Corporate Fire: Corporate Romance Book 1 (2 page)

Grace stared at the business card without seeing it and then at his eyes, now a cold blue. Her face burned in embarrassment. “I came in early to finish—I said it was good to meet you—I must look like such a fool.” The room blurred into a stream of zeros falling down in rapid succession.

“No, no, not at all. I wish my coworker had half your work ethic.”

“Why? Clearly it doesn't matter. He has a job, and I don't.” Grace's face still burned. She couldn't believe the company she'd dedicated not only her 9-5 but also her evenings and weekends to was getting rid of her.

“I will personally call Terri and let her know how impressed I was with you. She'll get you a job in no time at all.”

Grace blinked repeatedly. She had so misread this guy. Who'd want to go skiing with someone who fired people for a living?

He cleared his throat and said, “I'll need your keycard, please.”

Grace didn't know how long she sat there gaping. It must've been a while because he said, “Keycard?” again. She stood up, reached into her pocket and tossed the key at him before leaving the office, the folder and business card left behind.

2| Leaving

Grace took the few items that belonged to her off her desk and shoved them into her backpack, blinking furiously because she refused to cry in front of everyone. In an act of defiance, she picked up the Coke can Jill had knocked over and emptied the rest of it onto the keyboard.

“Yeah, you show 'em,” said a voice behind her.

Grace whipped around to see Doug watching her over the half-wall of her cubicle. They'd been hired around the same time, but the five years had worn differently on each. She'd kept herself in shape and appeared much the same as she had on her first day of work, but he'd spread. He wasn't fat, just pudgy. She dropped the can and said, “It already spilled when Jill came to get me.”

“It's okay by me if you ruin all the keyboards here. I'm sorry about earlier. I was just mad about being fired.”

“It's okay.” But it wasn't really. If he touched her again, she'd probably scream. She thought everyone she worked with knew not to touch her by now. The way she cringed every time wasn't exactly friendly.

“If they're firing you, I guess they're firing everybody. Though there was that time you screwed up the email exchange--”

“I wasn't fired; I was laid off.” She didn't like how she heard Royce's voice in her head as she repeated his words. “And that wasn't my fault. I was the one who found the problem, which was your code.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I doubt it, but maybe.”

“Please leave.” She stared at the floor as she spoke, feeling an urge to cry coming on.

“Wait, I'm sorry.” He reached over the wall to grab her by the arm, but she escaped. “I always say the wrong thing around you. I don't get it.”

She pushed the tears back and looked straight at him. “You always insult me. What's not to understand?”

He put his hands on his head and took a deep breath. As he dropped his arms, he said, “I'm sorry. I think you're a great programmer. A bunch of us are going to Tony's. They’re worried about finding a new job, but not me. I just got my hacking certification—companies will be begging me to come protect their systems. Anyway, people might have some leads on jobs for you. Wanna come?”

“No. I'm getting the hell out of town.” She wasn't sure why she said that, maybe just so she would have a solid excuse not to meet up with everyone and cry in her beer. It just wasn't her style.

“Oh yeah? Where ya going?”

Damn it, now she had to think of a place. Tearing down the slopes with powder flying everywhere popped into her mind—and right next to her on the slope was the gorgeous god who'd canned her. She clenched her jaw. She needed to get that guy out of her head.. “I'm going to Breckenridge.”

“Great idea. Skiing might be just what I need. Maybe I'll see you there.”

Oh hell in a hand basket, that was not what she wanted at all.

As she scrambled for a reason to change her mind, Jill came up and said, “Take off, Doug.”

Doug frowned but walked away. Men always did whatever Jill wanted.

Jill walked into her cubicle, and for the first time, Grace noticed her new navy skirt suit. Her blonde hair was pulled back and most likely twisted into some sort of cute bun. Her eyes were normal again, and she'd even cleaned up her mascara. She said, “You okay, Grace?”

Her throat swelled, and pressure hit the backs of her eyes. Her friendship with Jill was over. Oh, sure, Jill would still make an attempt to call and include her when she went out, but the calls would become fewer and further between. It was like signing a yearbook for someone you knew you'd never see again.

She couldn't stand it. She pulled her backpack on and said, “Thanks for trying to warn me. You must think I'm such an idiot.”

Jill blocked her exit and embraced her. She whispered, “You're not an idiot. The CFO is. I know change is hard for you, so call me, and I'll help.” Grace squeezed her hard and tried to break the embrace, but Jill still whispered, “And I wanted to warn you--” Jill stepped back and held her shoulders.

Grace's throat tightened, and she started breathing faster.

Jill shook her head, “No, sorry, never mind. Your rules will keep you safe I'm sure.”

Grace took a deep breath and relaxed. “Were you going to warn me about Doug asking me out? Don't worry. I plan on never seeing him again.”

Jill's lips smiled, but her eyes didn't.

Grace couldn't debate it because tears wanted to leak out again. She had to get out of there before she started bawling. “Thanks for everything, Jill, but I've gotta go.”

She pushed past Jill and heard her cry out, “Call me, Grace!”

But she didn't know if she had it in her to hang on to what she knew was crumbling in her hands.

Back in her apartment Grace stood in her hospital-clean bathroom and scrubbed at her fingernails with a cotton ball soaked in nail polish remover, the acrid smell filling the room. The stain clung at the sides, taunting her.

She found a Q-tip, dipped it in remover and scoured the sides of her nails. She couldn't stand the feeling of helpless anger and sorrow. She half wanted to hit the streets and look for a new job right then, but it was Friday and she'd just been let go—probably not a good mix. Damn it. The nails still had a hazy stain. She got a new cotton ball and started all over again.

Maybe she should go skiing. She feared that Doug would show up, but Breckenridge was big. Even if he went, she could probably ski the whole weekend without running into him. Cobalt eyes hovered before her, reminding her of her earlier daydreams. She'd actually been thinking about bending the rules for that guy. What a mistake. This was exactly why she had them to begin with.

Grace stomped back to her bedroom and clicked through the rules as she neatly folded clothes into her suitcase. She couldn't help it—she was a coder, and okay, about as OCD as you could get without being medicated for it. Everything for her had to have rules. To reach the moment in a relationship where she could have sex, the man had to be up for a bit of a wait.

Rule 1: He had to be in some way connected to one of her circles of friends, like a friend of her book club friends or her best friend's cousin, something like that. It made her feel safer to know he wasn’t a complete stranger.

Rule 2: She wouldn't kiss him for three dates. This was a deal breaker for guys who needed to shove their tongue down her throat after the first date, or even before the first date ended. One date was not long enough for such intimacy.

Rule 3: If the kiss after the third date went well, she still needed to go on at least 10.5 dates with them before having sex. It used to be 14, but she whittled it down since Jill kept telling her three dates was the norm for sex, not just a kiss. And when the big sex date finally arrived, it was always at his place—never at hers.

She sighed and shut her suitcase. She was hopeless. Maybe she could discover that mythical love at first sight, and the rules would fade away. That “greener pastures” bastard said she needed to seek out new opportunities. She couldn't believe she'd thought of him as a corporate god—he was a corporate devil.

When she picked up her suitcase, she spied her app programming books in a neat pile on her desk. She was very close to finishing a game she'd designed and hoped to upload. She grabbed the extra smart phone she used for testing apps along with her books and laptop. She'd finish it up in the evenings and forget about love.

3| Bar Notes

Grace arrived at the resort in time for one trip down the slopes. She took a blue rated trail so she could ski fast without having to think, but that just meant her job loss consumed most of her thoughts.

A hot shower afterwards finally soothed her, and she decided to eat out instead of hiding in her room all night. Her arms high in the air, she released the spaghetti straps of her black cocktail dress and let the chiffon material fall over her head and down her body. She tugged it into place, fussed with it for a few minutes and then forced her hands away. She could adjust the dress all night and never be satisfied.

She brushed through her brown locks several times and applied her makeup, taking care not to smudge her eyeliner as she drew the pencil across her eyelid. She hated having to remove eyeliner and redo it. As she criticized her appearance in the mirror, an image of the man who'd fired her passed through her mind. She really needed to find a hunky ski instructor to occupy her thoughts—not that she'd dare say anything to him, but some eye candy would be great tonight.

She left her room and made her way through the wood paneled hallway, down the elevator, out into the tiled lobby and to the hostess station at the dining room. The floodlights that shone outside the window wall at the back of the dining room captured a picturesque view of new snow falling. At least the skiing tomorrow would be good.

The hostess smiled and asked how many. Grace inhaled, and her stomach wanted to revolt at the aroma of steak and potatoes that would normally appeal to her. Apparently she hadn't reached the peace she thought she had about her job. With a noise like an erp more than anything intelligible, she turned away from the dining room and fled toward a steady bass beat.

Maybe the noise and drink of the bar would keep her thoughts away from what had happened that morning and the man who'd done it.

Walking in, she felt naked without Jill and Jill’s clubbing friends surrounding her. Large groups crowded around tables made for two. The wall to the side had curved booths facing the bar. Most of them were taken, but there were a few empty ones. Then she spied an empty tall table being wiped down by a waitress. She decided to sit there for a better view.

The scent of perfume and hair gel coming from the bar tried but failed to conceal the smell of sunblock from earlier in the day. A guy who looked scruffy like a ski instructor sat on a stool with his back against the bar and stared right at Grace. He nodded towards her, and his blond bangs fell over his eyes. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, and she twisted her head to see if a beautiful woman was behind her; she was used to being ignored. When she saw no women close to her, she turned back to the guy and gave a hesitant smile. He actually smiled back. Not love at first sight, but he was the eye candy she'd been hoping for.

She shifted her gaze to the table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn away too. She looked up to study him unnoticed, but he glanced back at her and winked. Grace held her breath. What if he approached her? He'd be breaking rule number one because he had no connection whatsoever to anyone she knew. She took a deep breath and told herself it would be fine if he approached. People talked at bars all the time. It was normal bar behavior.

A waitress appeared and set a drink in front of her. She hadn't even ordered yet. “I think there's a mistake,” she said to the waitress.

“A gentleman bought it for you, sweetie,” said the waitress. She seemed barely old enough to be serving alcohol. “Oh, here's a note that goes with it.” The waitress slid a napkin with the bar's name stamped across it in front of Grace before she dashed to her next table.

“He's not right for you,” was scrawled under the stamp.

Surprised, Grace looked up at the bar. The guy smiled before looking away again. She hadn't seen him write on a napkin. Was the note talking about the ski instructor? She looked at the drink: a cosmo—what she usually ordered when she went clubbing. She glanced back at the guy. Yikes.

His hand was now planted on the butt of a blond who was nipping his lower lip. Why had he been flirting with her when he was just biding his time, waiting for his date? He squeezed the woman's butt before sliding his hand down to her thigh and then up her very short skirt. Grace's eyes widened—she'd never allow that in public, even after the hundredth date.

The woman stepped closer, and his hand slid up a little further, causing a shiver to run through the woman. Grace stared at their faces. They talked as though he wasn't fingering her right at the bar.