Power Play (8 page)

“Well, maybe it's not my money,” I said. “But I still have it.”

He came sniffing over like a bloodhound. I waited till he was very close, then pretended to knee him viciously.

He could have gone either way, but he doubled over. I fake-stomped his foot and he dropped his gun and tumbled to the ground.

“Ah.” He groaned. “Who are you?”

“A knee model,” I said. “But I'm no ordinary girl. This knee's been the centerfold three times for Men's Fitness.”

Serious laughs came for that one. The bar was so low, but the smiles of my class huddled on the carpeting looked genuine enough. Even my friend, Antoine, had one of his meticulously plucked eyebrows raised. He never faked it for me.

The shop owner came and placed a sweaty palm on my shoulder. Managing not to flinch was my best performance of the evening.

“Thanks, little miss,” he said. “You really saved me there. How can I thank you?”

This guy, too? I wanted the right ending, but a strong one too. Ideas swiped through my brain. Deacon’s chiseled face suddenly appeared, dripping with strength.

“You never need to thank me. From this day on, I will use my knee only to help the weak and bring justice to this cold, hard world.”

“Wow. I was saved by a superhero? Do you have a name?”

Superhero. I got so caught up in how mighty that sounded, that I couldn’t think of a thing.

Ok, I had an idea, but it was the opposite of good. But now it wouldn't leave my brain.

I was out of time.

I planted my hands at my hips and struck a pose. “Just call me evil’s worst kneetmare.”

The groan that poured through the crowd could have stirred up a hurricane. Good thing we were in a converted warehouse.

Antoine covered his eyes as I went and sat cross-legged next to him. The cement floor sat frosty against my damp legs. My t-shirt clung to my skin and I tufted it to send air through.

“How could you end on that?” he asked. “I can't even be seen with you.”

“Sticking your head in the ground doesn't make me go away.”

He shuffled away until he ran into the shoulder of the guy next to him. The guy looked over from watching the new trio who'd just gone up, but he got no apology. To be fair, Antoine weighed little more than a wet popsicle stick and his skin was roughly the same color as one.

“I'm proud of myself,” I said, holding my head up high.

“Were you planning it all along?” he said, eyes still ducked from me.

“No, it was perfect improv.”

“By some definition of perfection.”

The other guys were doing some sort of celebrity sketch. I tapped the side of my foot and tried to concentrate. Going into improv hoping to get non-stop laughs was probably a waste of money, but the craft was so useful on its own.

It had given me a voice. Two years in a new college had still left me afraid to speak, but a few months of on-and-off classes here, and I could almost go toe to toe with a guy like Deacon.

I always had the fire inside, but improv unleashed it. It let me try being completely different people. Heck, it even let me learn to disappoint people. Those groans were growth after a life of obedience. Walking up and willing yourself to be the idiot took a surprising amount of courage.

And no matter what you did or said, no one could ever shoot you down with a ‘no.’ They could only add on to it.

The next troupe ended without a big punchline, but we clapped anyway. Antoine rubbed my hair as he got up. “Let me show you how it's done.”

No other guy would have survived touching me without asking, but I smoothed it out and just threw a crumpled tissue at his behind. Antoine was unique in so many other ways than his sexuality. I'd never met a guy so eternally cranky, so sure-of-himself, and somehow still calm and intelligent enough to get away with the first two.

His being gay barely even registered now, though it had been a huge deal at the beginning. My gaydar wasn’t exactly on point, so it took until I saw him making out with another guy on-stage for it to click. I hadn’t been able to talk to him for a week after that, but luckily I slapped sense into myself before I wrecked everything between us.

Antoine's troupe started their sketch in war-torn Syria of all places. In under a minute, though, all of us were doubled over laughing.

In another world, he might have been my ideal guy. Smart and sharp but not nerdy, self-assured but not arrogant, opinionated but not controlling. Ok, he was far from my ideal physically... but apparently that way led to Deacon.

It had been two days since we'd talked. Every night in bed, I thought about him and my hands dipped into my panties. But as the weekend approached, I still hadn’t made the call.

He deserved a dinner. He couldn’t be all that bad, if he treated his employees so well. But people behaved different in private life.

He was a hands-on guy. His hands at my shoulders pressing me onto my knees before his erection was fine for one night. I didn't want them on me every moment of every day, pushing me this way or that.

Still, though, if he really was a control-freak then I needed to be able to face a guy like that and walk away intact. Besides, I deserved a night like our first again. Improv was fun, but it couldn’t match that.

Antoine's act finished with wild laughter and applause. He and his partners joined hands and bowed. He and the guy to his right exchanged tender looks. No wonder they were so good. They must get in tons of practice.

I blushed at the very idea, but the warmth flushed more than my face. It made up my mind.

After dinner, after Antoine hugged me and drove off, I stood in the empty diner parking lot, with the phone to my ear after finding Deacon’s unmarked number.

I pressed call.

“Miss Martin.” Deacon's voice rolled in. “It's about damn time.”

It sounded like a warm mist, coating my body head to toe.
Oh
,
Miss Martin,
I could just hear.
You can take every inch can't you?

It took me a second to realize what was wrong with what he'd said. “How do you know my last name?” I asked.

“Lucky guess.”

“Right. Really though.” I paced the length of my car.

“It's been the 21
st
century for some while now. I don't exactly need to work for the government to find you on Facebook.”

I took a deep breath. Everyone looked each other up right? It only meant he was into me. “I didn't look you up,” I said.

“So you didn't see those tabloid stories about my secret reptilian babies? Phew, that's a relief. Was not looking forward to getting grilled on that.”

I laughed. “I might actually be impressed by that. They only write those stories about princes and celebrities.”

“And the rich.”

“Yeah.”

He fell strangely silent. “So you really didn't look me up?”

The sudden worry made him seem far more human. “Don't be offended. I didn't want to scroll through the pages of a dozen good ol' boys to find the right Deacon.”

Plus, I still remember exactly how you look, glistening as your cock thrust into me.

“That's fair,” he said, easy again. “You're a busy woman. How's the project going?”

“Really good. I think I'll wrap it up by Friday.”

“Which means Saturday is wide open.”

I bit my lip. “Or at least for dinner. If you're still interested.”

“If I'm still interested? I'm in LA, but I'd drop everything and fly over right now, if I could.”

I smiled. “You really get around, huh? Well, don't waste the gas. And let's not go crazy on Saturday either, ok? Just something casual, for us to get to know each other.”

“So still networking?”

I spun my hair in the night. “For beginners, anyway.”

His breath caught on the other end. It was a strange and new pleasure having that effect on such a powerful man.

“Well, then,” he said. “I'll have my assistant text over the details post haste.”

“Assistant?” I said. “That's pretty fancy.”

“Say it again after you meet the guy. Or after your assistant meets the guy. I don't want to presume.”

“Whoah, you want our assistants to meet? This is moving way too fast!”

He chuckled again. “Fair enough. Well, I'll see you on Friday, if not sooner.”

I stopped at the car. “What?”

“Nothing.” His voice went out in a smile.

I stared at the phone, running his last line through my head again a couple times. No, there was nothing there. He was just excited to see me in a couple days.

And I was allowing myself to be excited to see him too. He was just a normal guy, not some mind-possessing Lucifer.

What was there to be afraid of?

****

The office was crazy hectic when the elevator doors opened the next morning. Consultants who were almost never in smiled brief hellos to me, before flitting past to the conference room. It was hard to make friends with our travel schedules, but these were many of the guys I respected.

My preliminary report on the oil project was done, but it would take a day of polish before it could leave my hands. Phil was waiting for me by my cube, though, adjusting his cuffs.

“Is that for StateOil?” he asked.

“It will be.” I dropped off my bag, and tried to sit.

“I want you to transfer all the files to Marina,” he said. “She can polish it up.”

“What? Why?”

“Don't worry, you're getting the full credit for this. But you're needed urgently for another project.”

I looked dumbly at my screen. I didn't want a half-done thing with my name on it...but, I did like the sound of “needed urgently.”

I peered up at Phil. “What project?”

“Come, come. They're already waiting for you in the conference room.”

Over the sea of cubicles, the fogged glass of the conference room already looked dense with bodies. My lungs felt cat-sized. That's where all the talent had just entered.

I needed a clue. This wasn't improv – this was my job.

Phil started walking, and I outpaced him. “Who's in there?” I said. “What project is this? I don't know the company or client at all.”

“It's fine. It's right up your alley anyway. Stone Holdings is looking to acquire a major Middle-Eastern solar energy firm. They want us to run an outside audit of the guys before they go through.”

I nodded, mostly in an attempt to speed up my brain.

Ok, I knew Stone Holdings. Big private conventional energy player. And solar in the Middle East would be interesting. Really interesting.

“Where in the middle east?” I asked.

“Abu Dhabi.”

My breath came as fast as butterfly wings. The UAE was the richest part of the Arab world. I'd always wanted to visit. Now, I'd get to go there for my first international assignment? This was a dream come true.

“So we have a teleconference now?” I followed Phil out of the cubicle farm.

“No. Mr. Stone himself came over to discuss the project. He requested you personally join the team.”

“The CEO requested me?” My nerves nearly blew out. I could only stand there and take the insanity in silence. Maybe he had heard about my work from another project?

“He knows you.” Phil turned on me with a curious look. “How on earth did you meet a billionaire while traveling?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.”

We were just outside the conference door now. The murky silhouettes of people stood out in the chairs. Near the front of the table, two spaces were left open on either side of the head chair. The contours of the man sitting there swung back and forth impatiently.

A spark lit into my brain. It was the same intuition that knew my mother’s steady clip from my father’s pounding footsteps. The same that could pick Mira out of a crowd when all I could see was her twirling her hair.

I knew that motion deep down.

I had met this guy while traveling?

My stomach gave out in a sickening lurch. Phil opened the door for me. I could barely stagger towards it. Holding the sill, I held my breath and turned inside.

Deacon's grey eyes lit up like headlights through a fog. He grinned at me – handsome, rugged and golden in his immaculate sports jacket. He clapped the table at the far end of the room.

“Ms. Martin,” he said. “It’s so great great to see you again.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Deacon

Kerry stood at the door, looking like I was an unexpected checkmate. Her brow held a slight wrinkle. I could almost see her pulling together the pieces.

“Come on in,” I said, patting the open spot to my side.

The six other consultants already seated, snapped to my hand like overeager puppies. They must have never seen so much wealth condensed into a single person. Sure, they probably worked with executives at their client companies, but private wealth was a whole different matter.