Bargaining with the Boss (3 page)

She sighed and slung her workbag over her shoulder. Odds were that Eliza would have already jammed the copier by the time Natalie returned to the office, so she had to get a move

W
hen Natalie trudge
to her desk, fresh off her lunch break, not only was the copier jammed, but so was the printer, and, somehow, the coffee machine. The voicemail box was completely full, and the invoices for this week's shipments were in a jumble atop her desk.

"Frankly, I'm not sure how you managed to do all this in such a short span of time. I've literally never seen anything like it." She glanced from Eliza to the printer and back again, wondering how long it might take before a spark shot out of the machine.

"I have a gift?" Eliza shrugged, then handed her a note. "Oh, this came for you this morning."

Natalie took one look at the handwriting on the envelope, then ripped it in half and tossed it in the trash. On its way down, though, something floated out and Eliza bent down to pick it up.

Damn it.

She should have ripped it into four pieces. Or eight. Maybe then--

"These are tickets to
The Phantom of the Opera
. In New York."

"Probably." It would be like him to send her tickets. And two of them at that. Like he wanted to see her out and about with friends. The irony of it was almost too much to bear.

But if he was sending bigger gifts now, that also meant he was getting desperate.

And he knew where she was.

She shook her head, then tried to swallow fast the fist-sized knot that had formed in her throat. Turning to Eliza, she said, “So, you want to come with me and I'll show you how to--"

Eliza snatched a fragment of the ticket from the trash. "This show has been sold out for a
year.
They're impossible to get."

"Probably." She cleared her throat. Distraction. She had to find a distraction. "The copier is really easy to use. I'll--"

"Who are these
from
?" Eliza reached into the can for another piece, but Natalie snatched the paper and crumpled it before pulling it open and shredding it again.

"I can promise you, the copier is much more interesting. Now follow me." She started off without waiting for Eliza’s response. With any luck, there wouldn't be one.

She wasn't ready to talk about it or
him
any time soon. She needed a decade, maybe two in order to fully process everything. And the idea of people knowing...

She shook her head again. He wasn't going to invade this space.
Her
space. Right now, her only concern was going to be the copier.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and—

Ran straight into something big and hard and warm.

"Resorting to physical violence now, Natalie?" She would have recognized that stupid, deep, mocking voice anywhere.

"Brooks," she muttered, and then brushed off her dress. "You should have been watching where you were going."

"Yes, I should have known you'd run straight into my back. That was my fault. I apologize."

Damn him. Why did he always have to be so...
Urgh.

"Just...watch it next time," she choked out.

"I'll be sure to do that." He gave her a little bow that only increased her urge to kick him in the shin and run away.

She made to move past him, but then he spoke again. "But I'm actually glad I ran into you. Or, you ran into me."

Why did he always do that? Make her think that she could finally get away from him and then reel her back in? Was it some kind of sadistic game or something? Like human fishing?

"Why's that?" She took the bait. Like an idiot.

"I'd like for us to have a meeting. Maybe we could work out some of these differences between us."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, I
am
your boss."

"Sort of." If "boss" meant ruiner of dreams and tormenter of women. Then yes, absolutely, he was her boss. Otherwise? Not so much.

In truth, she worked as Brooks' brother, Garret's executive assistant. And as a general office manager. Sort of like Joan from
Mad Men
but with far less boobs and, she imagined, a whole lot less pay.

Brooks crossed his arms over his chest, making him look even more imposing. "Clearly we have some things to talk about. I have a proposal for you. I'll see you in the conference room at noon."

"And if I don't come?"

"You will." Then he walked away. Like he'd just dropped a mic or something.

She stared after him, slack jawed and wide-eyed. What was with this guy? Did he not know that people didn't act like this? Did he just live in his own little bubble of millionaire entitlement with no recognition of what everyday people—?

"Oh yeah, definitely no sexual tension
there
." Eliza nudged her shoulder. "You were totally right."

"He's just so—"

"I know, I know. Let's just go focus on the copier, huh?"

Sure, she'd focus on the copier, and then she'd spend the rest of her afternoon formulating a battle plan for her meeting with the boss from hell.

B
rooks glanced
toward the wide metal clock at the far end of the conference room. It was three on the dot and he would have bet a million dollars Natalie wouldn't be showing up.

Which, as it happened, was jus fine with him.

He simply had to wait her out. The curiosity alone would be enough to have her crawling over his way, but it wouldn't be for another fifteen or twenty minutes at the least. Just enough time for him to review her files. Or, from her perspective, enough time for him to give up on waiting for her and head back to his office. She probably expected that he'd forget about her and move on, letting her rule the roost of secretaries and assistants the same way she had for the past year.

Which, of course, was what he'd been trying to do for months. But with every day, it became more apparent that he wouldn't able to let that happen any more than he'd be able to stop Garret from nagging him half to death. So, he'd just have to rid himself of Natalie Gains the only way he knew how.

He'd simply have to satisfy his curiosity.

He flipped open the manila folder in front of him. For the most part, her personnel file was clean-—a few incidents with other employees—mostly himself by the looks of it—but that were to be expected with someone as mouthy as Natalie. No, this was no help at all, and his chat with Rachael had helped him even less than that.

She hadn't known a damn thing about Natalie's prior marriages or her history. What kind of family she'd had.

What sort of friendship was that? Unless she was in witness protection which, based on everything he'd been able to find, didn't seen so far from the truth, he couldn't imagine any other reason for her being so secretive.

But there was no denying it. There was something--or maybe a lot of somethings--here he didn't know.

The huge, metal door swung open and he glanced from the clock to a very irritated-looking Natalie.

Three fifteen. Right on schedule.

He grinned, trying to hide his amusement as she huffed a lock of long, dark hair out of her face to glare at him. “Frustration suits you. Please, sit down."

He motioned to the chair across from him. The odd thing was, the red on her cheeks
was
sort of appealing. It brought out the blue of her eyes more than the contrast of her chestnut hair.

Not that he noticed it much.

No, most of his focus was drawn to the tight dress that hugged her every curve like it had been made specifically for her. He'd been thinking about that damn outfit for half the morning, and now that he saw it again, he had to ball his hands into fists to keep from moving closer and running them over the fabric.

"Where's everyone else?" She continued to stand in the doorway, and as she leaned on the heavy metal, her cleavage became even more distinct.

"Please, sit."

"Nope. I'm out."

She made a move to leave, but then he said, "Sit, or you're fired."

She blinked, and then stared at him for a long moment, apparently trying to judge exactly how serious he was. He guessed her job meant more to her than he'd thought, because she closed the door behind her and took her place at the table.

She rapped her talons along the metal table, and then said, "So, blackmail is a new look for you. Is that how you've been getting all your dates?"

He laughed. "That's all my boyish charm and stunning good looks."

"Or your money." She raised her eyebrows.

'That certainly doesn't hurt."

She guffawed, then sat back further in her seat. "So, why am I here?"

"I've got a little problem I think you can help me with."

"Which is?"

"Well, I've got your file here—"

"My
personnel
file? Aren't those confidential?"

"I'm the CEO of this company. It's my right to know who works for me."

"Or you just wanted to paw through my underwear drawer."

"I won't deny that." He winked and she let out a disgusted sigh.

"Just tell me your problem so I can get to actual problems, okay?"

"Like trying to figure out who your secret admirer is? A new bunch of roses everyday? Nice touch."

"What makes you think it's not from an adoring boyfriend?" She said the words coolly, the clearest sign she was lying through her teeth.

"He'd have to be one rich boyfriend to afford all that."

"Maybe he is."

"Maybe he would be if he existed." He lifted a shoulder. "But he doesn't, so that's one less thing to worry about."

"You can't possibly know whether or not I have a boyfriend."

"You mean except for the fact that you never claimed to have one? And that you blush whenever I get too close, which means you haven't been that close to a man in—"

"How
close
I get with men is none of your business. I'm sorry my personal life can't be spread all over page six like yours."

He grinned. "See? That angry snap you've got in you? That's from not having sex in too long."

"Or maybe it's from the blatant sexual harassment."

He spread his hands out in front of him. "I'd say the way you look at me is blatant sexual harassment. You undress me with your eyes whenever we're in the same room. I swear, it feels like you're always trying to guess what color my underwear is. Unless you don't think I'm wearing any." He waggled his eyebrows if only to see if steam might come pouring out of her ears to match the angry red blotches on her cheeks.

"
This
is what you wanted me here for?"

"In a way. I want you here to resolve the clear, palpable sexual tension between us."

"Oh, okay, so should I take my dress off now or should I just lift up my skirt and we can have at?"

He raised his brows and waited for her to respond.

'Wait...are you
serious
?" She pushed out her chair, but he rushed to speak before she resigned herself to leaving.

"It's clearly a problem in our working relationship. I feel the best thing to do is to set up five meetings in which to settle our curiosities and then we can continue on as coworkers."

"Now
this
is blatant sexual harassment."

"No, this is a bargain."

"I don't even like you, what the hell makes you think I want to have sex with you?"

"You think I'm hot." He tried to keep the laugh out of his voice, but it was nearly impossible.

"I do not." Her tone was too shrill for her to be telling the truth, and inside he give himself a little high five.

"Be that as it may, you know that I've had interest in you for quite some time. I'd be interested in satisfying that...curiosity."

"I'm sure you would. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get the hell out of here."

"You haven't even thought about it."

"I don't need to. I'm not interested."

"Now, I know you don't like me, but I never thought you'd stoop so low as to
lie
to me."

Natalie blinked again, her mouth tightening into a little ball beneath her nose. "I'm not lying. And I don't just...just..."

"Sleep with people you barely know?" He offered. That's how she would see it, no doubt. Like an event. Like one of those big, splashy sweaty moments from movies where people wrap around each other and move like slow, hopelessly devoted automatons.

The only problem, of course, was that sex was never actually like that.

At least, it never had been in his experience.

Sex was sweaty and fierce and dirty. There were no longing glances of devotion when he was with a woman. He was all bite and grit and pure desire.

That was what sex was.

And maybe if she understood that, she'd be a little less reluctant to go along with his plan.

At last, Natalie cleared her throat. "I
do
know you, that's the problem. Maybe if I didn't know you—" She stopped, her narrowed eyes widening for a fraction of a moment

He cleared his throat.

Thank god for Freudian slips. "Oh, if you didn't know me you'd sleep with me?"

"That's not what I-—"

"Oh no, it's too late to take it back. You said you would. Which, of course, only proves my point. You and I have some sexual tension issues that need to be resolved. How about this—you try one night with me. I don't have to be me, I can be anyone you want. Hell, I'll even be one of your husbands if you'd like. Give me one of their names. I'd imagine you with a guy named Steve. Any Steves on the list?"

Her cheeks blazed, and the little circle of her mouth scrunched so tight that it was nothing more than a white dot on her face. "Listen to me carefully. I will never sleep with you. Regardless of who you are. Ever."

"What if—"

"Ever." She shot up from her chair so quickly that it knocked over. She didn't bother picking it up, either, she simply marched out without another glance at him.

Her meaning was clear.

If he wanted to get fucked, he could go ahead and fuck himself.

"Just think about it." He shouted, but before he finished, the wide metal door slammed behind her.

That was fine. She could seethe at her desk for a week or a month.

He'd known beyond a shadow of a doubt that she never would have agreed to this deal...at least, not at first.

But the seed of it had been planted in her mind nonetheless. Now when she was sitting at her desk, staring at her mystery flowers, a tiny part of her would be thinking about that offer. Or when she was home tonight, knitting or whatever the hell she did, a part of her would think back on what he'd said.

And with any luck, that iron-clad resolve of hers would wear away bit by bit until she fell into his hands.

It was the perfect plan.

If only he had the patience to follow through. But after seeing the way she'd looked in that barely-there red dress of hers?

There was no doubt that the clock was ticking on both of their resolves.

"
H
e asked
you to do
what
?" Eliza's mouth hung open, the sandwich in her hand flattened by her vice-like grip.

Natalie sipped her guava tea, and then sat it on the table. "I'm definitely not repeating it."

Who knew who could be listening? And if the other women in the office caught wind about what Brooks had offered her...

She imagined a swarm of vultures descending on road kill.

Yep, that's about what it would look like

Eliza glanced around them, and then whispered, "so, you said yes, right?"

"What? No, who the
hell
would say yes to that?" She imagined the vultures again, but shook away the image. Even the women drooling over him on a regular basis had to have more self-respect than to allow themselves to be threatened like that. Or to be his sexual plaything or whatever he had in mind. "He blackmailed me into a meeting where he tried to convince me to have sex with him. Is that your idea of
romance
?"

Eliza spoke, heedless of the wad of turkey sandwich in her mouth. "No, but who said anything about romance? You don't need romance, you need sex."

"I--who said I need sex?" She squeezed her thighs together at the thought. It was true it had been a while—okay, more than a while—since she'd been with a man, but that didn't mean she needed it.

She wanted it, sure.

But didn't everyone?

And didn't everyone think about it five, six, seven times...a minute?

That was normal, right?

Eliza stole a sip from Natalie’s tea, then tilted her head to the side. "Well, I mean, need might be a little strong but..."

She trailed off and Natalie didn't bother to ask her to continue. Maybe if she let it die, the subject would disappear into oblivion. Who knew? If she ignored it hard enough, it was possible Brooks would disappear too.

No such luck, though. Instead, Eliza picked up Natalie's fork and poked her in the forearm with it.

"It might be fu-un." She sing-songed "Just think of it, meeting up late at night in some dive-y bar wearing nothing but a trench coat. Then he'll take you in the back and pin you to the wall and--"

Natalie held up a hand. "I think I've got it. Thanks."

"You'd be able to get out some aggression, that's all. It'll help you relax and--"

"I'll try a punching bag."

"But--"

"Let's just drop it." Natalie snatched the fork back and stabbed at her salad, allowing the silence of the little diner wash over them as they continued their lunch.

Eliza was a kid. She didn't know what it was to be in love to have meaningful sex with someone. Then again, when Natalie'd been in love, she'd been a kid, too. With Jimmy, at least, it had been love. And maybe that had been a very, very long time ago, but after that, what was the purpose of raw, dirty, sweaty, naked...

She squeezed her thighs together again, and then took another big bite of her cold salad.

Okay, maybe she was a little bit...eager to get back in the saddle. But that didn't mean she had to jump on the first person to offer her some. She had options. She was still young.

The TV in the corner of the restaurant blinked onto the news, and she dropped her fork as a picture of Franco, all tan and dark and handsome, blipped onto the screen. He was walking out of some Hollywood clinic, his hand shielding his face from the flashing of the cameras.

"What?" Eliza turned to look at the screen. "Oh, this? It's been my jam all day. It's trending everywhere."

"What are they saying?" Natalie tried to read the captions on the screen, but the TV was too far away for her to make out the words.

"They're saying Gianna is
pregnant
and Franco denies that it's his baby." Eliza shook her head. "They've been saying for years that he's the player type, but he never struck me as a scum bag like that, you know? I guess you just never know with some people."

A baby?

Christ.

"I guess." Natalie pushed her salad away and dropped some money on the table. "Hey, Eliza, I'm not feeling well. Do you care if walk back to the office alone?"

"No, that's fine, but if you have hot sex with Brooks, you have to tell me about it."

Natalie didn't bother dignifying that with a response.