Conflict of Interest

Bits & Bytes: Book 1

Allyson Lindt

Published 2013

ISBN: 978-1-93176-185-7

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2013, Allyson Lindt. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Kenzie propositions a sexy stranger in a coffee shop to prove to herself she’s capable of taking a risk. She doesn’t expect him to be sitting across from her the following Monday as her newest client. Even worse, she can’t stop thinking about what might have happened between them on a personal level if it weren’t for their professional relationship. He knows how to push her buttons, and she doesn’t want him to stop.

Scott has built his software company from the ground up to escape things like stuffy old men telling him how to behave, so he loathes his board of directors ordering him to make the public forget he doesn’t have a verbal filter. When his new publicity manager is the almost-fling he never expected to see again, he seizes the opportunity to have fun and still pretend he’s complying with the board’s edict.

Giving in to desire could mean both their jobs, but each “one last time” always leads to another. Now they have to decide what they’re willing to sacrifice to indulge this conflict of interest.

Dedication

For my eternal dragon.

Acknowledgements

So many people made this possible—it’s never been a solo journey. First and most important is my muse, my soul mate, and my partner in everything, Ay.

Then there are my amazing and patient critique partners and beta readers. Janeal and Rae—who put up pretty much non-stop with my insanity, bolster my ego, and tell me when I can do it and when I can’t.

Kathryn and Leela Lou, for helping me recognize the ins and outs of this story. I’m glad I found them, and I’m never letting them go.

Dustin, who always asks if I’m still writing.

Breanna, Kate, Laura, Cathy, Mires, Amber, Fadz, Jeff, Jace—and absolutely everyone who’s ever read my work on writing.com. That list alone could go on for pages. Their encouragement drove me through the highs and lows of learning to tell a story.

And my amazing publisher—including everyone there—for giving me the opportunity to realize a dream. For seeing things in my story I worried only I would see, and for helping it become more than I ever could have hoped for. Thank you to all of you and everyone else I’ve encountered on this journey. Things are only getting started.

Kenzie’s sneakers echoed on the pavement, slapping hard with each angry step as she stormed away from her condo. The early morning sun struck her back as it crested the mountains, but it couldn’t chase away her wounded irritation.

There were times when Kenzie envied her sister’s ability to slide into new relationships. Admired the way Riley always found the guys who knew how to have fun. Wished she could let loose like her twin.

Those times never corresponded with Riley showing up on her doorstep at midnight, cheeks smeared with tears and mascara, bags in hand and looking for a place to crash. Even worse, last night Riley had refused to talk about what had driven her from her boyfriend’s apartment.

Kenzie didn’t even know where she was going, just away from home. Away from the vitriol that was Riley’s pissy mood.

An hour ago Kenzie had tried to dig for more information. To help. To nudge Riley into spilling what had gone wrong and maybe offer a little advice in return. Her reward? Insults. An attack on Kenzie’s very person.

Riley’s words echoed in Kenzie’s thoughts, taunting her in rhythm with each frustrated step. Kenzie wasn’t frigid. She’d been the one to leave her last boyfriend for not being able to deliver on the excitement. Just because she was picky about the men she dated didn’t mean she was uptight. Refusing to go out with anyone who thought chartreuse was a flavor of frozen yogurt didn’t make her a horrid person.

And preferring her men clean and publicly presentable didn’t mean she lacked imagination.

Her steps slowed, and she stepped out of the flow of light foot traffic, using a nearby wall for support. Gawd, she really was everything Riley had accused her of. She leaned the back of her head against the brick, staring past the one-and two-story buildings lining the street, absentmindedly watching the pillows of clouds drifting through the sky.

A rich hint of fresh coffee dragged her from her descent into self-pity. Her favorite place was right around the corner. She pushed away from the wall. She could stop in, grab a cup of tea, and focus on all the ways her love life wasn’t pathetic. First way was… Nope, total blank.

Okay, that was a failed exercise.

She pushed into the shop. From the outside it was tiny, tucked away, and had very little parking. But inside painted a different picture. An eclectic collection of furniture dotted the room, almost every seat occupied. Wood stairs led to a loft above half the room, and there had to be at least as many people up there.

Kenzie took her place in line. At least it was moving quickly, even if there were people pressing in on her from all sides. When she reached the front counter, glass cases filled with pastries mocked her. She dismissed the urge to try the plum tart—indulging a sugar craving wasn’t the way to sate her wounded ego—and ordered a large peppermint tea.

She grabbed her drink and scanned the crowded room for a place to sit and sip. Not a single unoccupied table, but three had available seats. A woman sat at the first, trying to force-feed the baby in her lap a pacifier while Mom sucked on a latte. At the second, two teenage boys stared at their phones, their only verbal conversation the occasional laughter as they smacked each other on the arm.

Then there was the scenery at table three.

The man with a shock of brown, spiked hair, broad shoulders, and a tattered T-shirt that looked like it had seen one too many accidental bleachings dominated a table in the corner of the room, one of the few empty chairs sitting next to him. The clothes made him look twenty, but he held himself with a confidence that made her think he was actually older than her twenty-six.

She had no idea who he was, but she saw him almost every weekend, and she’d used the fact that he was frequently engrossed in something on his phone or some game device as an excuse to study him without getting caught staring.

What’s keeping you from approaching him?
The question taunted her in Riley’s voice. It wasn’t like she was shy.

The answer was painfully obvious. It wasn’t appropriate. Women didn’t hit on random men in coffee shops.

Except Riley would. Hell, Riley would have had his number weeks ago, and probably been living with him just a few days later.

Kenzie took a deep breath. That meant she could at least strike up a conversation and see where things went from there.

She approached the empty spot before she could talk herself out of it and forced confidence into her voice. “Excuse me.”

“Hmm?” He barely moved his head, immersed in something on his phone.

“Is this seat taken?”

He pulled his attention away from the screen long enough to let his gaze rake over her. A flicker of a smile tugged up the corner of his mouth before he turned back to the phone. “It is now, help yourself.”

Those eyes were gorgeous; her breath caught at the deep brown. But just as quickly, he’d hidden them again. This wasn’t quite going like she thought it should. Not that she had any idea how it should go. She’d never played the role of aggressor before, but she was already realizing it was easier to be the one doing the turning down than the one doing the asking.

“Do you come here often?” She winced at the pathetic line the moment it was out.

He spared her another glance, laughter dancing on his face. “Probably at least as often as you.”

And that was it. He was buried in his distraction again.

How embarrassing. She exhaled. This wasn’t worth the effort, but it would look awkward if she left so soon. She should at least use the seat she’d secured. Grabbing her phone, she pulled up the book she’d been in the middle of and tried to lose herself in the pages while she drank her tea.

Background noise screamed around her, and she pushed it aside. A creeping heat flooded her face as something tickled her senses. Was someone watching her? She looked up, startled to see the man across from her glancing between the phone and her.

*

She shifted her attention from her book—Scott assumed it was a book since she was staring at a white screen with lots of black letters. Her piercing blue eyes were curious, and a hard line disrupted the swelling in her flushed lips. It was time to forget the game he’d been testing for work.

He’d noticed her before. The long legs, narrow waist, and round ass accentuated her jeans the way the over-priced designer had intended, and the entire package was always nice to look at. But the fact that her wardrobe screamed “I don’t mind overpaying for a label” reminded him of too many women he’d dated who preferred his wallet to his company.

“Is there something wrong?” She stared back, face quirked in question.

He’d been surprised and curious when she’d approached, and amused by the hesitation coming from a woman who held herself with so much confidence. It was a shame she’d let the conversation die when he went to save his game, and he was hoping to reinitiate it. Find out more about this potential dichotomy.

“Nope.” He met her steady gaze, keeping his tone even but not able to hide all his amusement. “Just wondering something.”

She ducked her head, gaze falling to his hand before it quickly jumped back to his face. “What’s that?”

The flush on her cheeks was enticing. How much redder could he make her go before she slapped him? Or let him brush his mouth over hers. Right, like that would happen in a million years. He nodded at her phone. “How contrived their happily ever after is.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Yup, she was going to slap him. Or at least grind her heel into his toes. Thank the open-source gods she wore sneakers and not heels.

“The big tough hero and his dainty mistress.” He knew better than to assume, but that had never stopped him in the past, and everything about her, from the way she’d folded a napkin on her knee to the ponytail that didn’t look like it would budge even with a solid, impassioned tug, screamed repressed. “Is he a duke? Or maybe she’s a stripper with a heart of gold?” One of his two best friends, Rae, was forever losing herself in romance novels. He adored her, but never understood her fascination with the subject. Reality wasn’t happily ever after.

His tablemate rolled her eyes and slid the phone across the table. “He’s a teenager who was psychologically tortured by Homeland Security for more than a week, and she’s helping him get back at ‘the man.’”

That sounded familiar. He tapped the screen to bring up the book information.
Little Brother
. His smile turned genuine. “My mistake. Good book, I won’t spoil the ending.”

The ambivalence in her half-formed smile stole his next breath. Her tone was dry. “I appreciate it. Sorry to disappoint you, but bad euphemisms aren’t my thing.”

This was fun. He bit back a smirk. “Really? Sacred vees and turgid manhood—or is it manhoods, plural? Or maybe that’s a different kind of story. That doesn’t do anything for you?”

She dropped the phone into her purse, mouth still twitching in indecision. Damn that was a good look for her.

“Not on paper.” She ran a tongue over her bottom lip before catching it between her teeth.

He wouldn’t mind giving that a try. Nipping at that full almost-pout. His pulse sped up at the banter. He pushed his game aside and leaned in, fingers clasped and hands resting on the table. He was going to enjoy this for as long as she wanted to keep it up. The last couple of women he’d been with—hell, even his last couple of girlfriends before that—had been more giggle than brain. Cared more about how they looked on his arm than what he had to say.

He was sick of fake girls only interested in his money. This woman though, she radiated intelligence, genuineness, and had no idea who he was. “They were wrong. It’s not more fun than a gorgeous woman.”

“They?” Her flush spread to her neck.

Long, slender. What would it be like to run his tongue along that slope? “Marketing. They’re making promises they can’t keep.” He pushed his half-eaten donut aside. Her bold responses mingled with the hesitation and embarrassment flushing her pale skin, all of it short circuiting his thoughts. And he wanted more. “So you’d rather the exploration of honeyed walls took place real time.”