Then he thinks of the way that her eyes flash at him with a challenge. The way that sometimes, when he leans in to look at her concepts, her breath catches. The responsive flush of her skin when he accidentally brushes it. Is there a hellion behind those pantsuits and turtleneck sweaters? God, he’s imagined it enough times, his hand on his cock, his mind going crazy.
Kate lying back on his desk, her mouth curving into a smile, her knees slowly parting.
Kate, her hand reaching down and brushing over the tent in his pants, her eyes widening in appreciation.
Kate, her thighs trembling around his face, his tongue inside of her, the taste of her—
He shifts in the seat, and is grateful for the pull-out desk in front of him, hiding the erection that is now dominating his thoughts.
He pushes the desk aside, grabbing his jacket and holding it before him, standing and moving swiftly down the hall, to the restroom, new thoughts of her flooding his head.
He needs a release.
He shuts the bathroom door, flips the lock, and frees his cock, his back hitting the hard wall, his legs bracing against the floor in the small space, his hand wrapping around his stiff shaft.
God, what the fuck had he been thinking, hiring her?
Chapter 16
HER
“I just don’t understand why you haven’t told Trey.” Jess pushes the shopping cart forward and stops beside a rack of purses, picking up a knock-off Betsey Johnson clutch. “It’s been a month since you and Craig broke up. What do you guys talk about all the time?”
“Business.” I spin a rack of sunglasses and pluck a pair off the top. “And other stuff. I don’t know. He doesn’t bring up Craig.”
“You guys are weird.” She holds up the clutch. “Do you think this is worth forty bucks?”
“No.” I push the glasses on my face and bend down, looking into the mirror. “We aren’t weird.”
“You’re totally weird. Even Mom thinks you’re weird, so that’s pretty much the kiss of death.”
“In what way are we weird?” The glasses don’t look terrible on me. I tilt my head, considering them.
“It’s the way you look at each other. Like you guys are having subliminal conversations. It’s rude, you know. When other people are there. I felt left out having lunch with the two of you. Plus, there’s the whole attraction thing.”
I take off the sunglasses and check the price tag, sighing as I return them to the rack. “Lots of friends are attracted to each other.”
“Ummm … no.” She tosses the clutch onto the pile and pushes the cart forward. “Actually, they aren’t. It never works out.”
“You liked Gabe Jordan.”
“That was ninth grade, Kate.” She checks her watch. “Shit. It’s already two. We need to hurry.”
I watch as she turns down a housewares aisle, her steps increasing in speed as she moves past the cooking items, bee-lining for a display of picture frames. Maybe Trey and I are weird. I certainly feel ungrounded at times, as if we are tip-toeing closer and closer to the line of inappropriateness. It’s the reason I haven’t told him about Craig. I feel like my fake relationship with him is a layer of protection, something to point to and say See? We are just friends. We must be, since I am happily engaged.
“Hasn’t he asked about your ring?” Jess asks, carefully placing a picture frame into the cart.
“I told him I need to get it resized.” A terrible excuse, but one he hadn’t questioned.
“I still can’t believe how smoothly your break-up went.” She pauses. “Actually, never mind. I can. If I ever divorce Adam, I’m having Craig handle the entire thing.”
She is right. My break-up with Craig couldn’t have been more peaceful. He hadn’t argued or shouted. There had been no tears or debates. He had listened to my fumbling attempt at discussing my feelings, then had moved to the closet and packed his bag. Before stepping out of the hotel room, we’d discussed our relationship going forward (cordial acquaintances), and whether he should contribute to the hotel bill (no). I have no doubt that, in his perfectly-organized home office, there had been an In Case We Break Up folder, complete with a list of to-do items. By the time I’d returned to the US, I had a box on my kitchen counter with all of my things from his house, along with a typed list of items he was requesting from me. He had paper-clipped a counselor’s business card to the top of the list, along with signed papers from the bank that removed his name from all of our joint accounts. I’d returned his things the next week, and hadn’t heard from him since.
I lean against the wall. “I’m worried telling Trey will change our relationship.”
She looks at me. “That might not be a bad thing. He’s ridiculously hot … you need a new man…” She shrugs as if my problems are solved.
“It’s not that simple. Maybe if we were just friends—” I rub my eyes. “But the company needs us both. And he knows that. I don’t think he’d even do anything with me, for fear of messing up that.”
“Okay…” she drawls out, nodding at a passerby and moving farther down the aisle. “You’re not making any sense. Do you want to date the guy or not?”
Do I want to date Trey? It isn’t even worth considering. I can’t date Trey. “No,” I manage to say.
“No?” She raises her eyebrows in the knowing way that only a sister can.
“No,” I repeat, and this time the short word is heavy with resolve.
She only laughs in response.
Chapter 17
HIM
The brunette is a younger version of Kate, her breasts swelling over the top of the balconet bra. I watch as she lounges against the pillows, one knee pulling up, a hip curving. A man in a suit steps forward, stopping before her.
“What do you think?” Kate asks quietly. Bulbs flash and there is a snap of the shutter.
“It’s a gamble.” I shrug. “But I like to gamble.” Like father, like son.
“Think it’ll be too risqué for the stores?” The man kneels before the model, his hand on her thigh.
“I’m not sure. But marketing loves the idea of sexualizing the shoot. They think they can get the photos to go viral.” I pull out my phone and refresh my email.
“Still waiting on the Neiman Marcus order?”
“Yep.” We are already solidly in the black for this season. However, their national order could give us firm footing to launch proper advertising. I lock the phone and slide it into my pocket.
“By the way…” she shifts in her heels, and I look over, something in her delivery giving me pause. “Craig and I broke up.”
It is so unexpected that I take a step back, my heart doing a confused jig—made of elation and dread. I swallow. “Really.”
“Yeah. I just thought you should know.” She looks down at her clipboard, making a mark on the page. “Not that it changes anything. I just—”
“Why did you break up?” She had to have ended it. There was no way that he—that any man—would walk away from her.
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders lift. “I just felt that I might be making a mistake. And our relationship felt…” she pauses, and I feel my entire soul hang on the end of that sentence.
“…like a business relationship,” she finally concludes. I understand what she is saying, the sterile way they had interacted, Craig’s formal planning and execution of every task—but still. The word choice stabs at me.
I force myself to step closer to Kate, to return to our prior positions, my eyes on the models, the man now leaning over the woman, pinning her wrists to the bed. Kate tucks her hair behind her ear, and I catch a whiff of her perfume. She slides a hand down the shooting schedule, and I watch the delicate slide of her fingers across the page. She’s single. My Kate is single. No ring on her finger, no calls on her phone, nothing to stop me from hooking my hand around her waist and pulling her against me. I turn and step away, call out to a photographer’s assistant, and have him walk me through the lighting.
Working w
ith her for the ten months—it has already been a strain on my willpower. Now, with Craig removed from the equation, will I be able to control myself? I glance back at her, my gaze moving up her body, enjoying the feminine curves, the casual slouch, the confident way she calls out to the photographer.
In my pocket, my phone vibrates, and I pull out the device, my heartbeat quickening at the email notification that appears. Neiman. The timing is suspect, and I glance up to the ceiling, wondering if the big man upstairs is trying to send me a message.
I open the email, and scroll quickly through the order, a smile pulling at my mouth as I see the purchase numbers. I stride over to her and wrap my arms around her, my chest to her back, my chin on her shoulder, my phone held out before her.
“Look,” I whisper, and I fight the urge to gather her against me, to press my hips forward, against her body, to feel the curve of that ass against me. “Look what you did.”
She twists around, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging it tightly. “We did,” she states, and when she pulls away, she is beaming.
She’s right. We did it. And dammit, I can’t mess everything up now.
Chapter 18
HER
I am on a conference call when Mom calls, my hand automatically reaching out and silencing the phone, my mind returning to the discussion, one over production schedules for our new garter belts.
Then Jess texts, and the preview screen tells me everything I don’t want to know.
Grandma died this morning.
I swallow, my throat tight, and reach for the phone. In the background, I hear Trey’s voice, the call continuing like I didn’t just receive devastating news. I text Jess back.
How?
Someone says my name, and I become aware of the quiet conference line in the moment before Trey speaks.
“Kate, are you there?”
“Yes.” I look at my screen, not sure where the discussion had moved. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”
“Let’s finish up this call later.” Trey’s voice doesn’t allow for discussion, and everyone signs off, the line quiet by the time that Jess’s response comes through.
Stroke. We’re headed to the nursing home now. Can you come?
My grandmother’s nursing home is in Lake Forest, over an hour and a half away, especially at this time of day. I look over my desk, think of my afternoon meetings, and the looming deadlines, a hundred to-do items to be completed today. There is no way. I think of the woman, the smell of vanilla extract that always seemed to follow her around, the way that she would pull me against her chest, the ornery way she’d refuse help, even when her hands had lost all ability to grip.
“Kate.” Trey steps into my office and shuts the door. He stops, our eyes meeting. “What’s wrong?”
I can feel the tremble of my bottom lip and hate it. I hate that I can’t control myself, that I can’t even answer his question. I turn away, back to my computer, and tighten my hands into fights, attempting to find my voice. He says nothing, and I listen for the sounds of his soles against the hardwood, the creak of my credenza as he leans against it, but there is nothing.
I appreciate the distance, his patience. In it, I manage to answer, my voice almost smooth. “My grandmother passed away. I just found out.”
“How can I help?”
I swivel in my chair until I see his face. The gentleness in his eyes almost breaks me. His arms are crossed tightly over his chest, and I can see him resisting the urge to step forward. He looks at my desk and then glances to the window before looking back to me.
“Come on.” He holds out a hand. “Let’s go to her.”
“Go to her?” I shake my head. “I can’t. You can’t. I’m underwater as it is.”
“Everything can wait.” He steps forward. “Where is she?”
“Everything can’t wait. I’ve got a dozen people waiting on me, for fifty different things. And you know our tight timeframe.” In the overwhelming amount of work before me, I feel a bit of control returning, something to focus on other than the fact that I haven’t visited her in over two weeks.
“Fuck the timeframe. I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’ll close down the entire office for two days if it will ease your concerns. But right now, I don’t want you here. Is she up in Lake Forest?”
I nod.
“Then let’s go. Do not touch your computer. Do not return another email. I’ll pull my car up front.” He turns and steps out of the office before I can formulate a response.
Trey drives me to Lake Forest, my entire trip spent on the phone, first with my mom, then my sister, then the nursing home’s director. Once we arrive, the tears come—big bursts of emotions that put me in Jess’s arms, then my mother’s, and then, somehow, in his. He didn’t listen when I told him to go home, when I told him that I had things covered. He tried to get hotel rooms for everyone; he tried to pay the outstanding hospital bill, and when he finally left, he showed back up forty-five minutes later with bags of food. And even though I kept arguing with him to leave, I’m glad he didn’t. He was the perfect complement to our mourning, his questions and conversations leading to stories about Grandma, our time a mixture of laughter and tears, and by the time we all headed home, I felt a sort of contented peace.
Now, almost halfway back to LA, I finally remember my manners. “Thank you.”
“Right now, you’re the most important person in my life.” He glances over, looking away from the road, the Tesla purring along, perfectly spaced between the lanes. “I’ve put myself in charge of taking care of you.”
It’s the oddest response I’ve ever heard. “I’m not the most important person in your life.”
He chuckles. “You hold my business in those tiny little hands, Kate. And I have no family. Until my soulmate wanders by, you’ve got no competition.”
It’s sad. Empowering, but sad. I think of everything I’ve felt today—guilt, remorse, nostalgia, and loss. He’s been through this. Not once, but twice. And he no doubt had grandparents also. Had they passed away? I have no family. It seems like too cruel of a question to ask. I take an easier approach. “You believe in soulmates?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You don’t?”
“I don’t know.” I settle back in the seat. “It’s a lot of pressure. Like, if I only have one soulmate in this entire world … I could spend my entire life overanalyzing my relationships and picking them all apart.”
“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with taking a serious analysis of a relationship.”
“There is if you stop all of them too early.” I try to find the right words. “If—on my first date with Craig—I had asked myself if he was my soulmate, the only person in the entire world I was meant to be with…” I shrug. “I probably wouldn’t have even given him a second date.”
“Your reasoning makes no sense. You broke up with Craig. If you had been following Soulmate Protocol then, you would have saved yourself three years.”
“You’re missing the point.” I huff in aggravation. “And you don’t have the right to even have an opinion, seeing as you have never been in a serious relationship.” I tilt my head at him. “Right?”
“I’ve had serious relationships.” He shifts in his seat. “They just haven’t been long-term.”
“Ha!” I didn’t exactly score a point in this tally, but it feels like I did. “See?”
“I’m picky,” he points out. “It’s not a bad thing. And maybe I haven’t met her yet.”
“Her being your mythical soulmate?” I feel a prickle of envy at the thought. Not the thought of being Trey Marks’s soulmate, but the thought of being regarded in that way. The thought of a man, out there, searching for me. Waiting for me. Ignore the complete illogicality of the concept, there is something inherently romantic about soulmates. “It just doesn’t make sense,” I argue.
He sighs. “You’re a non-believer, Kate. I can’t reason with non-believers.” He turns, and our eyes meet, and that
wicked smile, the one that drenches my panties, flashes.
“Huh.” I sniff and have no intelligent response.
Soulmates. I try to picture mine, but I can’t get the image of his smile out of my mind.
Chapter 19
HER
four months later
Las Vegas. I win three thousand dollars on a slot machine and am stretched out on my bed, basking in my newfound riches, when Trey walks in. He cocks a brow at me and holds out his wrist. “I need help. This cufflink is a bitch.”
I roll over and sit upright on the edge of the bed. When he steps forward, between my legs, I look up at him.
“This could get interesting,” he murmurs, a wicked gleam in his eyes. His shoes settle into place, and his pant legs brush against the inside of my knees.
It won’t. The man is a complete tease. He flirts like a teenage boy, then walks away and leaves me panting.
“There are certain lines I don’t cross, and fucking my employees is one of them.”
His line from my interview plays on repeat in my head. After our San Francisco road trip, I looked up Vicka Neece. Like I had expected, she is beautiful, and very different from me. Blonde instead of brunette. Taller than me, and thin instead of curvy. She has that sophisticated scowl that I’ve never mastered. I can see why a man would go for her. And I can see, in the tattered remains of Marks Lingerie, what interoffice relationships can lead to.
I hadn’t thought much about it while I was with Craig, but in the last five months as a single woman, Trey’s stance on fraternization has haunted me. And right now, his belt is at eye level, the buckle begging to be freed, zipper yanked down, and all of Trey Marks’s mysteries unveiled. My hand hovers above the belt. It would be so easy. I sigh and reach past it, for his waiting shirtsleeve, my hands quick and efficient as I fasten the cufflink. I look up at him and stick out my tongue.
Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6 Page 115
