Champagne Kisses (6 page)

Chapter 8

“I
look forward to meeting with you. Ha! Yes, I’ll pack my golf clubs. You’re past due for a whipping on the green. All right then, goodbye.” Donovan stood as he placed the phone back on the cradle. “Good morning,” he said with his hand outstretched, his tone clipped and businesslike.

“Good morning.” Marissa stood and clasped his hand.

And there was that jolt of electricity again.

“Ooh! I must have…rubbed my heel against the carpet.”

Donovan quickly removed his hand and walked back behind his desk. He was not at all happy at his body’s reaction to seeing Marissa this morning, or at her audacity to look so delicious.
This is work; not a fashion show!
“I see there’s one thing I forgot to mention,” he said as they both retook their seats. “Initially, you’ll be spending a lot of time retrieving information from stored boxes and then schlepping those files containing the information here to be inputted into our database. Did you pack anything more casual?”
Plain, dowdy, loose-fitting, something that doesn’t hug your curves like a sports car?

Marissa looked down at her dress as though she’d forgotten what she was wearing. It had taken her more than an hour to decide on what she thought was a simple yet becoming navy dress and three-inch pumps; she’d felt they looked appropriately serious with her hair pulled back in a plain ponytail, with a couple tendrils kept loose near the sides of her head and the nape of her neck. “I packed a couple pairs of jeans for after hours,” she responded. “And flats for when I wasn’t on the job.”

“This morning, I’ll give you an overview of what will be happening during your time here, show you around the office, let you see where you’ll be working. After lunch, you’ll want to change into something more comfortable—” immediately Donovan’s mind went somewhere it shouldn’t “—into something that you won’t mind getting dirty.”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” Donovan paused, wishing he could think of some other reason to chide her. As long as he was putting her in her place, he figured he could forget about putting her in his bed; the singular thought that had occupied his conscience since they’d last met. “Why don’t we start by introducing you around.”

For the next half an hour, Marissa met those in the sales area where she’d be doing some of her work and was also shown the break room, bathroom, lounge and gym. After that, Donovan left her—translated, dumped her off—with Diamond’s assistant, Kathleen Fitzpatrick, who had graciously delayed her vacation by one day to familiarize Marissa with the system used companywide. Tomorrow, a representative from the new program that had been installed would walk her through how to transfer the data. After her working lunch, where Kathleen continued to show Marissa the straightforward yet multilayered program, Marissa changed from dress to jeans, and she spent the afternoon in the storage room amid thousands of files recently received from Asia. That’s where Donovan found her around six o’clock.

Or rather her booty, because that’s what his eyes zoomed in on as he rounded the corner, pushed against the pulled-to-but-not-shut door in the files room and saw her. She’d emptied a box and had set up some type of system on the floor by which she was organizing the papers inside. At the time, he’d thought it a good idea to get her out of that mouthwatering navy number, to suggest she lose her heels and choose something more suited for the task at hand. But he didn’t know that she’d look as sexy in a pair of black jeans, a printed cotton top and a pair of wedge-style black sandals as she did in the dress. He watched her and noted how when concentrating her brow furrowed slightly and she nibbled on her lip in a way that he’d like to. He felt himself getting warm and growing hard, and his admiration quickly turned to irritation. He didn’t have time to be ogling the help. He wasn’t at all interested in pursuing a relationship and, since her boss was his brother-in-law, didn’t think he’d score so well with a one-night stand. No, he had to stay in firm and absolute control of this situation; be the boss in every way possible.
Yes, that’s right. You’re the boss. You’re the one in control here.
If he repeated this mantra long enough, maybe it would come true.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, his voice coming out harder than he intended.

Marissa jumped. “Oh! I didn’t hear you walk up.” She got up from her crouched position and smoothed an errant strand of curly black hair that had escaped the clasp. “I know it looks like a mess now, but there’s a method to my madness.”

“I’m sure there is, and first thing tomorrow morning will be time enough to get back at it. We don’t want to overwork you.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble at all. Actually, I’m one of those rare ones who actually likes to organize, make sense out of mayhem. I’m almost done with this box and would like to finish it before I leave. No more than half an hour and I’ll be out.”

Donovan continued to stand there, wrestling with his edict to stay in control and with how juvenile it would seem to demand that she leave, that she not finish a project. How stupid would that sound? “I think tomorrow will be soon enough to finish the task.”

Marissa looked at Donovan a long moment before delivering a short, clipped “okay.” She reached for her purse on top of a file cabinet and walked past him—head high and booty swaying—down the hall and around the corner.

Damn! Why’d you do that? Why can’t you keep it together with that chick?
Donovan walked into Marissa’s temporary world. He looked around at the neat stacks, some topped with sticky notes designating what needed to go where, along with the information to be inputted and in what order. Her handwriting was smooth and deliberate, like her, with no extraneous curlicues or stars for dots. Upon closing his eyes, he realized he could still smell her perfume, something fruity yet floral. Eyes still closed, he saw that look she’d given him before hurriedly exiting the room. What was that in her eyes? Anger? Chagrin, surely. But…there was something else. Leaving the room and closing the door behind him, Donovan figured it was anyone’s guess what was on the mind of Marissa Hayes. His mind though? Simple. Her. If Donovan was going to survive the next two weeks, he was going to have to do something about it.

* * *

Nothing like a family dinner to get your mind on other things. At least this was Donovan’s thought as he entered the sprawling main house that made up the Drake estate. In addition to the home where his grandparents lived, there were also two guesthouses, a pool house and stables on the other side of their private pond. He was more than happy with his La Jolla spread and the privacy it afforded, but there were times when he missed the camaraderie that came with the entire Drake clan living under one roof.

“Dang, man. What’s wrong with you?”

Missing the nosiness? Not so much. “Who said anything’s wrong?” Donovan passed Dexter and entered a cozy room off of the den that was mostly used to pass time, sip wine and discuss whatever. There was a bottle of one of the vineyard’s exclusive wines, PNDO—Pinot Noir Drake Original—resting on the counter. “This was left over from the wedding?”

Dexter nodded. “We have five bottles that can now be imbibed at will.”

“Make sure they don’t all end up in your wing.”

“My product, my prerogative.” Dexter walked over to the counter and poured two glasses of the deep maroon-colored liquid. He gave one of the large wineglasses to Donovan. “So,” Dexter said, having chosen not to use the aerator in favor of slowly swirling the wine, “was that Jackson’s assistant I saw walking from the offices to the hotel suites?” Donovan nodded. “What’s she doing here?”

“She’s helping me with the Asian database project.”

“So what has you in this sour mood?” Dexter asked, his eyes twinkling because he thought he already knew the answer. “The ramp-up or the fine
rump
on that sister helping you get the work done?”

“Marissa’s attractive, but it’s not her looks I’m interested in, it’s her skill set.”

“Hmm. Then I guess she’s not too happy about that.”

Donovan took a drink, tried to act nonchalant. “How you figure?”

“Because I saw her leaving the office. She too had quite the scowl on her face. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say it was a lover’s quarrel.”

“But you do know me better. And you know that sleeping with every skirt that passes is your thing.”

“Then what happened?”

“She wanted to keep working,” Donovan said with a shrug. “I told her to call it a day.”

Dexter’s wineglass stopped in midair. “What? Mr. Workaholic himself told someone else to clock out?” Dexter walked over to one of two tufted leather chairs and took a seat. “She must be really getting to you. Got you so out of sorts that at a time when we’re trying to pack forty-eight hours of work into twenty-four-hour days, you’re forcing someone to knock off early. I can understand though. The sister’s beautiful—nice face, tight body. Who knows. I might even—”

“Don’t even go there, Dex.”

“What? If you’re not interested then why can’t I sample the goods? You say she’s going to be here for how long?”

“For the time that our sister and her boss are on their honeymoon.”

“Oh, right. Her working with Boss could be a complication. You know, for when I get tired of her and all and she begs me not to leave her.” Dexter shrugged. Donovan scowled. “But she’s grown. Anything the two of us did would have to be by mutual consent, believe that.”

“Stay away from her, Dex. She doesn’t need somebody like you messing with her head.”

“One, how do you know what she needs? And two, what makes you think that her head is what I want to mess with?”

In an uncharacteristic show of anger, Donovan was in Dexter’s face in two seconds flat. “Leave her alone,” he growled, his finger in a calm and somewhat bemused Dexter’s face. “I mean it. She is off-limits. Don’t make me—”

“I thought I—” Genevieve rounded the corner and stopped short. The brothers tried to act casual—Dexter slowly sipping his wine, Donovan looking out the window, his hands stuffed in his pockets—but the tension in the room could be cut with a Samurai sword…maybe. Genevieve didn’t seem fazed. “Who stole whose marbles?” she dryly asked, a question she’d often posed to the men when they were boys.

Dexter walked over to his mom and enveloped her in a bear hug.

“Get off me, boy!” Genevieve’s laughter belied the gruffness of her tone. “Trying to divert my attention. I heard y’all arguing.”

“Naw, just schooling your son on the world of women—”

“What’s for dinner?” Donovan’s desire to change the subject was about as subtle as a preacher in a playboy club. He went to Genevieve’s other side and the two men walked with their mother toward the dining room.

“Smells like roast,” Genevieve said in a serious tone. “But sounds like chicken. You boys finish up whatever you were
discussing.
Dinner is in five minutes.”

“Whoa, man,” Dexter said after making sure their mother was no longer in the hall. “I was messing with you, just jerking your chain. Calm down!” He watched Donovan finish a half a glass of wine in one swallow. “I’m sorry, man. You’re really feeling her, aren’t you?”

“I shouldn’t be. Situation’s dicey, timing’s all wrong.”

“What’s the situation?”

“Not sure,” Donovan said, shaking his head. “But it has something to do with a former male friend who she swears is not an ex but who has her skittish about getting involved with anyone. Of course, that could be her excuse for not getting involved with me, but that’s what she told me. Then there’s the matter of her working for Boss. If we started dating and then broke up that could be uncomfortable.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that, man. We’ve got to live each day to the fullest and let the chips fall where they may. I say you should go after her. She’ll be here what, two weeks?”

Donovan did a mental calculation. “As of tomorrow, because the Fourth falls on a Friday, nine days.”

“Then I’d say you’ve got nine days to get in those panties.”

“Dexter…”

“I’m just saying, brother. That’s a whole bunch of badonkadonk right there. Shame to let all that go to waste.”

“There you go again, man.”

“What? I’m just saying.”

“Well quit saying. And quit looking, too. Marissa Hayes is off-limits. You got it?”

Dexter nodded. “Got it.”

“Good. Let’s go eat.”

Chapter 9

T
wo hours of shopping and a whole medium pizza later, Marissa was slightly less angry than she’d been three hours ago. Just who did Donovan Drake think he was to order her off the job like a ten-year-old? When Marissa Hayes started a job, she finished it or at least she left it at a sensible point for her to begin the next day. After an afternoon of familiarizing herself with the file’s contents and their office’s system and then finally creating a structure that would work for expedient input of the material into a database, she’d just hit her stride and had actually begun enjoying her work. So much so that there had been a smile on her face and a song in her heart at just around six o’clock, just around the time she’d looked around, figured another hour or so would set her up perfectly for the following day. And then he had to come through, with his scowl and Donovan Downer personality and mess up her day.
Ugh!

By the time Marissa’s phone rang, she’d become angry all over again. “Hey, Mom.”

“Oh, goodness.” Yolanda Hayes’s perpetually calm voice flowed through the phone and brought a bit of peace to the storm. “Someone’s unhappy.”

Marissa rolled her eyes.
You think?
Yolanda Hayes was truly a wonderful woman whom Marissa loved very much. As mother-daughter relationships went, theirs was a close one. But in Marissa’s twenty-nine years on the planet, she could count her mother’s bad days on one hand. To her knowledge, there had been three: when she found out about the scandal involving her husband’s minister-friend; when she put Nippy, the family’s beloved thirteen-year-old cocker spaniel, to sleep; and the day that Marissa’s grandfather had died and joined his wife in the hereafter. In Marissa’s eyes, her mother had always been this perfect soul, the epitome of womanhood, the type of person that Marissa could never live up to. It didn’t matter that Yolanda was not perfect and would never expect her daughter to be; it was the fact that in Marissa’s mind Yolanda Hayes was flawless and would be devastated to learn about some of Marissa’s past actions. For these reasons, Marissa tried to swallow her anger and put some sugar in her voice.