About That Fling
Authors: Tawna Fenske
PRAISE FOR TAWNA FENSKE
MAKING WAVES
Nominated for Contemporary Romance of the Year, 2011 Reviewers’ Choice Awards
–RT Book Reviews
“Fenske’s wildly inventive plot and wonderfully quirky characters provide the perfect literary antidote to any romance reader’s summer reading doldrums.”
–The Chicago Tribune
“A zany caper . . . Fenske’s off-the-wall plotting is reminiscent of a tame Carl Hiaasen on Cupid juice.”
–Booklist
“This delightfully witty debut will have readers laughing out loud.”
–
4-1/2 Stars,
RT Book Reviews
“[An] uproarious romantic caper. Great fun from an inventive new writer; highly recommended.”
–
Starred review,
Library Journal
“This book was the equivalent of eating whipped cream—sure it was light and airy, but it is also surprisingly rich.”
–
Smart Bitches Trashy Books
BELIEVE IT OR NOT
“Fenske hits all the right humor notes without teetering into the pit of slapstick in her lighthearted book of strippers, psychics, free spirits and an accountant.”
–
RT Book Reviews
“Snappy, endearing dialogue and often hilarious situations unite the couple, and Fenske proves to be a romance author worthy of a loyal following.”
–Starred review,
Booklist
“Fenske’s sophomore effort is another riotous trip down funny bone lane, with a detour to slightly askew goings on and a quick u-ey to out-of-this-world
romance. Readers
will be enchanted by this bewitching fable from a wickedly wise author.”
–
Library Journal
“Sexually charged dialogue and steamy make-out scenes will keep readers turning the pages.”
–
Publishers Weekly
FRISKY BUSINESS
“Up-and-coming romance author Fenske sets up impeccable internal and external conflict and sizzling sexual tension for a poignant love story between two engaging characters, then infuses it with witty dialogue and lively humor. An appealing blend of lighthearted fun and emotional tenderness.”
–
Kirkus Reviews
“Fenske’s fluffy, frothy novel is a confection made of colorful characters, compromising situations and cute dogs. This one’s for readers who prefer a tickled funny bone rather than a tale of woe.”
–
RT Book Reviews
“Loaded with outrageous euphemisms for the sex act between any type of couple and repeated near intimate misses, Fenske’s latest is a clever tour de force on finding love despite being your own worst emotional enemy. Sweet and slightly oddball, this title belongs in most romance collections.”
–
Library Journal
“
Frisky Business
has all the ingredients of a sparkling romantic comedy—wickedly clever humor, a quirky cast of characters and, most of all, the crazy sexy chemistry between the leads.
–New York Times
and
USA Today
Bestselling Author Lauren Blakely
A
lso by
T
awna
F
enske
Making Waves
Believe It Or Not
Getting Dumped
Eat, Play, Lust
(Novella)
The Great Panty Caper
(Novella)
Marine for Hire
Frisky Business
Fiancée for Hire
Best Man for Hire
Protector for Hire
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2015 Tawna Fenske
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of
Amazon.com
, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503944268
ISBN-10: 1503944263
Cover design by Shasti O’Leary-Soudant / SOS CREATIVE LLC
For anyone who’s survived a divorce or bad breakup and come out on the other end bruised and weary, but smarter, tougher, more self-aware, and above all, hopeful.
C
ontents
C
hapte
r
O
ne
Jenna McArthur wrapped her lips in a tight “O” around the slender shaft, sliding it back along her tongue as she gently began to suck.
She drew back with a sigh, choking a little on a mouthful of Diet Coke as she reread the note she’d pulled from her lunch bag.
Visualize your inner sex god
dess today, sweetheart!
Love, Aunt Gertie
Jenna slid the little neon pink card into the small pocket on the back of her iPhone case and toed off her high heels beneath the desk.
I gave it my best shot, Gert,
Jenna mused as she unpacked the rest of her insulated lunch tote.
Performing fellatio on a soft drink may not have been the best starting point.
She pulled out a menagerie of glass containers with bright plastic lids, followed by a napkin edged with hand-stitched lace.
“God bless you, Aunt Gertie,” Jenna said aloud, eyeing her aunt’s homemade fettuccine in red pepper cream sauce, garlic rosemary focaccia, fresh strawberries hand-dipped in chocolate—
“Jenna, I’m so glad I caught you.”
She looked up to see the public relations director hovering in the doorway. Marie clasped her hands at her waist the way she did when trying to avoid biting her nails or punching someone in the face.
So much for my peaceful lunch,
Jenna thought as she set down her fork. “Marie, what can I help you with?”
“Have you seen the headlines?” Marie stepped into the room and glanced behind her as though expecting a swarm of rabid journalists armed with sharp pencils and sharper machetes. She pushed the door shut and seated herself at the edge of the chair in front of Jenna’s desk.
“I haven’t touched the newspaper yet today,” Jenna said. “I’ve been in meetings all morning. What’s up?” She made a discreet attempt to shove her feet back in her shoes but only managed to wedge the left one awkwardly on her right foot. Marie didn’t seem to notice.
“The landfill discovered a bunch of medical waste. Dirty gauze, bloody surgical tubing, that sort of thing.”
Jenna glanced at her container of fettuccine tangled in a sea of luscious red sauce and pushed it aside. “The medical waste is ours?”
Marie nodded. “The Belmont Health System logo was all over everything.”
“We have procedures in place for medical waste disposal. What the hell is going on?”
“Off the record?”
“Marie, I’m the Chief Relations Officer, not a reporter. My job isn’t to broadcast our problems, it’s to fix them.”
Or to sweep them under the rug like I always do
, she thought grimly.
“Right.” Marie bit her lip and leaned closer. “Well, rumor has it some vigilante members of the nurses’ union are doing it on purpose. You know, to get a bunch of scandalous headlines in the paper so the public pays attention to what’s going on with the contract negotiations.”
Jenna felt her temples start to throb. “Find out if it’s true. In the meantime, tell any reporters we’re reviewing the purchase of an on-site unit for medical waste incineration. It would save up to sixty thousand a year and improve efficiency by forty-three percent.”
“Really?” Marie stood up and smoothed her skirt. “Okay, I’m on it.”
“And find out who the hell is trying to make us look bad,” Jenna called as Marie marched out the door.
Alone with her lunch again, Jenna reached for the Caesar salad. It was drizzled with her aunt’s homemade dressing and dotted with croutons she’d helped Gertie bake the night before. She should probably run down the hall and heat up the focaccia bread, but with her luck—
“Jenna, I’m glad I caught you.”
She sighed and set down the salad. “Jon, what can I do for you?”
The CEO folded himself into the same chair Marie had just vacated and thumped his briefcase down on Jenna’s desk. He popped it open and pulled out a sheaf of paperwork, giving Jenna a clear view of the risqué-looking paperback beneath it.
Panty Dropper
by G.G. Buckingham.
Jenna grimaced and forced her attention back to the CEO.
“It looks like the nurses are getting serious about striking,” he said, waving the papers at her. “We have to avoid this.”
“We have to avoid the ugly verbal battles around the bargaining table,” she said, trying not to let her gaze drop to the dog-eared novel in the briefcase. “That’s not helping.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘ugly,’ exactly. Let’s not take things out of context.”
“Brett Lombard told you to shove the proposal up your ass, and you retorted that his mama got there first. In what context would that be a form of respectful discourse?”
The CEO frowned. “Fine, it wasn’t our best moment of communication. Moving on—” he paused, flipping through the paperwork. “We’ve had complaints from the cafeteria staff about some of our purchasing decisions. Take organic produce, for instance. Apparently five percent of domestically grown romaine lettuce carries salmonella and shigella.”
“Okay,” Jenna said, frowning down at her salad. “So we’ll have them buy produce from another vendor.”
“The union is pointing to this as an indication of unsafe practices and unsanitary working conditions. They say if we don’t negotiate different contracts for—”
A knock at the door snapped Jenna’s attention to the front of her office. She looked up to see her elderly aunt peering into the room.
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Gertie said, reaching up to smooth her cotton-white perm. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, sweetie. I thought you’d be on your lunch break.”
The CEO stood up and beamed. “Gertrude. So good to see you again. How’s the hip?”
“Wonderful, Jon, thank you for asking.”
“I know those medical bills were a challenge. If there’s anything I can do—”
“Oh, that’s so sweet of you,” Gert interrupted, reaching out to pat the CEO’s arm. “But don’t you worry. I found a way to manage and everything’s just wonderful. I actually just finished my physical therapy and stopped by to ask Jenna a question, but I’ll skedaddle and let you finish your meeting.”
“Nonsense,” the CEO said. “I shouldn’t be interrupting her lunch anyway. We can finish another time.”
He reached for his briefcase, and Jenna watched as Aunt Gertie’s gaze fell to the cover of the novel. Gert’s eyebrows lifted, and Jenna felt her stomach clench as a satisfied little smile crossed Aunt Gertie’s face.
The CEO saw it, too, and offered up an awkward chuckle. “Yeah, I know. The wife stuck it in there this morning and told me I should read it. Apparently it’s a big runaway summer hit.”
“Erotic romance is certainly popular these days,” Gertie said, nodding pleasantly. “Are you enjoying it?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Delightful!” Gertie said, folding her hands together and flashing a cherubic smile. “Give Sharon my regards, will you?”
“Absolutely.” The CEO shoved the papers back in his briefcase, and Jenna felt a flood of relief. He tucked the briefcase under one arm and turned back to her. “I’ll catch up with you later. By the way, have you met the new HR manager?”
“No, not yet,” Jenna said. “I didn’t even realize you’d made the final hiring decision.”
“I’ll introduce you next week. She’s bringing in a mediator to work with the bargaining team. One of those woo-woo types specializing in positive communication and labor relations. There’s a meeting Monday.”
“I’ll have Sally add it to my calendar.”
Jon nodded, then turned and sauntered from the room. Jenna smiled at Gertie and gestured to the empty chair. “Have a seat.”
“I don’t want to bother you, sweetie. I was just in the neighborhood.”
“Trust me, you’re the most welcome sight I’ve had all day. Well, next to your fennel root tart,” she added, popping the lid off another Tupperware container. “This looks incredible.”
“I made the crust from scratch last night.”
“It looks fabulous. Thank you so much for lunch, Aunt Gertie.”
“My pleasure, dear.”
“So what did you need to ask me?”
Gertie reached into her handbag and pulled out a little notepad with daisies on the cover. “I was working on my grocery list while I waited for my PT appointment. Do you think you’ll be home for dinner?”
“Probably not. I’m meeting Mia at the wine bar. It’s my duty to drink her share now that she’s pregnant.”
“Give her a big hug for me. I’ve been knitting some booties for her baby.”
“She’ll love that.”
Gertie cleared her throat and glanced down at her notepad. “Tell me, sweetie, do you think ‘man root’ should be one word or two?”
Jenna pushed aside the fennel root tart and closed her eyes. “Is that your grocery list, Aunt Gertie?”
“Right—yes right, of course. The grocery list.”
Jenna pressed two fingers to her temple, wondering how long she could keep up this charade of pretending not to know how Gert managed to pay all those medical bills. “I suppose it depends on the context, but—”
“She devoured his turgid man root like a succulent piece of fruit covered in chocolate—”
“That’s an awfully long item for a grocery list,” Jenna interrupted, pushing the chocolate-dipped strawberries to the back of her desk. “I think ‘man root’ should be two words.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay then.” Gertie stood up and tucked the notepad back in her purse. “I have to run. Don’t work too hard, sweetie.”
“Thanks, Gertie. I love you.”
“You too, dear,” she said. “Oh, and sweetie? Try to get laid tonight at the wine bar.”
Jenna opened her mouth to reply, but Gertie had already bustled out of the room, the soft scent of lavender sachet trailing behind her.
Jenna surveyed the array of containers and tried to find something appealing. Maybe the focaccia bread—
“Jenna, I’m so glad I caught you—we need to talk about contract negotiations.”
Suppressing a sigh, Jenna set down her bread and looked up to greet the president of the nurses’ union. Remembering Marie’s habit, she clasped her hands on her desk, appreciating the decreased risk of turning to strangulation as a solution.
“How can I help you, Brett?”
He yanked off the scrub mask dangling around his neck and shook his head. “I’ve gotta tell you, things are taking an ugly turn. If this keeps up, our JCAHO scores are going to be in the toilet.” He frowned down at the assortment of containers on Jenna’s desk and shook his head. “Speaking of toilets, the average desk has four hundred times more bacteria than a public bathroom. You really shouldn’t eat lunch in your office.”
Jenna glanced at the knife Gertie had packed, wondering how sharp it was. Then she glanced at the neon pink note she’d tucked in the back of her iPhone case.
Looks like I won’t be embracing my inner sex goddess anytime soon, Aunt Gertie.
She tried not to feel glum about that as she pushed everything aside and slid her hands to her lap.
“I can promise there’s zero risk of me eating anything at my desk. So tell me, Brett, how can I help?”
Adam Thomas walked into The Corkscrew at seven forty-seven. He knew that because he glanced at his watch at least three times en route to the bar.
“Meeting someone?” the bartender asked, wiping down the mahogany surface with a cloth.
“Good guess,” Adam said, laying claim to the lone vacant barstool in the place. “Is it always this packed on a Wednesday night?”
He shrugged. “It’s Portland. A wine bar’s a hot place to be whether you’re having a business meeting or a baby shower. Can I get you a wine list, or do you know what you need?”
“I’m not sure. I just realized I got the time zone wrong and I’m an hour early for my meeting. Maybe I should come back.”
“You meeting a woman?”
“What?”
The bartender nodded toward a bistro table in a darkened corner. “That woman over there said she’s waiting for someone. Thought she might be who you’re meeting.”
Adam studied the slender brunette with glossy, shoulder-length hair and amazing legs. She’d kicked her shoes off under the table and was staring down at her phone with a slight frown. A lock of hair fell over her face, and as she reached up to tuck it behind her ear, Adam felt something twist in his gut.
