by K B Cinder
In the narrow space, he was close enough that his cologne overpowered the scent of the coffee conundrum, and I cursed myself for wanting more. In an alternate universe where he wasn't a prick, I would have asked for the brand, the aroma rousing goosebumps at every whiff.
He cleared his throat, drawing my attention from the cup to his face. While I always heard the term baby blues with his hue, he had a storm behind them, his angsty brows not helping one bit.
His scowl deepened. “No, that was me.”
My heart dropped as I skimmed over his body. Each long leg seemed unharmed, with no noticeable limp or otherwise. His bulky arms weren't bent in pain, shoulders still broad and strong as ever, filling his jacket to capacity.
But as I scanned his chest, there was all the evidence I needed: a splash of coffee and a smudge of lipstick on his lapel.
I prayed he wouldn't notice the rosy round mark while I was standing there and fire me on the spot. As much as I loathed him and Croft, I needed the job. The mountain of bills on my kitchen counter could attest to it. Being a failed Gardenia Bride was astonishingly expensive.
“I'm so sorry! Are you okay? I was going too fast!”
“I can tell,” he muttered, taking a step back as his face contorted in disgust. “I'm fine.”
“Again, I'm sorry. It was an accident.” Obviously, he never learned how to accept an apology, but I wouldn’t address it. He wasn't one to be lectured. He'd eat me alive, and we both knew it.
“Be more careful, Ms. Julian,” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “You might not be so lucky next time.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dismissive as always, he continued on his way, stepping around at the furthest distance possible to leave me in a daze.
There was a distinct rumble of a utility cart in the distance, and Tammy, the cleaning woman, appeared, her bushy blond hair tucked under a gray bandanna.
“What happened to you, darling? Are you alright?” She hurried over, checking me carefully. Her usual smile was now a frown, arched brows creased in genuine concern — something Barrett hadn't had.
I forced a smile, knowing I had to look terrible. “I'm fine. I had a little mishap. I'll take care of the mess.”
“Don't be silly!” She waved a hand dismissively. “Go clean yourself up. You're looking rough.”
I chuckled at her honesty. “Thank you, Tammy.”
I hurried along towards the women's room, desperate to salvage the evening. I wouldn’t let one literal run-in sour my mood, whether it involved a head-on collision with the most powerful person at Croft Ithaca or not.
As soon as my heels hit the linoleum, I glanced at the mirror and groaned at the swamp creature staring back. My hair hung in limp tendrils, and while most makeup was intact, my lips fell victim to his chest, smearing as if I embarked on a marathon makeout session.
I couldn't help but imagine if he smudged it like that instead, pouring his fury into an earth-shattering kiss.
I dabbed the thought away. The last thing I needed was a workplace rendezvous, especially with him. I'd rather fuck a cactus. Twice.
He would eventually see the lipstick, but I'd be miles away with a drink in hand by the time he did. I'd pay for his dry cleaning and call it even in the morning.
I grimaced after patting to no avail, my blouse far from bar-ready with brown blotches decorating it like a pointillism painting gone askew. I flung it over my head, writing it off as a goner for the night. I'd have to make do with the white camisole beneath, which was relatively coffee-free. It showed more cleavage than I'd prefer, but I had to work with it.
I had yet to accept my new lady lumps, a recent addition after finding ten pounds with my late-night friends Ben and Jerry. I found a couple more with their friends, pizza and wine, too.
I shot off an apology text to Lee, knowing I would be hella late, but she'd forgive me after hearing about the Barrett incident. And by forgive, I meant tease me mercilessly until the day I died.
By the time I hit the parking lot, it was empty, and the ride to Crow Bar consisted of power ballads. Sometimes shit days called for car concerts at unhealthy volumes, regardless of one's singing abilities.
The lot at Crow Bar was almost full, and I prayed Lee grabbed seats. I wasn't looking forward to standing in heels if she hadn't.
After circling endlessly, I slipped into a spot beside a Range Rover, holding my breath as I eased in. The dang thing cost more than I made in a year, and who knew what insurance would charge if I clipped it? Probably more than my measly coverage offered.
I rushed across the lot, weaving between cars and dodging truck mirrors with the finesse of a lot lizard. A rock caught my heel as I stepped toward the entrance, but I caught myself on the door handle before going down.
Barrett’s earlier words rang through my head as I gripped the cold metal. Be more careful, Ms. Julian.
As I stepped inside, I was greeted with laughter and joy, happy hour in full swing. The tavern was crowded, bodies crammed into the confined space.
I navigated the hoards with ease, noting a few cuties along the way. Meeting a guy while looking like a drowned sewer rat wasn't likely, but a girl could dream.
Luckily, Lee secured two prime perches at the bar. I mounted the stool beside her and was met by Tommy, my favorite bartender, and all-around funny man. “What's happening, sweetie? Looking a little frazzled.”
I frowned, bummed my hot mess of a day was so evident. The damp hair or case of resting bitch face must have given it away. “Long day.”
“What can I get my favorite little lady?” He flashed his million-dollar smile, planting his hands on the bar before him.
“I'll have a Manhattan, please.”
“Ohhh! Whiskey?” Lee turned with wide eyes, grinning like the devil.
She was nursing a Cosmo with an extended pinky, ever the lady.
“It's been a day.”
“I can tell. What the hell happened to you?” She eyed me over, focusing on my chest. “You look like you've been ravaged.”
“I ran into Jason Barrett on my way to the bathroom.”
“Like had small talk or...” she trailed.
“Like my body smashed into his, and I landed on the floor!” I squeaked, dropping my head in my hands.
Lee burst into giggles.
“I know! I drenched us both in coffee and smeared lipstick on his jacket!” I cringed, flashing back to the smudge on his chest. “Dude, when he sees it, I'm screwed!”
“Or when his girlfriend does!” She threw her head back and roared with laughter.
Fuck. What if I had to explain to a woman how I toppled into her man?
Oh hi. I accidentally faceplanted into your boyfriend, and just so happened to leave my lipstick behind. Any woman of his would skin me alive. Hunks like him didn't fall from the sky; they were the mightiest catch in the dating pool.
“I didn't think of that,” I breathed, mortified. “I feel stupid, but he was a douche about the whole thing.”
She chuckled. “Did you expect anything else from him?”
He hadn’t been friendly around the office, holding an obvious disdain for me, something more than one person pointed out in passing. I shrugged. “I don't know what I was expecting.”
“Well, you rocked his world,” she laughed. “Maybe he'll forget about the damn wrap and get over himself.”
“Only to hate me more for causing a fight with his girlfriend.”
“True...” she trailed, taking a sip of her drink. “But how hard did you go down? Are you okay? The tits look unscathed.”
A smile pierced my embarrassment. “I landed flat on my ass.”
Lee took another sip from her drink with a grin and coughed. It wasn't until she pulled me close I realized she was choking in surprise, not on booze. “Dude, Jason fucking Barrett is here!” she gasped.
“That's nice.” I tried to play it cool despite the rattle of nerves roaring to life.
He probably followed me and would
fire me in public for further humiliation. Or I would have to explain to his enraged girlfriend the ridiculous story of how my lipstick ended up on her man.
“No! I'm serious! He's here!” Lee's green eyes flicked across the bar.
“Cool?” I breathed, unsure of what she was getting at.
Did she want to leave? I wouldn’t give up a good time for him. He was ruining my life enough since arriving in Ithaca. I deserved a night of fun.
“You should go talk to him,” she murmured.
“About what?” I didn’t have a word to say to him that wouldn’t end in my termination.
“No, you should talk to him.” She wiggled her brows for emphasis.
“Lee! He's our fucking boss!” I hissed.
“Our hot fucking boss!” she shot back.
“So?” There was no way I was chatting him up, especially with how he treated me.
“Come on! It'll be fun!” She made a not-so-subtle handjob gesture in my direction.
I swatted her hand mid-pump. If he looked our way, I would die of embarrassment.
“Elena, look how hot he is!” she whined, relentless in her pursuit of making me squirm.
I let out a shaky sigh, knowing where things were going. She was a notorious taunt and would go to the ends of the Earth to get a rise out of me. “Where?”
“Bar booth across to the right. Grey top.”
I glanced over and was walloped with handsome.
Still in work attire minus his jacket, he was watching the baseball game playing across the flat screens. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms and to my complete shock, a large tattoo. Unf.
Outside of the office, he was a whole new level of sexy, jaw darkened with the start of a five o'clock shadow and tie loosened. He was resting on those impressive forearms, his massive hands cradling a bottle of amber ale as he took in the game.
It was another reminder life was cruel. A prime cut of man was right there yet off-limits. Not only was he a bonafide bastard, but he was also untouchable under Croft's contract.
All instances of romantic fraternization or cohabitation are strictly prohibited among Croft employees. Those found in violation of the policy are subject to immediate termination and forfeiture of all earned commissions.
I'd never forget the passage, as I used it to fend off advances. Before its creation, the catcalling around the office was relentless, even from Marty. He cornered me once when I first started, and I endured countless dinner invitations until the policy squashed them.
I tore my eyes away from the best damn eye candy I had seen in ages, glancing back at my best friend coolly. “As attractive as he may be, I've already wasted enough time on assholes.”
I deserved to be treated like a fucking princess, especially after what Justin put me through.
I rebuilt everything from scratch, sleeping on Lee’s couch for a month while I scrambled to regroup. I hadn’t done it to be treated poorly.
Lee's eyes were pleading. “Maybe he's sex-starved, and you're the only answer to his famine!”
Fat chance. I doubted he had trouble getting laid. Women had to be eating him up. If he was hard enough to be mistaken for a wall, I couldn’t imagine how hard other things were.
Enough. I shook my head, snapping out of it. “Or maybe he's an asshole.”
“A sexy asshole.” Lee cackled, grabbing Barrett’s attention across the room, and in an instant, we locked eyes.
We remained trapped in one another’s gaze until he broke contact, his eyes scanning over my body. They burned everywhere they touched, drifting where they pleased, resting on my exposed cleavage.
It was then that a frigid wave spilled across my chest, the sheer iciness earning a screech. “Are you kidding me?” I whirled to meet a horrified, curly-haired man.
“I am so sorry!” He fumbled with napkins, trying to sop up alcohol on the bar.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Barrett snickering, which calmed my anger, reminding me of our previous run-in. The guy made a mistake as I had.
“It's okay. Accidents happen.”
“Oh my god! Look at your shirt!” He handed over fistfuls of napkins.
“It's fine. It's only a shirt. It'll wash out.”
“Oh no... that will stain! I'll pay for a new drink and your dry cleaning!” he assured, turning redder with every word.
“No need...” I muttered, dabbing my chest. My luck was something else. I had boozy boobs in addition to my coffee baptism, transforming into a walking beverage cart.
“No, no. I insist. Bartender, can you please give her whatever she had? Put it on my tab.”
“Will do, my man!” Tommy called, readying a replacement.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Barrett tense back into his usual rigid stature. His attention was turned back to the game, leaving me in the dust.
* * *
Barrett stayed glued to the television, and I left him there when Lee and I checked out around ten. He hadn't bothered to look my way again, not that I was expecting it.
Guys checked out chicks’ chests regularly. It was in their DNA. Looking at mine didn’t mean he was attracted to me. It just meant I was showing the attributes of a mate according to basic human instincts.
Once home, I took a hot shower, disgusted with everything. I washed away the funk of Thursday. I was more of a bath fan, but the apartment only had a space pod of a shower, a slick-bottomed tube that made leg shaving a life-or-death experience.
When I emerged from my self-made sauna, I curled up in bed with Hank and my cell, ready to watch cat videos until I drifted off into dreamland. I was surprised to see a notification from Privately.
The app was all over television with success stories clogging up morning shows. Its anonymity and lack of photos had my attention since other apps were overflowing with dick pics. Don’t get me wrong — dicks were great — just not flopping around by the dozen in your messages.
One week on another site left me dreaming of peen and not in a good way. Try getting chased by a thirty-foot schlong through the streets of Brooklyn in heels. Talk about a nightmare.
I had been chatting with a guy for a few weeks, but we had yet to meet. Going by Bear as his username, he restored my faith in the app since he wasn’t quadruply divorced or living with his parents like others I’d heard from. He lived alone and worked in executive management, likely at one of the local tech companies.
I swiped the notification to see a greeting from my ongoing suitor, relieved it wasn’t someone new. So far, he’d been the only normal one.
After the miserable day I’d had, I was ready to have something to look forward to. I fired off a flirty reply.
Any reasonable person would still be licking their wounds after a canceled wedding, but there I was trying to hop back on the dating bicycle without a helmet. Bruised ass and all.
Jason
If looks could kill, Marty Radwell would have been dead twenty times over in a five-minute span.
The babbling fool botched another sales call, forcing me to put aside a thousand-line LTA review to smooth things over with the buyer.
I needed Braxton Systems as a customer. They recently signed a government contract worth billions to upgrade the missile defense system. Our products fit in most of their builds and could net us millions in sales.
I couldn't fathom what was so hard about a rudimentary call for a seasoned professional. He had been with the company for nearly as long as I had been on Earth yet couldn't make a simple sales pitch.
I tuned him out as he rattled on, unable to deal with his mindless chatter. I was still hungover from the bar the night before, having downed too many beers while watching the game.
Luckily, the place was within walking distance to the hotel, so I found my way back on foot but was drunk on a weeknight for the first time in years.
I blamed it on Croft and its never-ending bullshit. I also blamed an ever-present brunette in a plunging top across the bar.
The same one I was avoiding like the plague all day.
Maybe I checked out her tits, so kill me. They were out in the open and incredible. Looking didn't hurt. She caught me, which I wasn't expecting, but shit happened. I vowed she was a danger, and I had to stay away, more so than ever.
So far, I was successful, though a late-night date with my hand had been essential in clearing my thoughts.
Only five more months to go...
“I think it was a miscommunication...” stammered Marty, interrupting my thoughts of Elena. As much as I hated to admit it, I welcomed her as a distraction when his mouth opened, and the shit came spewing out.
“Marty, you handled it like a rookie cold call from the 70s.”
His jaw dropped at my honesty, and his cheeks reddened. “Well, sir... I'm sorry, but I...”
“No buts. Jacinda isn't an idiot and doesn't take kindly to being treated like one.”
His face fell, sweat prickling his forehead. “You know her?”
Of course, I knew her. I knew every-fucking-one in the business. I gritted my teeth. “That's why I trusted you to make the call. She's a great contact.”
He hung his head. “I'm sorry, sir.”
Sorry didn’t cut it, especially when he insulted a friend of mine by insinuating she was too inexperienced and tried to strong-arm her.
“I'm calling into Corporate to have a training staff to fly out.”
“Excuse me?” he gasped, eyes all but bugged out of his head.
“This branch desperately needs help. The tactics are outdated, and half of you don't know a sales call from your asshole.”
“Sir!” He flinched as if I slapped him.
It was a crude thing to say, but I didn't give a damn. “It's embarrassing.”
He sat there in silence, looking at anything but me. If the man ever had a backbone, it had dissipated long before I walked in the door
“You're a nice guy, Marty, but this place is crying out for help.” I rolled my shoulders, my heart pounding in my ears, a steady reminder I was too old to be hanging out at bars during the week. “I can't train you all. I have my own schedule to tend to. I don't have an assistant here either.”
