So Into You (2 page)

They probably wouldn't help Joan, of
course, since she was relishing her role as the scorned woman.

It didn't make things better when
Joan's sharp eyes noticed Phil's doglike devotion to Casey. So what if he
picked up an extra cup of her favorite coffee and dropped it by her cubicle
every morning? He wasn't being a wuss or a stalker since they both liked coffee
from the same place and he was there anyway. Why not make brownie points?

Joan had pouted, frowned and
eventually given up, but wasn't above getting in a quick dig about the men who
came to see Casey, and making sure those digs were voiced within earshot of her
now
ex
-boyfriend.

Casey's appointments were increasing
in number and more often than not with rich and powerful men. Her reputation
for being a shrewd real estate agent was growing within the local business
community and her business accomplishments reflected that growth.

The entire realty development group
was expanding, and although some of the other agents whispered that Casey had
slept her way to some of those sweet deals, most people dismissed that rumor as
sour grapes. Phil knew she was very good at what she did and willing to work
damned hard to earn her success. That happened on one's feet, not one's back.

But wanting someone as bad as he
wanted Casey was both a curse and a blessing. He was convinced she was out of
his league. Powerful, sexy, and mysterious, she was what every man desired but
couldn't touch.

She had shiny brown hair cut neatly
to just below her shoulders. Perfectly dressed, perfectly businesslike, a
perfectly fuckable filet mignon that would melt in a guy's mouth if he ever got
that close to her. Occasionally Phil wondered if she knew exactly how deep his
attraction went. Those were the times when he had a strong suspicion she was
playing him with all the skill of a first violinist on a Stradivarius.

But when he took a realistic look at
his own credentials, he realized she had every right to play him like an
out-of-tune ukulele if she wanted to.

After graduating from college, Phil
had landed a job at Redstone Realty Development in their research department
and had hit his ceiling shortly thereafter, getting stuck behind the "Old
Guard" for the consequent five years. He was still waiting for one of the
senior guys to quit or retire, whichever came first.

Being the prototypical average
guy—barely over six feet tall, and good looking if not drop-dead handsome—he
attracted a certain amount of attention from the ladies. His hard-to-manage
hair brushed his collar and for some reason that often drew eager feminine
fingers. Women paid attention to him but he always seemed to end up as the
good
friend
type, never the
bad-boy-fuck-buddy
.

To his surprise, one of his dates
finally told him after a few weeks that she thought he might be gay because he
was so nice, never aggressive and always did what he was asked. This statement
was greeted with incredulity, since Phil dreaded the appearance of coming on
too strong. He'd been raised to be respectful, which women seemed to
appreciate. Nothing wrong with that, was there?

Overly aggressive men might get
themselves a woman but that wasn't the sort of relationship Phil wanted. So he
kept his secrets, smiled his cheerful smile and knew if he ever acted on the
thoughts and desires in his mind, his dates would run a mile.

For sure
none
of 'em would
ask for decorating advice or what shoes went with which dress.

What he really wanted was to have
the reputation of being the man who knew how to treat a woman in bed. To be the
man Casey desired and remembered. He admitted to himself this was how he wanted
her, and always had.

But she was in a category all her
own.

Refusing to be deterred by the cool
and professional public persona she displayed, Phil patiently worked alongside
her, joked and teased her and generally did all the things a man obsessed
wouldn't
do. He was as nice as he knew how to be and it wasn't from any underlying urge
to get her to fall in love with him, although that would have been
mega-wonderful.

No, he figured that if he couldn't
have her as
his
woman, then he'd enjoy the next best thing—her
friendship. And try to be content with that for a while until something came
along to change the situation.

His patience paid off. Before too
long, his attention to her began to show him glimpses of more than just her
public facade. There was something beneath, something that he guessed most men
missed.

Casey Andrews was, under her sleek
exterior and acute brain,
vulnerable.
He'd seen it flicker in her eyes
and recognized the expression from his own reflection. Knowing that fact made
him feel good, and some days it was the only glimmer of hope he had to hang on
to.

His phone buzzed, startling him, and
he realized he had an incoming text.

"
U r a fuckin loser
"
was all it said, and he turned to see Dave Baker grinning in one of the
cubicles near his.

Finally able to get up and not knock
things over with his hard-on, Phil walked over.
"Loser
huh?
At least I'm not the one jacking off every night to visions of
Angelina Jolie dressed like Tomb Raider."

Dave flipped him a finger. "No
talking shit about Angelina. One day she will be mine. Oh yes, she will."

"You keep thinking that."
Phil laughed as he riffled through a file he picked up from the desk.
"Hey. I was supposed to get this yesterday."

"I'm not the only one pining
away for someone out of reach. Casey treats you like shit and you still just
sit there drooling at her 'cause she has that perfect heart shaped ass."
Dave paused. "It
is
perfect too."

"So?" Phil gave Dave a
stern glare.

"Just
sayin'.
That's out of your league, bro.
Look,
pretty much every guy here has made a play one time or
another. We've all been shot down. She's like a fridge with no defrost switch.
Let's face it, she's probably a dyke."

Phil rolled his eyes. "Oh, I
get it. You think that because she hasn't given it up every week and twice on
Saturdays, she must be a lesbian. Yet if she did, all the jokers here would
call her a slut of the first order. And you know it."

"Dude, you sound like, um, how
do I
say this…oh yeah, a
pussy
."

Phil shrugged. "You are what
you eat."

Dave ignored him. "You're not
only obsessed with
her,
you've stuck her on this high
pedestal. I swear it's so you look up her skirt. So tell me. I always wondered
what she wears under those tight skirts."

"Thongs,
from Victoria's Secret."

"And
how
would you know
that, Phil?"

"I'm observant. That
heart-shaped ass never has a panty line anywhere near it." He shook his
head and managed a laugh.
"Just making a joke."

Dave wasn't to know that Phil had
actually seen Casey at the mall a few months ago, when he had taken his mother
shopping. They weren't in the same lingerie store, thank God, but the one next
door with all the makeup on sale. So he'd peeked through the window and watched
his idol pick through racks of tiny bits of lace and silk. It was a helluva lot
better than watching his mom put blush on her face in seven different tones of
red.

He wasn't sure what it was in Casey,
other than the obvious physical
attraction, that
drew
him to her. He still had no clue what had blindsided him with such ferocity
when he'd first set eyes on her. But she continued to intrigue him. He could
sense the mystery of her vulnerable side, something lurking beneath her
polished surface, that he knew needed to be freed.

One day he'd do exactly that, and
one day she'd see him for the man he was. Actually he hoped she would see him
for more than that, more than just a date, more than just a co-worker.

He knew in his heart that the one
thing he wanted in Casey…was
him
.

Casey walked in to her apartment and
automatically tossed her keys onto the counter beside the phone. Without
thinking about it, she hit the message button and ignored the voices of an
array of salespeople offering something she didn't need. Then
came
her mother's regular long-winded message asking about
everything.
Twice.
True to form, and being
that
kind of parent, the woman ran out of time during the first call and had to repeat
herself, finally finishing with more unimportant jabbering.

It was a routine sequence of actions
Casey repeated each evening when she got home. There were work hours and
non-work hours and keeping the two separate was effective and preferable. The fact
that she had practically nothing in the way of a personal life was her business
and nobody else's. The implications at work were that she was involved with
someone, and it certainly kept the men from bugging her. Solitary at times,
yes, but much more peaceful than fending off unwanted invitations on a daily
basis.

As she kicked off her shoes and
absently put them in their appropriate place with the rest of her footwear in
the large closet, her drifting thoughts of work and men raised an image.

Phil Cooper
.

For some reason Phil was different.
Sure, he stared at her a lot, drooled noisily when she bent over and made extra
trips to get coffee or anything else she needed or wanted. He was, to use a
romance novel word,
smitten
. Or at least she thought so.

With a grin she remembered how
thoughtful it was that he did so many little things for her, and pretty much
anything she asked. Particularly picking up those mini blueberry muffins she
liked so much from the coffee vendor in the lobby.

Of course she'd noticed him. He was
kind, sweet, very attentive and always good-tempered. She'd never seen him
angry or behaving like an asshole. So really, what wasn't to like?

Joan from reception had talked about
him constantly when they began to date, and said Phil was her perfect man. She
was going to hook him before he got away. Apparently she'd suffered an epic
fail in her quest, because it was obvious they were no longer a couple.

Phil seemed just fine with that. But
Joan was still having hissy-bitch fits even though the actual pity-party had
been held a few months ago right after the breakup.

Casey didn't know Joan that well,
and tried to ignore the gossip as it swirled around her. It was, of course,
simple human nature to be curious about Phil's sexual prowess, but she had
failed to find out anything and didn't feel it was appropriate to ask.

Joan had her own clique of
girlfriends, and since Casey wasn't particularly into shoes, makeup or
clubbing, there was little in the way of exchanged girlish confidences.

It didn't bother Casey one bit,
since even though he'd been dating Joan, Phil's attentions hadn't changed in
frequency. In some ways she felt guilty that she used Phil to run errands or
get coffee. But she couldn't see how such little things could have disrupted a solid
dating relationship.
If, in fact, it had been solid to begin
with.

So she offered her conscience that
small sop and gave herself a mental bitch-slap for being girly enough to think
Phil's sweet charm was cute. Followed by another double-bitch-slap when she
realized it made her feel all tingly, like she was back in high school.

He certainly wasn't hard on the
eyes. His clothes fit his body admirably, whether casual Friday attire or not.
He could fill out a suit better than most men, and she'd already fielded a few
questions from her co-workers about sharing her devoted minion. All in good
fun, of course. He wasn't her minion or anything else, just a nice guy who
liked to make women smile.

Nobody knew that beneath the
professional veneer, Casey had no wish for a man, sweet, charming, good-looking
or otherwise.

She grabbed the closest container
from her neatly organized fridge and slipped out of her work clothes as the
meal was heating. Afterward, there were some projects she wanted to review and
that would kill most of her evening.

It wasn't unpleasant or dull
drudgery—there was a glass of her favorite wine beside her couch and she was
encased in the comfort of her soft robe. The mellow sounds of her new Lady
Antebellum CD hummed from her sound system. Most of the time she didn't bother
turning on her television, but now and again she'd indulge in a movie or get
caught up with some of those guilty pleasure shows she'd set the DVR to record.

Tonight, though, was for some
uninterrupted focus work, and it was with a satisfied sigh that she closed the
last folder and saved the file after a couple of productive hours with her
laptop.

She stretched, realizing it was
getting late. The possibility of a shower loomed, but a bath would be even more
enticing. Then there was the question of did she really want to wait until it
filled?

Draining her wine, she turned off
the lights in the living room and walked into her bedroom. It was dark, lit
only by the glow of the night-light plugged in by her door.