for me.”

  I’ve barely recovered from his unexpected apology when the urgency of his tone has me standing. “Yes. Of course. I’ll go now.”

  “Have you been assigned an email yet?”

  “No.”

  “Tell Maggie you need one yesterday and then call me when you get upstairs.”

  “Yes, okay.”

  He hangs up and I immediately tell the HR person, “I need an email ASAP, please. Can you call me at Mr. Ward’s desk with the log-in so I can head in that direction?”

  “Yes. Absolutely. Do what you have to do.”

  “Thanks,” I say, already turning.

  “Ms. Miller,” she says, drawing my attention again.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Maggie, and Mr. Ward reminded me that I am only cranky once a month and occasionally during a crisis. Lucky you got both in one day. I’m sorry and thank you for trying to cover my ass.”

  I gape. “He said that to you?”

  “Well, I said that to him on another occasion. He just repeated it. Welcome on board. I promise to show you I mean it soon.”

  I’m confused all over again about my boss, who Natalie has painted as a monster but is now portrayed as thoughtful and involved with his employees. “Thank you, Maggie. And everything is fine with me, so don’t worry about it. But I better run.”

  “Yes, of course. Go. I’ll set up the email and bring it and your paperwork to you.”

  I rush out of the door and don’t stop until I am shut inside the empty elevator. Staring at the floors dinging by, I am transported to another elevator ride and that moment when Mr. Ward’s body first absorbed mine, and I can almost feel the heat that rushed through me. I squeeze my eyes shut with the memory of his hardness cradling my body and decide that, while I am confused about most everything right now, my attraction to my boss is crystal clear. And if I don’t find a way to get it under control, it will be obvious to him and everyone else, too.

  *

  “Where have you been?” Dana demands when I exit into the lobby of the corporate offices.