Fugly

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Because if you want to go, you’ll have to run.”

  “Run-run?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “You want me to race you?” He couldn’t be serious. The idea was almost as crazy as him accepting my proposal to sleep with me.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  Because you’re built like a stallion, have a personal trainer, and could probably outrun me by a few clicks per hour with those long powerful legs of yours.

  “I’m not really sure it’s a fair fight,” I replied, still reeling from the fact the lights were off. The reality of our relationship was beginning to sink in, and I wasn’t sure I could deal with it.

  He crossed his arms over his bare chest, and I wished to hell he’d turn the lights on because I’d give anything to see his eyes. Was he fucking with me again?

  “That’s the point,” he said. “You want to run a company, then you better get used to things being unfair. The competition plays dirty every day.”

  I swallowed. I understood what he was saying, I really did. But racing against him?

  “So what’s it going to be, Miss Snow? You in, or are you going to run to your little red car and drive back to your shitty little apartment to whine about how unfair the world is?”

  What an ass. “Fine. You wanna run? Let’s run.” I had no clue how I’d win, but what did I have to lose besides a trip to Milan?

  ~~~

  As the final rays of daylight faded and the fireflies began making their flashy moves in the trees around the edges of his front lawn where we stretched, I did my best not to run to my car—but I wouldn’t go back to my shitty little apartment; I would drive into the lake. I also noticed Mr. Cole glancing at me from the corner of his eye, perhaps trying to read me or size me up.

  “So where are we running?” I hoped it would be straight to the plane to Milan and that this was a joke.

  “I frequently run at night during the summer, unlike some other people I know with a death wish.”

  Lily jab. He was referring to the fact he’d caught me running in the day.

  He went on, “We’ll run along the road for about two miles. Then there’s a path that cuts toward the beach and loops back here.”

  “So about four or five miles?” That was it? I began feeling cocky. I could do five miles with my legs behind my back. Okay, an exaggeration, but you get the point.

  “What? Can’t handle it?” he said smugly.

  What I couldn’t handle were the feelings I was beginning to have with him parading around without a shirt. His body was nothing shy of a male miracle—strong, lean, fiercely muscled in all the right spots. It dawned on me that the magazine spread had not been airbrushed. Nude and natural.

  I pffted. “I can handle it. Lead the way.”

  “With pleasure, Miss Snow.” He headed down the driveway, exited through a small gate, and hooked right, toward the north. I trailed behind him closely, not wanting to burn up all my energy in the first few miles. Pacing was always the key. Yeah, I’d run track in high school and college.

  The first mile passed quickly, and Mr. Cole kept his pace steady, making it fairly easy to keep up as we passed house after house along the road, their driveway lights illuminating our way given there were no streetlamps. Just lots of trees and big houses. What little light there was, however, allowed me a nice view of his muscular back and tight waist. Then there were those athletic legs. Not tree trunks, but hard, sleek man-legs. I could clearly imagine all of those ropes of muscles flexing and straining with force as he pumped himself between my—

  “How you holding up, Miss Snow?” he called out, panting lightly.

  Uhh…a little hot? “Just wondering when you’ll start running, Mr. Cole.”

  “Feel free to pass me anytime.”

  So damned cocky! “And miss out on the sweet view? No, thanks.” I hoped my brazen comment might make him trip or something. Seriously, how else would I win?

  He laughed. “Hope you brought those binoculars, Miss Snow, because the view is about to disappear.”

  “You’re all talk, Mr. Cole.”

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he began running hard, fading out in front of me down the dark road.

  No, you don’t. I pumped my legs and arms, pushing my body as fast as it would go, my lungs burning deliciously. Still, I could barely keep him in sight. Dammit. That man is in great shape. My only hope now was that I’d outlast him and pass him up ahead. The thing was, I wasn’t really a sprinter, but a long distance kind of gal. Hanging in there was my thing.

  Fuck. It suddenly hit me—what he’d said earlier. It wasn’t a fair fight. That was the entire point of this run. So if I wanted to win, I had to play dirty. Because aside from finding a shortcut and cheating, I would not be going to Milan.

  Then I had an idea. A very crazy one.

  I glanced up ahead, barely able to see him as he took a path that cut eastward, through a stand of trees and toward the lakeshore.

  Okay. He had to be getting tired because he’d been sprinting. If I pushed hard, I could overtake him right before he got to his house and then…he was going to get a little surprise.

  I picked up the pace, my body pouring with sweat, the nocturnal bugs—crickets and whatever the hell else lived out here—clicking away. In the dark, I could barely make out the trail, but I kept charging on until I saw his faint silhouette again.

  Okay. Here goes.

  ~~~

  “What took you so long, Mr. Cole?” I said, standing on the edge of the dark dock, with my arms crossed over my chest, watching him approach in a cool-down walk.

  “Seems I had a little accident back there. Thank you for stopping, by the way,” he said sarcastically.

  It was dark, so I couldn’t see his expression, but if I had to guess, he was looking shocked as hell that I won.

  “Yeah, well. Someone told me that fights aren’t always fair.”

  Now standing a few feet in front of me on the dock, I could smell his delicious scent. Expensive cologne mixed with his fresh sweat.

  “Here’s your shirt back.” He held it out. “Quite the bold move, Miss Snow.”

  Seriously, I wished I’d had an infrared camera to capture the look on that man’s face when I’d whipped off my tank at the exact moment I ran at his side. Now, before you get the wrong idea, I normally didn’t wear a bra when I ran because I used those special sports tanks, but tonight I’d worn a regular tank. “What the hell are you…” he’d said, looking over at me several times while running, probably either trying to get a better look at my breasts jiggling in my white lacy push-up bra or wondering if I’d lost my marbles. Then I’d thrown my tank top in his face, causing him to trip and fall. I kept running and didn’t look back, just hoping and praying no one would see me running along the beach, cupping my breasts.

  Yes. It was a full-on insane thing to do and not at all like me, but I’d done it. A calculated move, knowing it was dark out and would win me what I wanted.

  I shrugged. “What can I say? I really wanted to go to Milan.”

  “I would’ve taken you anyway.”

  Ugh. Asshole! “So I just ran without a shirt for a quarter mile and would’ve gotten to go anyway?”

  “Not really. But I wanted to make you feel bad. By the way, has anyone ever told you you’re completely mad?”

  I laughed and turned around to unravel my tank top and slip it over my head, a huge smile on my face. “So, what time do we leave for the air—”

  I suddenly felt his hot sweaty body pressed up against my back, his one hand on my bare waist, the other sweeping my long hair to one side. “No need to put that back on.”

  My breath caught in my throat. “Wha-wha-what are you doing?” I whispered, feeling his hands slide up the front of my body and begin touching my breasts over my bra. He was hard. Really, really hard, and straining against my lower back.

  “I think that’s fairly obvious; keeping our deal,” he said, his hot
breath tickling my neck.

  I was about to say something to explain how I didn’t really want him to do what he was doing, but it would’ve been a lie. The heat of his skin on my back, his hard cock pressing into me while his hands massaged my breasts felt better than anything I’d ever experienced.

  His lips trailed down the side of my neck and stopped right on the little spot where my shoulder started.

  How was this happening? Because wasn’t he…didn’t he have that problem with…?

  “Oh my God. That feels…that feels…” My words faded as one of his hands left my breast and slid down my stomach, reaching to rub me over my thin shorts. I let out a little moan.

  “Mmmm…your body is amazing,” he said. “So fucking sexy.”

  His words shocked and excited me. No one had ever used the word “sexy” to describe me. Not once.

  Then reality arrived like a boulder on my head. He didn’t like me. Not even a little. This really, truly wasn’t what I wanted. A fuck. With some guy who had serious issues just looking at me.

  And he’s your boss. Doesn’t get much more screwed up than that.

  I grabbed his hand. “Stop. Please,” I said.

  “Ah. I wondered when your weak spine would make an appearance.”

  I stepped away from him and went for my tank, which was a white little wad on the dock, barely visible. I slid it over my head. “I changed my mind. That’s all.”

  “Why?” he said.

  This time when I turned to face him, I wasn’t wishing I could see his face; I was wishing he could see mine. This was painful for me. “I’m not comfortable discussing it with you.”

  He chuckled. “The topless runner is timid all of a sudden?”

  He had a point, but being a little ballsy wasn’t the same as exposing yourself emotionally. Those were two different animals. And a man who’d posed nude—practically nude—should know the difference.

  “No. I just really don’t want to have this conversation with you—my boss,” I said flatly.

  “Don’t pull the boss card. I shared my secret with you. You can share yours.”

  Why the hell did he even care? I was just a therapy tool for his phobia. And to be frank with myself, I wondered how he’d planned to finish what he’d started. Would we be in the dark so he could imagine some other woman’s face?

  God, how degrading.

  “All right,” he said, “if you don’t want to tell me, then I’ll guess. You’ve never been fucked before. And you’re probably stuck on some fantasy of your first time being with some knight in shining armor who will sweep you off your feet and tell you how beautiful you are.”

  “No. I’m not delusional.” But I’d settle for someone who doesn’t find me repulsive.

  “Good. Because we don’t get everything we want in life. We just don’t.”

  I made a little half-laugh. It was what my parents always said. “Trust me. I know.”

  “Then what is the issue?”

  “Why do you care?” I asked.

  “Answer my question, and I’ll answer yours.”

  “Fine. I never wanted to sleep with you.” My words came out all rushed like a Band-Aid coming off.

  “Really?” He laughed. “I hope you don’t think me an arrogant prick—oh yes, you already do—so there’s no harm in saying I think you’re full of shit.”

  This man was…he was…

  Sharp.

  I suddenly felt the undeniable and simultaneous need to hide myself and open up. He was just that magnetic. Like a weird madness I felt the need to invite into my life.

  I took a breath. “When I asked you to have sex with me, it was just something that came out of my mouth on the spur of the moment because I’d wanted to punish you with a nasty, spiteful price tag after you told me why you really wanted to hire me.”

  “I wanted,” he said slowly with a deep, sincere voice, “to hire you because I like you. I like the fact that you’re genuine and say what’s on your mind. I admire that. Quite a lot, actually. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

  My heart fluttered. It was a really, really nice compliment. Especially coming from someone who didn’t seem to hand them out so freely.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “And to answer your question, regarding why I’m curious about your sudden lack of interest in fucking me, it’s because I think you have potential, but not the backbone to truly pursue what you want, without shame, without asking for forgiveness. You behave like you don’t deserve a seat at the table because your face isn’t perfect.”

  Oh my God. This guy wasn’t afraid to say anything. He brought the art of bluntness to a whole new level. “Well, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not like everyone else. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed to make it this far.”

  “Being audacious is not enough, Miss Snow. You have to believe you deserve the things you want and expect them to happen. Then you need the determination to see them through despite the obstacles. But you behave like a second-class citizen; it’s written all over your body—the way you carry yourself.”

  I wanted to react to his words with the typical denials and arguments most of us throw up when we’re told something unpleasant about ourselves; however, his statement genuinely hobbled me, like being slapped in the face and waking up. I had been seeing the world through my face, always feeling just a little unsure of myself, like I was just one notch below everyone else.

  I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose.

  “Well, I’m glad we had this little chat,” he said. “But I’ve got a company to run and problems to deal with, and I’m not paying you to sit around and snivel. So if you’re not in the mood for fucking, you can shower in the bathroom just off the foyer. We leave in ten.”

  Oh, look. The asshole is back. “Ten minutes? Wooow,” I yelled as he walked away. “Good thing that fuck is off the table. I’d be finishing the job alone, you big stallion.”

  He laughed, his deep wholly masculine voice cutting through the darkness. “The fuck is not off the table.”

  What? I tensed for a moment until I realized he was just messing with me. “Yes, it is!” I screamed back. “And I want stock options.”

  “No!”

  “But you’re mean! I don’t want you and never will!”

  “You’re lying. And a deal is a deal, Miss Snow! Get your ass in the shower, because I wait for no one.”

  Crap. What if he wasn’t kidding?

  Of course he’s joking. And if not, it wasn’t like he could fire me for backing out. In fact, now that I thought it through, I was probably the least fireable person on his staff—not that getting fired was ever my concern; I’d wanted his respect. Nevertheless, it had only just dawned on me what a huge risk he’d taken with me, which was probably why he’d talked to Mark Douglas about my trustworthiness. I already knew enough to ruin his reputation, and he had to realize that.

  So why is he taking such a huge gamble? It didn’t make sense. Maxwell Cole had exposed himself to me. Not just now, but from the first moment we’d met. And there had to be a reason.

  Lily, hellooo? Maxwell Cole just had his hands on your tits and his dick pressed against your back, and you turned him down. I whooshed out a breath. That really just happened, didn’t it?

  And I suddenly wanted it to happen again.

  Awkward. A word that defines something that is difficult to deal with or makes one feel uncomfortable. That would sum up my feelings after my “moment” with Mr. Cole on the dock. It would also describe every moment after that for the next few hours.

  First, there was the fact that when I’d packed this morning, my mind had been in an entirely different place: sexscapade weekend with Maxwell Cole. Now, we were going to Milan on a business trip.

  Why does this matter?

  Because I’d brought all the wrong clothes, with the exception of my little black dress for Saturday night. The rest of my wardrobe consisted of running shorts and sports tanks, or tight jeans and sho
rt-shorts. I’d brought zero blouses or grown-up clothes.

  “That is a lovely outfit, Miss Snow,” Mr. Cole said, seeming very amused as I approached the awaiting limo, where he stood next to the opened door, looking like he was modeling his outfit: jeans, a regular button-down, and a casual-looking, but perfectly tailored blazer.

  Pulling my suitcase behind me, I looked down at my low-cut, cream-colored, full-body tank top that showed ample cleavage and had a lacy thong bottom. Of course, I wore my skintight jeans over the truly racy part, but the outfit was pretty sexy in the boob area.

  “Next time,” I snapped, “tell me where we’re going, and I’ll bring a suit.”

  He dipped his head. “Then not a chance.”

  Oh, he was so enjoying this, wasn’t he? Yes, I was sure he got off seeing what a girl like me would’ve worn had we actually been having a very, very wrong, illicit-sex kind of weekend.

  I huffed out a little laugh. “You can stop the childish gloating now, Mr. Cole. It cheapens your alpha-male mystique.”

  He was about to say something when the driver scrambled from the front seat and ran over to take my luggage.

  Carrying my laptop case and purse, I slid inside. Mr. Cole came around the other door, got in, and immediately began typing away on his phone. It was just after nine o’clock at night and we hadn’t even made it out of his driveway, but I already found myself wondering how I’d handle forty-eight hours with him.

  Oh, stop. You’re not afraid of this guy. But that wasn’t really the problem. I was beginning to realize that I liked him. Not his body or his good looks, but his prickly personality and unabashed approach to life. I liked…him. The person. Just a teensy, weensy bit, and that unsettled me. The man was cold, ruthless, and…okay, he was hot. His unwavering self-confidence, smoldering hazel eyes, and smokin’ hot, male-model body were turn-ons, too. I liked that he didn’t shy away from showing me who he really was. Not that I knew him well, but it was clear he didn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion. And when I thought about his phobia, well, I wondered how many people out there would admit to having it, let alone tackle it head-on like he had.