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She tried discreetly to squint and instead came off looking as if she had discreetly farted.
“Stop that,” I snapped. “We can look up close.” What the hell, I put on this dress for a reason, right? I turned in my chair, flashed my best smile and gestured for the guys to come over. Time to have some fun.
Two hours later
Screw Becca and Olivia’s opinion, I was a cock tease, and wasn’t about to be ashamed of it. The chase gave me purpose, excitement; it was my favorite part of being single. Sex or a reputation were things I didn’t need or want. For me, teasing was more of a conquest thing, and it gave me an instant ego boost when I needed one.
I definitely needed one tonight. De Luca, having me—even if it was a rumpled, dorky version of me—in his office, and not even giving me a second glance. Worse, mistaking me for someone else! He was old, for Christ’s sake, even if he did radiate sex from every pore on his gorgeous body. As a rumored horndog, he should have smiled, flirted or asked me out—even if I had planned on saying no. Yes, I definitely needed an ego boost, and my evening’s prey waited in front of me.
Bob, a twenty-nine-year-old tax accountant with a bird chest and moderately muscular arms, lay flat on his back on top of his bed, gazing at me in drunken adoration. Stripped down to my black lace bra and thong, I straddled him. My hair fell loose down my back and I leaned forward, nibbling and kissing his neck. He moaned, and I could feel his erection pushing at his dress pants, begging to get out. His hands roamed down my back over the curve of my hips and grabbed my ass. Continuing to tease his neck, I reached down and slid my hand underneath his pants’ waist and felt the hardness of his cock. It was pretty nice compared to the ones I had previously touched. I grabbed it firmly, jacked him up and down twice and let him think for a minute that I was going to do more. Then I slyly bit my bottom lip, shook my head at him and pulled my hand out.
The fire in his eyes died a little and he looked at me with intense yearning. Right there, that is what I want to see. My confidence felt that familiar swell, but it was brief this time. It sank again quickly, almost as low as before. I gritted my teeth in irritation, pushing back against my subconscious, trying to feel that satisfaction I normally experience. But it was gone. I leaned forward, kissing Bob gently, then climbed off him, reaching for my dress, half listening to his sputtering words. Sorry, buddy, you’re done.
Nine
Wednesday, 8:15 a.m.
Brad De Luca’s cell rang for the seventh time that morning.
“De Luca,” he snapped into the phone.
“Julia Campbell,” his cousin Tony’s voice rang through the phone. Tony was a forty-year-old divorcé, with three kids, who drank full-time and painted houses as a hobby. Brad couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Tony before 11:00 a.m. He must need money. He groaned silently and waited for more.
“You know her?” Tony asked.
His mind searched his recent clients, conquests and acquaintances and came up blank.
“No, don’t believe I do.”
Tony’s voice slurred a bit. “She’s an intern at your office.”
“Oh. She’s probably with Broward or Clarke. They keep the female interns away from me.”
Tony laughed so hard he began to hiccup. “I bet they do, man! You’d be slaying them!”
Brad glanced at his watch impatiently and willed the man to get to the point. “Who’s she to you, Tony?” His voice had taken on the rough brogue of his Italian childhood.
“I got a call this morning from Bob Hanstle—the yuppie guy whose kitchen I’m painting? He’s trying to get information about her. He knows she works for your firm, and, given my last name...thought I might know someone over there.”
“Your last name isn’t De Luca.”
“Yeah, well, I might have mentioned that we’re related.” Brad’s patience waned. Tony probably “mentioned” Brad’s name at every job opportunity he got, in hopes of increasing his credibility.
“I don’t know anything about her.” He tried to convey a tone of wrapping up the conversation, but Tony wouldn’t let it go.
“Come on, Brad, give me something. This guy is desperate over this chick. She must have a magic pussy, man.”
“Sorry, Tony. Never met her before.” He hung up the phone. So...it must have been Broward’s intern. And she had another man hot on her trail. He really needed to get to the office.
* * *
I woke up buried in the soft sheets of my cozy bed. I stretched, rolled over and winced at the hangover headache that was pounding in my temples. I pulled my eye mask up and glanced at my bedside clock. Holy shit! 7:45 a.m. I attempted to jump out of bed and was squashed back down by the invisible stakes that were piercing some important cerebral mass in my head. I tried again, slower this time, and ended up on my feet. Glancing into the mirror next to my door, I saw a face smeared with makeup and a distinct floral skin design that I recognized from the embroidery on my pillow. Ugh.
I grabbed powder-blue capris, a white cardigan-camisole set and some tan heels. I didn’t have time to shower, so I scrubbed my face as quickly as I could and threw on some light makeup. As any party girl will tell you, one-day-old going-out hair looks pretty damn good, so I ran my fingers through it and headed out the door.
* * *
I was in the fourth-floor kitchen, buttering a stale biscuit and licking some melted butter off my fingers when he walked in.
Whoa.
It was as if every ounce of extra air left the room in that instant, squeezing all the space out with it and putting me front and center in his laser beam. Damn. We locked eyes and neither one of us moved. In his office there had been a long, empty expanse between us, and even then there’d been a sizzle. Now, there in the small kitchen, the full force of his...essence...was magnified tenfold. It scared the crap out of me.
His eyes were a normal dark brown color, not anything special, but they blazed with a powerful intensity. He smelled of...something. I don’t know how to describe the smell, but it was intoxicating and animal. The man reeked of masculinity and sex. He seemed to be a big, tight ball of controlled energy and I could just as easily imagine him ripping someone’s head off as dipping me backward into a kiss. As I stood there, frozen, his sexy features curled into a smile and he looked as if he wanted to eat me. I backed up and bumped into the counter. I was acutely aware of the butter all over my fingers—and dripping from the edge of my mouth. I licked my lips and said the first thing that popped into my mind.
“I’m not Tiffany.”
His smile faltered slightly, and he shook his head and chuckled. “I know.”
“I’m Julia. Julia Campbell. Broward’s intern.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I just asked Sheila where to find you. She said you were in here.”
“Oh.” A pause. His eyes never left mine. “Why were you looking for me?”
“Would you like to go to lunch?” He turned on some powerful, magical force, and radiated with intense sexual heat. I almost swooned, but caught myself. Keep it together, you damn woman!
“Umm, no.”
“No?” His grin increased and he looked almost incredulous. He glanced around as if wanting someone to witness this.
“No.” My voice grew in strength and confidence. Cocky prick.
“Why?” He moved closer and I lost all sense of reality. The man was like no one I’d ever met. I could see why divorcing wives would throw apart their legs and beg him for more than lawyerly duties. The man was walking, breathing sex. I had never found bodybuilders or large men attractive. I had pined for and worshipped the rail-thin, pretty look of male models. But this man was built like a god, with the disposition of Satan. I couldn’t imagine being an intern to this man and not doing more than filing his briefs.
I would have moved back farther, but the kitchen counter rail was already digging into my ass and no doubt now leaving a bruise. I met his amused gaze and tried to portray nonchalance.
“For one thing, you’re a little old.”
His eyes flickered a bit at that, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “And?”
“Annnddd, I’m not supposed to talk to you.” Even to my ears, that sounded juvenile.
His egotistic smirk was back. “Ahhh...yes. Broward wants to keep you all to himself.”
I didn’t like that response, but kept my mouth shut and let my eyes communicate my silent retort.
“Let’s go to Centaur.”
“No. I have work to do.”
“Come on—I’ll have you back in a flash. No one will even know you’re gone.”
“I—”
“Julia!” Sheila stood in the doorway, glaring at De Luca. He had the good grace to look sheepish, which also looked ridiculously sexy. Good lord. Someone needs to take this man out back and shoot him.
I fled to the safety of Sheila’s side, taking my buttery fingers with me and leaving my plate and knife behind.
“I need Julia,” Sheila said. “Are you all through with whatever it was you needed her for?” Her expression painted her opinion clearer than any billboard could.
De Luca nodded a goodbye to me and strode out of the kitchen, winking at me and patting Sheila on the shoulder as he passed. I could suddenly breathe a lot easier. Sheila turned and affixed me with a steely stare, all evidence of grandmotherly goodness gone. “Is this going to be a problem?” she demanded.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Good.”
Ten
11:45 a.m.
I didn’t know what I had been doing the past two and a half hours, but it hadn’t been anything productive. I twirled a pencil around my hand and debated whether or not I should ask someone for an Advil. My phone rang, a shrill sound that drilled into my headache with unsympathetic persistence.
“Julia Campbell.”
“It’s Beverly.” Beverly was Broward’s number two secretary, a plump redheaded woman who thought that stripes and polka dots matched, and had an extreme habit of oversharing everything. I mean everything. The second day I met her she “confided” in me that she’d once contracted genital herpes from a gas station restroom toilet. Need I say anything more? She would.
“Hi, Beverly.”
“We need you to run over to OfficeMax. Rick in IT just called, and apparently they’re having some kind of technical crisis that can only be solved by a...T-I44 FireWire cable port, whatever that is. We would go, but De Luca’s office is having us run a gabillion copies for some last-minute filing and the—”
“No problem, Beverly. I’ll do it now.” And stop by CVS and grab every hangover remedy they’ve got.
“Are you sure? I hate to ask you, but if we don’t get—”
“Yes. I’m sure. I’ll do it now.”
“Great! Thanks, Julia. Just run it to IT when you get back. It’s on the second floor, next to the—”
“I know where it is.”
“Oh-kay! Thanks, Julia.”
“You’re welcome.”
I hung up the phone and rose, glad for a chance to get out of the office. I slid my heels on, grabbed my purse and practically skipped to the elevator, avoiding even looking in the direction of the East Wing doors. Take that, Brad De Luca!
I took the elevator directly to the parking garage and exited, looking to the right for my car. One of the firm’s black town cars was idling near my Camry. The driver’s tinted window rolled down as I approached. A twenty-something white kid in a chauffeur’s uniform was seated in the driver’s seat, and spoke to me as I passed.
“Ms. Campbell?”
“Yes?” I stopped in surprise, staring at him.
“I’ve been instructed to drive you to the store.”
“What?”
“I’ll drive you to the store.”
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
He ignored me and got out, walked around to the backseat door and opened it. I glared at him.
“I can drive myself. I’m a big girl.”
“Get in the car.” The order came not from the pimple-faced driver, but from inside the car. It only took a second for me to identify the deep, authoritative voice, and I shoved Pushy Driver aside and leaned over, looking into the car.
“You listen to me,” I hissed, pointing my finger in De Luca’s face. “I am not one of your strippers you can order around! I am busy at work and—” My tirade was interrupted when De Luca burst into laughter, his entire torso shaking. My finger sagged a bit but remained pointed at him, and I fought the ridiculous urge to laugh myself.
“Strippers! Jeff—did you hear that?” Jeff started to smile, and I turned with a snap and shot him the stoniest glare I could. His smile faded but stayed in his eyes. They’re laughing at me. Dammit. I don’t care if he is a partner in the law firm that my future is riding on, I—
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I take all the new interns out. Ask Todd. We went out as a group last week, but Broward had you stuck in preparation for that boring-as-hell mediation that he flopped at. I’ve taken that Asian intern out three times, for Christ’s sake—what’s his name—Anton Wu? Something like that. So, despite what you think of me, I am just trying to give you the same courtesy I give all the interns—the pleasure of my company and infinite knowledge.” He raised both hands in a “trust me I’m innocent” gesture. His cocky smile infuriated me, but my balloon of propriety had deflated.
I stared at him, thinking. My ego, brain and mouth were all totally confused. My headache screamed silently at me, making it even harder to reason. My shoulders finally slumped. “Really?”
He grinned out at me. “Really.”
“Okay,” I said glumly, getting into the car.
Jeff closed the door once my legs were safely inside. He hummed a little tune as he returned to his rightful place in the front seat. I wanted to smack him. I dreaded doing so, but turned and tried, rather unsuccessfully, to smile at De Luca and convince him to forget the little hissy fit that had just occurred.
He didn’t bite.
He relaxed in the car beside me, such a large man that he took up a seat and a half without really meaning to. He looked at me with interest, studying me. I tried to sit as close to the other door as possible without making it obvious. I could feel myself beginning to have trouble breathing again. Damn this man. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and the silence was starting to get uncomfortable, at least for me. He didn’t seem anything other than totally at ease.
“Are we going to OfficeMax?” I finally said.
“No.”
“What about the...cable port thingy?”
“We are going to Centaur. For lunch.”
“I told you I didn’t want to go to lunch. Do you just take everything you want?” As soon as the words popped out, I wished I could take them back. Firm partner, Julia. Remember that, for God’s sake!
