Kicked (32 page)

E
DEN

“
I
DON’T GIVE TWO
shits if the entire development goes down the drain. That’s exactly what will happen if you go with anyone else. Give me the business and see all the units sold. Go elsewhere and get used to having a ‘for sale’ sign permanently in your window.” I tapped the screen and ended the call.

He would call back. Developers always did. I hurried across the sidewalk toward my building, the tallest in the city.

I looked up. Impossibly bright blue eyes caught my attention. That’s all it took. My left heel caught in a grate, stuck as sure as if it was superglued to the spot. I tried to take another step with my right foot to anchor myself. Mistake.

My coffee sloshed to the top of the travel cup, shooting like a geyser through the small opening before I let the cup go entirely. It crashed down, ending in a small explosion of caffeine and foam at my feet.

I pulled my left foot from the offending shoe to take a steadying step, but when my bare foot came down, it turned to the side, twisting as sure as a corkscrew. It was over then. Gravity would have its due. My momentum carried me toward the concrete at an alarming pace.

The blue-eyed man caught my elbow and easily pulled me upright. “Whoa.”

“Get off.” I yanked my arm away. “You made me drop my coffee.”

“What?” He cocked his head to the side, the sun illuminating his angular jaw and handsome features. “Let me help.”

“You’ve done enough. I don’t need your help.” My ankle was screaming, my shoe was still stuck in the grate, and the sleeve of my white blouse was streaking brown from the coffee. I’d dropped my blueprint binder. It lay open, the pages turning and turning, as if the breeze were the fastest reader of all time.
Shit.

I realized I’d let out a string of some of the vilest profanity allowed this side of the Mason-Dixon line, but no one cared. People kept passing by, not even offering a glance to the grate’s newest victim. It was just that commonplace. I made a mental note to call the Pilot Group, the building’s owner, and have the damn thing fixed once and for all. Thornfield paid a small ransom each month to ensure our business presence on the top floor, and maintenance was part of the package.

“You
definitely
need my help.” He took my elbow again as I glared up at him.

“I’m fine.” I went to step back for my shoe, but my ankle gave a decidedly painful twinge. More curses, these perhaps even more colorful than the last.

His thick black brows lowered, encroaching on the blue that had led me to this state of affairs. “You twisted your ankle.”

“No shit, and no thanks to you.” I glanced down to my notebook. How the hell would I manage to pick it up and make it to my office?

He bent down to retrieve my shoe. His back was broad beneath his suit coat. Built was the word. I hadn’t seen him before, or at least I thought I hadn’t. I was pretty sure I’d remember him. Those eyes at the very least. They were impossible, beyond beautiful, more startling than oddly colored contacts.

He gingerly removed my shoe from its metal prison. The leather heel was scraped and ruined. I’d have to take it in for repair. I added it to the long line of things in my life that needed fixing.

He scooped up my binder and returned to my side. I just stood, helpless and with the injured foot up and resting on the tips of my toes. In my skirt suit, I looked like the corporate karate kid about to do the crane kick and win the tourney. The thought was so ridiculous and out of place that I laughed at myself, more like a harsh bark.

He gave me a stoic look that revealed nothing. I tamped down my temporary amusement.

I just needed to get to my office and recover what little shred of dignity I still had left.

The day was already teed up to be full of difficulties. This start really wasn’t that out of character.

“Let me help you to your office.” It wasn’t a request. His hand returned to my elbow, a steady pressure.

He was sure of himself, walking the fine line between confidence and cockiness with the skill of a tightrope performer. I wondered if he was working without a net.

But it didn’t matter what he said or how he said it. I wasn’t in a position to say no. I would make a spectacle of myself trying to get to my floor in this state. “Sure. You owe me, since all this is your fault. Get me to the elevator bank, then I should be all right to make it from there.”

“If you say so.” He smirked and squeezed my elbow lightly. I hopped along, struggling toward the door, so much so that he did away with pretense and simply wrapped his arm around my waist, allowing me to use him as a crutch. I caught a whiff of his scent—masculine with some sort of tantalizing aftershave. Definitely not an aqua velva man, thank God.

He was tall so that even jostling along on the one remaining heel kept my eyes at the level of his shoulder. His arm tightened even more, lifting me to keep the pressure from my injured ankle. He didn’t slow his gait, just manhandled me along like a package under his arm. He was hard against me, and I couldn’t help but mold to his metal, my curves melting into him.

I looked up, taking in his profile as he half-carried me into the high rise. He seemed younger than me, though I was only twenty-eight. His dark hair was cropped close. There wasn’t even the hint of a shadow along his jawline; clean-shaven and professional. His neck was long, almost too elegant for a man. His lips were full and a rich plum color, a perfect match to his light brown skin. Handsome by any standard. And those otherworldly blue eyes were stunners.

He hit the elevator call button. I noticed he didn’t have a band on his ring finger. That’s what I did—noticed details. Details were the sort of thing that could make or break a person. I wasn’t the sort to ever allow myself to be broken. Not anymore.

We stood in front of one set of shiny gold elevator doors, making the silly bet that it would be the one to open for us instead of the five others. I looked at us, standing together, covered with a hazy gilded finish. Me short and fair, him tall and dark. We made an interesting pair, standing too close, looking too familiar for strangers.

The doors slid open before I could ponder any further. We’d won the elevator door bet. That was something, at least. He swept me into the enclosed space, and I got a waft of him again, rich and masculine.

“Floor?” he asked.

“Forty-two.” My real estate brokerage, Thornfield, took up the entire floor, abuzz with salespeople working on some of the largest real estate deals and buildings in the Southeast. Well, it wasn’t
my
company. I was just a senior vice president of sales, overseeing a number of the pricier projects.

I’d been away for a week, checking over an almost-finished development in midtown Atlanta. Nothing fancy, just some lofts for DINKs (dual income, no kids) near some of the livelier spots. They were coming along nicely, and with another small infusion of Gray’s money for higher end interior finishes, they’d be ready to take to market. I was poised to make a nice profit on them now that the real estate sector was back in full swing. The money would go a long way to make my life easier, if only in the short run.

The stranger hit the button for my floor, but didn’t hit any others. He must have been skipping his floor to take me to mine first. Was there no end to his Southern gentleman behavior? I smirked.

“I can take it from here.” I pushed my elbow into his ribs.

He only tightened his grip. “I’m going your way.”

His strength made some of the wires in my brain cross. I wanted to escape, but I also tingled in all the wrong places.

A few others hurried into the elevator before the doors closed, saying their good mornings to each other or giving friendly nods. I nodded back and watched them as they watched me in the reflective panels.

The whoosh of gravity pressing down made my ankle ache as the blood rushed into it. I put more weight on my good foot, scooting closer into the stranger at my side. His hand slid down a little lower on my waist, onto my hip so he could hold me even more tightly. His hand was large against me, spanning the fabric of my skirt and top with ease. His constant pressure was making me warm.

I glanced to the mirrored door again and saw he was watching me. His gaze was trained on my legs and leisurely made its way up my body until he caught my eye. He didn’t look away, even though I’d basically caught him eye-fucking me. He was certainly bold, whoever he was.

The ride slowed as it approached the twenty-fourth floor.

I hated relying on him, hated the fact that he easily held me in place, but something in me thrilled at his self-assured touch, all the same.

“I can make it from here.” I put more force into my voice than necessary.

“All right.” He smirked again and let his arm drop.

I winced when I put my foot to the ground. His warmth was gone, and goose bumps rose along my skin. I wanted him back. I didn’t have a plan for making it the rest of the way to my office. He still held my binder and ruined shoe under his other arm. My coffee was long since lost, the delicious contents feeding the treacherous grate outside instead of my caffeine addiction.

“You sure you can make it by yourself?” That. Fucking. Smirk.

The elevator stopped, and three men stepped off, leaving one more passenger and floor before mine.

“Yes.”

The elevator pinged again. The last passenger got out, leaving me alone with the stranger as we finished the ride to the top.

He continued studying me in the mirror. I felt my cheeks pink as he watched me, his silence embarrassing me. Well, embarrassing wasn’t the right word. His silence was heavy, not the comfortable, affable sort that was to be expected on elevators.

“You missed your floor.” I gave him my ugliest glare. I needed something to break the quiet between us that seemed to double every second, larger and larger.

“I haven’t.”

The elevator stopped at the top, Thornfield’s domain.

“But this is
my
floor.” It sounded stupid when I said it, like I was a child with a toy and I refused to share.

He remained silent and offered his arm. I ignored it. Fuck him.

I took a step and struggled to keep my cry of pain in my throat. He looped his arm around my waist and helped me into the lobby. He didn’t ask permission, just used his strength to reinforce my weakness. I hated it and basked in it all at once.

Sasha rose from the receptionist desk, hands going to her face in an over-dramatic gesture. Her nails were done in vivid red, with the pinkie sporting some intricate design, complete with glittering crystals. “What happened?”

“The grate got me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I hate that damn thing. It’s ruined more shoes of mine than I care to mention.” Sasha picked up her phone’s handset and punched a button. “Mr. Fairfax, you’re needed up front.”

“Let me go.” Why was my voice breathy?

“All right.” He slid his hand from my waist, skirting the top of my ass with his fingers before letting his arm fall to his side.

His touch was too intimate, too knowing. I didn’t want to, but I glanced into his crystalline eyes. He didn’t turn away, just kept me in his gaze as Sasha prattled on about the grate.

I hopped a step away from him. “My office manager will come get me. You can go.”

“I didn’t catch your name.” He gave me an easy smile, too easy. He was toying with me.

“I’m Ms. Rochester.” I straightened my back despite the pain in my ankle.

“Jack England.” His voice was deep and smooth, not a scratch in the rumble.

I noticed Sasha staring him up and down like she was taking his measurements. I couldn’t blame her. Though obviously an asshole, he was beautiful in all the ways a man should be.

“Well.” The pain burned in my ankle as I reached for the binder and my ruined shoe. “Hand me my things and you can go about your day.”

I sounded dismissive. I knew it. Mason called my demeanor haughty, among the many other things he called me these days. But now wasn’t the time to think about those moments, those words.

Jack England didn’t seem to take offense at my tone, but he didn’t move either.

Allen Fairfax, king of all things in the Thornfield office, came around the corner. He smiled, warmth beaming out of him in a way I envied. Fairfax was a genuinely nice person, the kind that are hard to find. He was rounded in the belly and graying on his head, but he had a jaunty walk, as if he were still a teenager with the world laid out before him. As a distant cousin, I’d known him long before I began working at Thornfield, but we’d grown closer over the past few years.

“Ms. Rochester, what have you done to yourself?” He narrowed his eyes at my naked foot and then looked at Jack. “Hurt your boss on the first day? That must be some sort of record.”

I looked up sharply as my heart sank. “Boss?”

Fairfax smiled, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes showing his age. “Yes, Ms. Rochester, Jack here is your new assistant.”

“Wha-what happened to Jenny or whatever her name was? You know, the one with the hair.” Jenny, darling redheaded Jenny, had decided that her best look was dreads. It wasn’t.

“Once she realized you were clear of the building last week, she took her leave.” Fairfax kept smiling, laughing at my chronic problem of vanishing staff.

“Why?”

He raised his eyebrows with a “you know why” look.

Truth be told, I wasn’t too well-liked as a boss. Jenny had tried my patience on several occasions over the course of her weeks-long employment. Her time was up, anyway. They never stayed for more than a month. I ran them off in short order.

They all had the same complaints in their exit interview—Ms. Rochester was too demanding, too high strung, too much of a brooder, too brash, and the list could go on
ad finitum
. Of course, all those things were true. So what?

I was sure that somewhere out there was an assistant who could appreciate me.
Surely
. I gave Jack a look, wondering if he’d be the one. Doubtful. He was a cocky asshole. He’d be out the door in no time.