Temptation

by Smeltzer, Micalea

  I’d like to toss him out a damn window.

  I sling the bag across my body, ready to go, and we head out with Siva locking up behind us. We head for the elevator wear Siva pushes the button and we wait quietly for the doors to open. When they slide open we hurry inside and Siva pushes impatiently at the CLOSE DOORS button. Once they do slide closed and we begin our decent to the garage, I can’t help but notice the electricity zinging around us. I’ve never been around someone who literally charges the air with their presence. I rub the exposed part of my forearm, trying to get the little hairs there to lie down instead of stick straight up.

  Thankfully, the doors finally open, and I follow Siva to his Porsche.

  I barely get the passenger door closed before he’s racing out of the garage and onto the London streets.

  He must really be late for his meeting.

  He stops the car in front of Avid News. I shake my head but I don’t even bother to ask him how he knows where I work. At this point I’m convinced Siva knows everything.

  I hop out of the car and call, “Bye,” over my shoulder.

  I run up the gray stone steps and into the building.

  “Hey, Sloane,” says Mac as I slide into the chair behind my desk.

  I smile back and say, “Hey,” to the smiling Irishman.

  “How are you doing?” he asks, leaning over the partition separating our desks. His eyes are sympathetic, his lips downturned.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose,” I say, taking out my laptop and setting it on my desk before turning it on.

  He gives me a joking smile. “Well, if you need anything, someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, whatever it is, I’m your man.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a small laugh. I can always count on Mac to make me laugh.

  I know MacAuley “Mac” Grant has a thing for me. Ever since I started working here he’s made no secret he’s attracted to me despite knowing I was in a relationship. He had finally accepted we’d never be more than friends, but I guess now that Dev’s out of the picture he’s already making his move.

  Yippee for me.

  It wasn’t that he was a bad guy or bad looking or there was anything wrong with him. He wasn’t my type, and now so wasn’t the time to jump in to another relationship. Especially when I was already battling my conflicted feelings over Siva.

  God, my life is a clusterfuck.

  Mac shakes his curly, too-long, brown hair away from his soft green eyes. He smiles boyishly and winks. “Just a thought,” he adds before finally sitting back down.

  My computer hums to life and I enter my password, breathing a sigh of relief when Mac has settled down.

  My wallpaper stares back at me. A picture of Dev and me on vacation in Rio. I look at our happy smiling faces pressed together in the selfie. He looks at the camera while I look at him with adoring eyes.

  “Sloane,” my boss says, stopping by my desk.

  I look up, taking in April Linwood. She’s intimidatingly tall, with legs so long I wonder why she’s not a model. She has the looks for it too. Sleek blonde hair, much lighter than mine, and a pinched aristocratic face. As gorgeous as she is, though, she’s even better at her job. She’s a kind boss, but critical, only expecting the best from us, and always willing to give advice if we ask for it and even when we don’t.

  “Morning, April,” I smile pleasantly. I’ve always admired April a lot, aspiring to be like her.

  “Here’s your assignment,” she says, holding out a folder.

  I take it from her and say, “Thank you.”

  She smiles and moves on.

  I open the folder and sigh. As much as I might like and admire my boss, sometimes I wish she had more respect for me. She wants me to write yet another trash article on a celebrity checking into rehab. I wanted to write serious journalism, not this trash, and she knew it yet I always got sidled with this stuff. But you have to start somewhere and this is what I had to do to climb to the top, so I’d write the best damn gossip article I could.

  I look back at my computer, sighing once more at the sight of the picture. I should change it, but I don’t have the heart, not yet. I feel like Dev has already been erased so much from my life, this is one last, though silly, thing I can hold on to.

  I dive into writing the article with fervor. While this kind of thing might not have been my favorite to write, it didn’t mean I couldn’t enjoy it.

  When lunch rolls around I realize I haven’t packed anything, which means I have to go out. I grab my purse and lean over the partition to Mac.

  “Hey?” I inquire with a smile. “I’m going out for lunch. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Later.” He grins, crossing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his chair.

  “Sloane?” calls Franca, another writer, before I’ve barely taken a step. “Someone’s here for you.” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and my forehead creases in confusion.

  I look back at Mac and give him an apologetic smile. He stands and smiles and makes like he’s going to the break room, but I know he really only wants to see who is waiting for me. Honestly, I’m curious too.

  I stop when I reach the small seated area off the side of the break room.

  “Siva,” I gasp in surprise and he smiles. I’m completely taken aback. I didn’t expect him to show up here at all.

  Franca gasps behind me, peeking over my shoulder. “Is that Siva Kapur?” she asks in an exaggerated stage whisper.

  I turn to glare at her for making such a fuss and when I look back Siva’s smile has only grown larger. Mac gives me a reproachful look and storms away. I actually feel a slight tug of pity in my belly for him. I know what this looks like, but whatever he’s thinking is wrong.

  “Hi,” I say, heading over to Siva and smiling even though I try not to. “What are you doing here?” I ask curiously.

  “I thought we could do lunch?” he suggests, looking unsure of my answer.

  “That would be lovely,” I say, color flooding my cheeks. I don’t know why I’m embarrassed.

  He smiles and stands, smoothing his hands down the front of his fitted black pants. The aqua blue shirt he wears pops against his dark skin and makes his eyes look more like an oceanic blue than violet. “Good,” he says, and guides me outside into the cool spring air and to the Porsche parked on the street.

  Siva holds the passenger door open for me and I slide in. He climbs in the driver’s side and pulls out into the traffic. I assume he’s heading to one of the many restaurants in the area but instead he avoids all of them.

  “Are you kidnapping me?” I joke.

  He shakes his head. “You’re an adult—I’m fairly certain that’s not classified as kidnapping. But don’t worry, I don’t have any nefarious plans.” He winks. “It’s a nice day so I thought we could have a picnic.”

  I jolt in surprise. “That actually sounds really amazing.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.

  A few minutes later he parks and gets out of the car, grabs a green and blue plaid blanket, and a bag of food. I follow him through the park’s entrance as he searches for the perfect spot.

  After a few minutes he veers off the path, into the green grass, lays out the plaid blanket, and plops down. I join him, tucking my knees under me. My skirt rides up a bit, exposing a bit more leg than I’m comfortable with. I promptly pull it down but not before Siva gets an eye full.

  I blush from my neck up.

  “Don’t look,” I grumble, and he actually looks away as if he too is embarrassed, and starts pulling out containers of food from the bag.

  “I hope you like Thai?” he asks hesitantly.

  “I love it,” I say, opening a container and inhaling the aroma.

  He opens a couple more containers and hands me a plastic fork and a bottle of water.

  He leans back, stretches his long legs out, and asks, “How has your morning been?”

  “The usual.” I shrug.

  “You don’t sound pleased,”
he comments in a quiet, subdued, voice.

  I chuckle. “I want to be a serious writer not a gossip columnist,” I admit with a sigh.

  “Then why don’t you?” he asks, taking a bite of noodles. One sits on his lips and my fingers itch to reach out and grab it.

  I sigh heavily. “I have to be able to pay the bills and I can barely do that as is.”

  “You should still try and live your dream,” he says softly, looking away distantly. “To stifle dreams is to extinguish the small spark that ignites the greatest discoveries.”

  “Maybe one day,” I reply, looking out into the park. A couple walks their dog. Some kids squeal in delight as their father chases them around. So many lives intertwined and yet we’re all so separate, stuck in our own little bubbles.

  I pluck at a piece of grass, twisting it around my finger. “Definitely one day,” I add. “I know I’ll get there, it takes time.”

  His fingers press softly to my chin, lifting my gaze to his. “Don’t let too much time pass. Sometimes we get … trapped in the mundane every day and before you know it ten years have passed and you’re standing still while the world continues to move around you.” He hesitates before adding, “I … I could help you.”

  He waits for an answer and I shake my head. “Siva, thank you, but no. I can do this on my own. I have to.”

  “I have connections.”

  I snort. “Exactly, that’s the problem.”

  “Sloane, I wouldn’t bribe someone to get you a job. But I could set up an interview and if you got the job it would all be on you.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say with a small smile and a quirk of my brow, but I know I won’t take him up on his offer. It’s nice of him, but I want to do this entirely on my own. Sometimes I get tired and have to bitch about the process.

  Satisfied, he sits back. He takes a sip of water and smiles to himself, clearly pleased with my non-answer.

  Changing the subject, I say, “Tell me something about yourself.”

  He laughs harshly, nearly choking on his water. “I don’t talk about myself.”

  He promptly pulls out a cigarette, sticks it between his lips, and lights it. I reach over and snag it from between his lips and put it out. Cigarettes are one of my biggest pet peeves, and it pisses me off that he’d use one them as an excuse not to talk to me.

  I point my index finger at him. “You will not suck on this death stick in my presence,” I huff.

  His eyes flash, and I fear one of his darker moods might be rearing its ugly head, but instead he surprises me by laughing. Not a small laugh, either, a booming one which echoes off the bright green trees surrounding us.

  “Got it. No smoking in front of you.”

  “Or like ever,” I gripe. “Do you want to kill your lungs?”

  “Of course not,” he replies smoothly and lies down on his back. “But doesn’t everyone have a guilty pleasure?” He winks at me and turns on his side to face me. He props his head up on his hand. “What’s yours?” he asks.

  “I don’t have one,” I snap.

  “Oh, come on,” he coaxes, “I know you have one.”

  “Purses, I guess.”

  “Purses?” he clarifies.

  “Yeah, you know, purses. Those things women carry around all the time full of all their crap. Yeah, it’s my guilty pleasure. It’s a lot healthier than your poisonous death stick, ” I say, pointing to the offensive white cylinder littering the ground beside the blanket. “But I like designer ones, so it’s not exactly healthy for my bank account.”

  “You’re very opposed to cigarettes,” he comments.

  “My dad died of lung cancer,” I say shortly. “He smoked two packs a day from the time he was a teen up until he died. Even after the diagnosis he didn’t stop.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “I see now why you hate them,” he says softly.

  He pulls the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tosses it into a nearby trashcan. I’m surprised when it hits the mark.

  “Now they’re gone.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, surprised and pleased by the gesture.

  His violet eyes smile at me. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

  “Yes you should.” I raise my chin, feigning haughtiness.

  “My lungs thank you, Sloane,” he says and his British accent becomes more pronounced. His purple eyes glitter with mirth. The aqua color of his shirt makes his skin look like molten honey. His teeth are a blinding white when he smiles. I find myself leaning closer to him. Taking in every beautiful detail of him. I’m completely enraptured by this complex human being and I’m beginning to learn despite him being Dev’s brother, they are two completely different people. If not for their similar looks no one would know they were brothers or even related.

  Dev was always kind and caring whereas one minute Siva is happy go lucky and the next he walks out on you. Siva is unpredictable. Siva is not safe.

  But Dev is gone.

  And I can’t help but think maybe fate is pushing Siva and me together.

  I glance at my phone and jump up in a panic. “I have to get back to work.” I start gathering things up quickly. “April is going to be so mad at me,” I mutter under my breath.

  Siva jumps into action, helping me pick things up. “I should’ve kept better track of the time,” he says angrily, venom dripping from every word.

  “Siva,” I say, pausing to put my hand on his shoulder. He flinches and I remove my hand, hoping he doesn’t notice I’m stung by the gesture. “This isn’t your fault. I was enjoying myself and completely forgot about my responsibilities.”

  “Come on,” he growls. Suddenly, the carefree Siva is gone and replaced by mercurial Siva.

  Lovely.

  “Can you chill for a second?” I snap. I’m getting whiplash from his behavior and I’m sick of it.

  “No,” he growls.

  “What’s your problem?” I yell.

  His lip furrows. “I’m a control freak. I don’t like the unexpected.”

  I hold my hands out at my sides. “It’s not like you didn’t know I had to go back to work,” I say and place my outstretched hands on my hips.

  “I need a fucking cigarette!” he yells back, tossing the paper bag full of our trash forcefully into the same trashcan where he had dumped his cigarettes.

  My eyes grow wide. “Siva,” I hiss. “There are other people here besides ourselves, like children. Can you keep the vulgar language to a minimum please?”

  “Sorry,” he mutters, but he doesn’t look sorry at all.

  “Sure you are,” I say, storming behind him trying to catch up to his long-legged stride.

  He forcefully opens and then closes the driver’s side door. I hear the engine start but I’m too pissed to climb inside the car with him.

  I see a taxi sitting empty by the curb.

  I stride up the Porsche, grab my purse from the passenger’s seat, and slam it closed for good measure, before heading to the empty taxi.

  “Sloane,” I hear behind me.

  “I don’t want to hear it, Siva.” I turn to face the angry man sitting in the polished Porsche, in the polished clothes, with the so-called perfect life. “Thank you for the interesting lunch. It was … enlightening.”

  “Sloane,” he calls again, apologetically, almost desperately.

  I get in the taxi, rattle off the street name for Avid News, and leave behind an angry Siva who’s pissed off for no good reason.

  Stew on this, asshole.

  ***

  “Sloane, did you get lost?” jokes Mac but there is a dark undercurrent to his normally happy green eyes.

  I glare at Mac as I take my seat. He’s not the source of my frustration but I’m so pissed off at the moment I’m likely to cuss at a nun if one looks at me for too long.

  I swirl the mouse around to wake up my computer and attack the keyboard with a vengeance.


  “Whoa,” says Mac. “What did your keyboard ever do to you?” he asks, leaning over the partition.

  I huff and bury my head in my hands.

  “I take it lunch didn’t go according to plan?” he asks, and his voice softens, taking in my hurt feelings.

  I sigh and look at the curly haired man. I push my blonde hair out of my face and sigh again. The sighing doesn’t make me feel any better but I keep doing it in the hopes eventually it will. “It started out great, actually, but then he flipped out and I don’t know why.”

  Mac laughs.

  “Stop laughing,” I snarl, sounding way too much like Siva.

  Mac looks at me and his green eyes warm. He puts his hand to his chest. “Okay, I’m going to be a nice guy here and give him the benefit of the doubt even though I’d like to beat him senseless for hurting your feelings. But, Sloane, the guy probably feels weird because he has feelings for you, I mean, how could he not, you’re perfect but you’re his dead brother’s girlfriend. Either that or he’s just an arrogant jerk.”

  “I’m going for the latter,” I say with a smile, but his words do go a long way toward making me feel better.

  Mac may possess too much interest in me but he is a good friend and he always makes me feel better.

  “Do you want to go get a drink later?” he asks.

  And there we go, ladies and gentlemen. So much for friends.

  “Mac, I really can’t.” At the appearance of his crestfallen expression I hold up a hand and add, “I’m not saying no. Just, not tonight. I have a lot to get done.”

  Though, to be real, I am saying no. Mac and I are not happening. Ever. It’s not in the cards for us and I wish he could see this. Drinks as friends would be fine, but I know he sees it as more.

  “Oh, okay,” he says, but he still looks forlorn and settles back in at his desk.

  I finish the article I’m writing, proof it, and print it out. I read it through two more times on the printed sheets to make sure it’s ready and then make my way to April’s office.

  I knock quietly.

  “Come on in,” she calls out.

  I open the heavy wooden doors and enter her airy office. Well, maybe clinical is the better word. Everything is stark white. From the walls, to the desk, to her bookshelves, everything is a bright, crisp, white. The only thing that isn’t white are the beige carpet floors. It kind of reminds me of Rajas’ house.