want to get involved with anyone at work. It’s too complicated.” I thought of De Luca and my face flushed.
Olivia caught the tell. “What? What is it?”
I told her about De Luca, Broward’s warning and today’s interchange. She started to giggle and then clamped a hand over her mouth at my glare.
“It’s not funny,” I hissed.
“Oh, come on! It is funny! You trotted in there thinking that he would bend over backward to woo you, like every other guy you come across. Instead he gave you a menial task and sent you on your way!” She smiled affectionately at me, and patted my arm. “It’s okay, Jules. Not everyone is susceptible to your charms.”
I shrugged and was on the verge of a witty comeback when a server materialized at our table with two martini glasses filled with blue, glowing liquid. “Ladies, these drinks are from the table by the stage.” He deposited the drinks in front of us and disappeared before we had time to formulate a response. I drew my blue martini close and tried to glance discreetly over my shoulder. Three suits by the stage nodded and raised their drinks. I gave them a quick smile and turned back to Olivia.
“What do you think?”
Olivia leaned to the side and spoke over the sugary rim of her new drink.
“Fairly cute. They look successful, a little old.”
“How old?”
“Umm...late twenties? Maybe even thirty.” She said thirty as if it was ancient. Which, for us, it was.
“Any wedding rings?”
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