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Amelia stuck her fingers into her ears and feigned shocked innocence. Considering she was shacking up with Lex, who was a Hottie McHottentot, it would take a lot more than that to singe her pretty ears.
“There’s always your dildo,” said Lulu.
Amelia coughed into her fist. Viv and Lulu both smirked.
“Yeah,” Viv replied, “but it’s not the same as real, genuine man meat. Unfortunately, lately, all that meat has been attached to asshole jerks.” And not just at work, either.
“The perfect guy is out there waiting to nudge his way into your heart,” said Amelia, skipping the man-meat comment.
Viv almost retorted that she only wanted one to nudge his face between her thighs, but figured she’d shocked the other woman enough for one evening. “I can’t look for one now. I have to get a new job and straighten myself out before I can even think about letting any man near my heart.” Her vagina was a different matter, but she didn’t mention that, either.
“Neeley ought to be shot for making you feel that way. Or at least arrested for assault,” said Lulu.
She laughed bitterly. “Oh, that would go over well.”
Talk about bad publicity for the new team, and she wouldn’t do herself any favors in the long run. She needed to look toward the future, toward landing another job, and fast. She lived in an expensive high-rise in Arlington, and only had enough in reserve to cover two months’ rent. Filing charges against a huge sports star—the most popular guy in the state right now—would not win her any friends among hiring officials, or anybody else.
Heck, her five brothers—all of them hockey nuts—might even be annoyed at her. Of course, they all also might want to kill Neeley. She honestly didn’t know how her family would react, and didn’t want to find out. She only prayed that the story wouldn’t go national, and her family wouldn’t see any coverage of it in the tiny Pennsylvania town where they all lived.
“I hate it, and it goes against everything I believe in, but I have to just let it go,” she said. “Gotta hope karma takes care of this one for me and Neeley gets what he deserves.”
“If there’s anything Lex can do, I’m sure he would,” said Amelia. “He’s no fan of Neeley’s. He thinks he’s a fathead.”
“Well, he’s certainly a hardhead. And thanks, I appreciate it,” Viv said, meaning it. Amelia’s fiancé was a popular DC sports reporter. If worse came to worst, it might not be bad to have him on her side. “But I guess I just want to get the firing over with and move on.”
“Don’t give up,” said Lulu. “Somebody in that room had to have seen what Neeley did. Or you can explain to the general manager. He might be so worried about bad publicity that he’ll let you stay.”
It was possible, she supposed, and she allowed her friend’s words to cheer her up momentarily.
But they proved to be overly optimistic.
Because about eighteen hours later, after a meeting with the team’s general manager that left her humiliated and angry, Viv was cleaning out her desk.
Fired.
* * *
WHAT DAMIEN BLACK knew about cars would probably fit on the inside cover of a matchbook. But as he watched a shapely blonde lift the hood of her sedan and stare with a complete lack of comprehension at the inner workings of the engine, he found himself wishing he was an ace mechanic.
One thing he did know how to do, however, was spell AAA. So without even hesitating, he changed direction, heading not toward the exit and the adjoining office building that he owned, but to the woman with the car trouble.
“Problems?”
The blonde had been mumbling some colorful words under her breath as he walked up behind her, and obviously hadn’t heard him approach. His words startled her. She jerked her head, glancing at him over her shoulder, giving him his first real look at her.
Damien’s lips parted in a small, surprised inhalation, but he quickly schooled his features. He was used to not giving anything away, and he definitely didn’t want to let this gorgeous female know he’d been briefly rendered speechless by how stunning she was.
He’d seen the golden-blond hair confined in a tight bun, and the tall body clad in a somewhat baggy gray suit as he’d approached her. But nothing had prepared him for the big baby blues, surrounded by long, thick lashes. The heart-shaped face was flawless, the mouth wide, the lips lush, the cheekbones high.
But her makeup wasn’t exactly perfect—in fact, some dark smudges under her eyes hinted that she’d either cried or wiped off some mascara in the recent past. The thin streaks on her cheeks suggested tears.
Who made you cry? And how can I hurt him for you?
“Do you know anything about cars?” she asked, her voice shaking.
He didn’t even try to lie, though he also didn’t admit that he had a driver most of the time. “I’m afraid not. But I do have a cell phone and can call you a tow truck.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “I can’t afford that. Not anymore, anyway.”
Curious, he raised a brow.
“I just got fired.”
Damien frowned, hearing the hurt in her voice that she tried to disguise with a harsh laugh.
“Can you beat it? Lose my job and have a breakdown all within the same hour. This day’s just stellar. Hell, this whole week’s going to be one for the record books.”
“That’s too bad,” he said, meaning it. “Where did you work?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She slammed down the hood of her car, giving up on even trying to figure out what was wrong with it. “It’s their loss, anyway.”
Swinging around to face him, he saw her eyes widen, much as his just had. He was used to having an effect on women, though he didn’t necessarily try to. Part of it was his money, some of which he’d inherited from his father, but most he’d earned on his own. But he’d also been gifted with his late father’s tall, lean build, black hair and dark brown eyes. He knew when women became aware of him as a man...and this one just had.
But instead of smiling flirtatiously, as he expected, she instead jabbed an index finger toward his chest, punctuating her words. “I was damn good at my job. Or I would have been, if they’d given me a real chance. I didn’t even make it through my probationary period.” She rubbed at her eyes, her shoulders slumping. “God, I need a drink.”
“That I can help you with. There’s a nice bar in the hotel next door, where I’m staying.”
He should know. He owned the hotel, too. As well as the parking garage in which they were standing. In fact, between his family’s corporation, his own international hotel chain and his new, just-for-fun enterprise, he owned quite a bit of prime Arlington real estate. Not that he was going to reveal that to this woman. He far preferred that people not realize who he was when they first met him, wanting to be judged on his own merits and not on the size of his bank accounts.
She sighed heavily. “Oh, here we go.”
“What?”
“See a helpless woman and move in for the kill, huh?”
He frowned. “First of all, you don’t appear helpless.”
“I’m not.”
“Second, I’m not a killer.”
“Maybe I worded that badly.”
I should think so.
“Lady-killer is more like it.”
His frown deepened. “I wasn’t moving in for anything. I’m not trying to prey on your tearful state, ply you with drink and have my wicked way with you.”
Well, not really. Mostly, he’d asked her to join him for a drink because she looked as if she’d been having a really crappy day. And, okay, he’d admit it, she was pretty damn stunning.
Damien hadn’t been involved with anyone in a few months. He’d had his nose to the grindstone because of a major expansion in the family business, plus stealing what time he could to oversee his own personal endeavors.
But it wasn’t just his work schedule that had kept him celibate. He’d also been trying to avoid the matrimonial traps single females sometimes laid out for him. Nobody was ever going to catch him in one of those—love and marriage just didn’t seem to work for the men in his family.
Even purely physical relationships had been difficult to arrange lately. Hell, his own mother threw a never-ending stream of “appropriate” women in his direction. So he’d found it easier to just keep his head down and his libido in cold storage.
This blonde had made him begin to wonder if it was time to change that, though. It had been ages since he’d been so instantly attracted to someone. He’d gone from cold storage to overheated in fewer than ten minutes, and he wanted to know more about the woman who’d so easily thawed him out, even if that only involved a drink.
She shook her head and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m a bit of a man-hating psycho-bitch right now.”
“Was there a recent breakup to go with the firing and the breakdown?”
“Let’s start calling it ‘car trouble.’ ‘Breakdown’ sounds mental, and I haven’t reached that point. At least not yet.”
“Noted.”
“And the breakup was a few months ago. But more recently, a man made my work life hell, and another man fired me for it. I’m not fond of the male sex right at this moment.”
“I don’t blame you.” Then he shrugged. “Their stupidity, my loss.”
“I guess so.” A frown tugging at her brow, she suddenly squared her shoulders and stared at him, hard. “Why not?”
“Why not what?”
“Why weren’t you trying to pick me up?”
“Didn’t you just accuse me of being a killer?”
“Lady-killer. But you weren’t making moves on me. Why? Is there something wrong with me?”
Odd, now she seemed annoyed. He had thought by her reaction that she’d be glad he wasn’t coming on to her. Even though, technically, he supposed he was. For altruistic reasons, of course...at least until later, when she’d recovered from her post-firing, car-breakdown slump.
Damien wasn’t a hypocrite. He liked women; he especially liked beautiful women, as long as they didn’t expect anything long-term. And this one was an interesting combination of beauty and brains.
He suspected she had problems because of that mixture, judging by the fact that she dressed severely to play down her appearance, and kept what he suspected was a glorious head of hair so tightly constrained.
“Nothing’s wrong with you. Maybe I’m just a nice guy.” That amused him, since few in the corporate world thought of him as anything of the kind.
She snorted. “I’d like to meet one of those someday. Haven’t come across any in a long time.”
He sensed she was talking about her job again. He was suddenly curious about this position she’d lost. Given the way she spoke about the men she’d worked with, and the outfit, he suspected sexual harassment had been the underlying cause. Which totally pissed him off. He had younger sisters. If something like that had happened to them, he’d be out for blood. He also had a strict policy against sexual harassment in all his companies, even the hotels in countries where discrimination against women was rampant.
Nobody deserved to be judged or treated differently because of their sex or their looks. As ridiculous as it sounded, he’d learned that himself over the years. He’d been called a pretty boy when he’d inherited a huge mantle of responsibility at a young age and been underestimated more than once, though once was usually enough for most people. Of course, it hadn’t been enough for those closest to him...his own mother, for instance. Which was one reason he spent most of his time in his hotels and rarely went back to his Miami home.
Shoving that situation out of his mind, he focused only on this stranger. “I suspect you could use a friend—and a mechanic—more than a date.”
She glanced down at her suit and made a face. “It’s these ugly clothes, isn’t it? I guess that’s one nice thing about losing my job, I don’t have to dress like a seventy-year-old librarian anymore.”
Noting she’d just confirmed his suspicions, he barked a laugh. God, did the woman really believe a baggy gray suit could disguise the fact that she had more curves than a circle?
“I doubt anyone would ever mistake you for an old lady.”
“Still, you didn’t try to pick me up, which means I’ve been playing good girl for so long, I have completely lost my touch.”
Playing good girl? Hmm.
“There was a time when I would’ve had you offering to buy me a drink, dinner and breakfast, in that order, within five minutes of meeting me.”
Would you have accepted?
“Under other circumstances, I probably would,” he admitted. “But the truth is, I’ve got two kid sisters, and if one of them had had a day as bad as yours, I’d hope some nice guy would offer to help her without any selfish motives.”
She eyed him steadily—God, those blue eyes—and finally a slow smile spread across her face. “You’re really serious.”
He couldn’t help returning her smile with one of his own. It creaked across his face slowly. He wasn’t used to smiling lately, given how hard he’d been working and the family nonsense he always had to deal with. “Yeah, I really am.”
Nibbling her lip, she cast an uncertain eye toward her car.
“If you can’t afford a tow,” he said, “let me call somebody. I have a friend who’s good with cars. He can be here in five minutes.”
That would be his driver, Jed, who’d just dropped him off on the main floor of the garage, near the doors leading directly into the building. He’d gone up to park in the reserved corporate level one floor up.
“Five minutes?”
Damien didn’t answer, instead pulling out his phone and dialing his driver. When Jed answered, he described the problem and then disconnected. “Less than five minutes,” he told her with a shrug. “He said you can leave the car unlocked and the keys under the mat.”
Her brow went up. “Seriously?” Quickly casting an eye over the dented vehicle, she added, “Then again, even if it could start—which it won’t—who’d want to steal it?”
“Good point. Now, while he checks it out, you and I can go to the bar, get out of the heat and talk about your horrible, no-good, very bad day.”
She glared. “You have kids!” Grabbing his left hand, she yanked it up. “You’re married, aren’t you? I should’ve figured.”
He couldn’t help chuckling at her indignant expression, and her assumption. “Not as much as a tan line on that finger, see? Not married. Never have been. No kids. But I have a three-year-old nephew who loves being read to.”
Sheepish, she murmured, “Sorry, Uncle...?”
“Damien.” He extended his hand to hers. “I’m Damien Black.”
He waited for any sign of recognition, such as dollar signs rolling in her eyeballs—he’d certainly experienced that before. But he saw nothing in her eyes but that same wary interest, as if she was trying to decide whether she could trust anyone with a Y chromosome.
Or maybe she was wondering if she could trust herself?
If she’d been, as she said, “playing” good girl...who was she when she wasn’t playing?
Hmm. He’d like to find out. He only hoped she decided to give him the chance.
Finally, after a long, breathless moment during which his heart started pounding with anticipation, she took his hand and said, “It’s nice to meet you, Damien. I’m Viv Callahan. And if you can have a gin and tonic in my hand within thirty minutes, I might just revise my opinion of the male species.”
