The Singles (84 page)

Stopping at the receptionist desk, I waited for her to finish her call, wringing my hands together so I wouldn’t gnaw anxiously on my nails. My focus drifted to the giant TV on the wall behind her. A trailer was playing, advertising the company’s newest mobile game—some epic fantasy that looked like a mishmash of
World of Warcraft
and
Halo
. A gun-toting elf pranced onto the screen, and I wrinkled my nose.

Geez, no wonder Bradbury had decided to launch the Snark Junkies website.

His games were ... well, his newest games looked just plain shitty.

“Hello,” the receptionist said loudly. Dragging my stare from the trailer, I took in her arched eyebrows and thinned lips. She tapped her fingernails on the glossy red surface of her desk. “Are you here to see Mr. Bradbury again?” I nodded, and she looked at her laptop screen before giving me a skeptical smile. “Do you actually have an
appointment
this time?”

“No, but I’m hoping that he can fit me in.” Ah, there it was. The look that told me she thought I was an idiot. I released a heavy sigh and tilted my head to look at the glass nameplate on her desk. “Look,
Deana
, my name is Avery Collins, and I work for a local paper. I just need to speak to him for five minutes. I have an issue that I need sorted out—I swear it won’t take long.”

Deana had stared at me for a few seconds before realization dawned and her eyes widened. “Ohhh, you’re
that
girl!” A grin the size of Texas spread across her face. I blinked. Did I even want to know what had been said about
that
girl—about
me
—in the Bradbury Enterprises offices? “Yes, I’m sure you would like to talk to him. I’ll see if he’s available.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it.”

She typed something then closed her laptop. “You’re welcome to wait...” Her voice trailed off, but I followed her hand as she gestured to the adjoining waiting room.

“Great!” I replied with lackluster enthusiasm.

“Coffee and donuts are on the counter; feel free to help yourself,” she called after me. I barely made it into the next room before I heard Deana say in a hushed voice, “Caitlin? Stop flirting with the sexy mail guy and listen to this! You will
never
guess who just stepped off the elevator and asked to see—”

Ugh. Was she serious with that crap?

I skulked over to the counter and made a cup of coffee, reluctantly bypassing the glazed donuts that seemed to be pleading with me from their pink and white box. Sitting on one of the most uncomfortable seats I’ve ever sat on—seriously, a jagged rock would have been more enjoyable than the blue chair that looked like it was a prop from
Star Trek
—I rolled my eyes at the sight of the receptionist snickering into the phone.

“Did you see the one from the other day?” she whispered. “I about pissed myself at the mashed potatoes bit!”

Worst. Admin.
Ever
.

Ears burning, I glared at her darkly, but she must not have felt the radioactive heat from my eyes because she kept talking. About
me
. I sighed, took a sip of my coffee, and grabbed a magazine from the pile on the table beside my chair—the latest edition of
Modern Gamer
. I leafed through the magazine quickly, stopping every few pages if a beautifully illustrated game snagged my interest.

I’d played video games only a handful of times in my life—
Super Mario Brothers
with the twins who grew up next door to me in North Dakota and later, one of the many
Call of Duty
games to impress a guy I dated in college (I sucked at it and kept getting knifed from behind by some middle school kids from Germany). The Wii my parents had gotten me for Christmas a couple of years ago was sadly neglected and used solely for streaming Netflix and YouTube.

When I heard the elevator doors open, I glanced up from browsing through an article about an upcoming role-playing game, and then nearly dropped my coffee on my lap as the sexiest man I’d ever seen stepped into the lobby. Dressed casually in motorcycle boots, a heather blue tee, and jeans, he was at least six feet tall and toned. No, not just toned.

Ripped
.

His physique reminded me of a professional soccer player’s—long and lean with just the right amount of muscle showing through his short-sleeve shirt—and his face brought to mind the lead from some superhero show my best friend was forever gushing about. I lifted my eyes higher to his flawless bronze complexion, disheveled brown hair, and light-colored eyes that crinkled at the corners when he grinned at the receptionist.

Were they blue? Or green? I was too far away to tell, and craning my neck did nothing but make my shoulders hurt, but I wanted to know.

He stopped at the receptionist’s desk and handed her several large envelopes. Wanting to get a better look, I got up to throw my coffee cup in the bright red trash can by the waiting room entrance. They were talking in low voices—and the receptionist was busy batting her eyelashes and chewing on her bottom lip—so I took advantage of the opportunity and openly ogled him.

Hey, stop judging. You would’ve stared, too.

Was he the sexy mail guy
Deana
had told Caitlin to stop flirting with? If that were the case, I would’ve never answered the phone, much less listened to the receptionist drone on about Amanda Truthslayer’s bitchy blog post. I started to look away but then my eyes lowered to his butt.

Jesus.

The man was not only ripped and gorgeous, but he had an ass that made me and my pitiful buns of flatness jealous. I silently thanked the designer who had made his jeans.

Deciding it was probably best to quit while I was ahead, I dropped the empty coffee cup in the trash can. The sound made him freeze and, instinctively, so did I. He turned away from the receptionist slowly until he was staring right at me.

Blue.

I swallowed hard. 

His eyes were blue. Not just any blue, but midnight—a stormy shade that seemed even more startling thanks to his thick, dark lashes. My best friend Tessa had always said I was a sucker for eyes, and this guy was no exception. If anything, he exemplified why I was drawn to a man’s eyes.

This one’s gaze, everything about him, was paralyzing.

Deana cleared her throat loudly, ruining the moment. She shot me a nasty look as he turned back around to face her.

Mr. CEO really knew how to pick them.

With the guy’s attention on her again, I returned to my seat and pretended that
Modern Gamer
was as captivating as the newest issue of
Cosmopolitan
. I didn’t dare look up for fear of embarrassing myself, but when the receptionist called my name a couple of minutes later, I was disappointed to see that he was gone.

The receptionist smirked as I approached her desk. “Mr. Bradbury’s office is the last door on the right.” She turned slightly, looking down the long hallway behind her desk. Clasping her hands together, she faced me with an arched eyebrow. “Good luck.”

About a million snippy retorts streamed through my head, but I held them all back as I walked toward Bradbury’s office. Since the door was wide open, I stepped inside. I briefly took in the office, which echoed the same theme as the rest of the floor. Bold colors, a big blue desk fit for a king with not one or two but
three
computers on it, and floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the other office buildings situated around the business park.

The office was also empty.

“Mr. Bradbury?” I tiptoed to the center of the room, standing beneath a gigantic
GAMER
fluorescent sign that hung from the ceiling. Frowning, I crossed my arms over my chest and a thought struck me. Had the receptionist sent me back here just so she could laugh at me a little more? Hell, was Bradbury even coming into the office today?

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me cut through my thoughts like a knife. I turned around, and my pulse raced. Leaning a broad shoulder against the doorframe, the sexy guy from the receptionist’s desk stared back at me. “Can I help you?”

“What are you doing back here?” I asked. He lifted an eyebrow, crossed his shiver-inducing arms over his chest, and grinned broadly. When he simply stared at me, I felt like my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. “Oh my God,
you’re
Max Bradbury.”

“In the flesh.” He approached me, turning my breath to puny little puffs at the scent of his cologne. He smelled good—fresh, subtle, and one hundred percent male. Whatever scent he’d rolled that insanely good-looking body around in, I wanted it all over my pillow and sheets and everywhere else. He stopped right in front of me, and I lifted my chin to stare up at him. “I have a meeting at ten, so let’s make this quick.”

I couldn’t imagine the kind of meeting that would allow motorcycle boots and jeans, but hell, he was the boss. I nodded and held out my hand. “I’m Avery Collins. I work with—”

“
The Azalea Post
.” He flicked those dark blue eyes down at my outstretched fingers and then shoved his own hands into the front pockets of those epic jeans. Jerk. “I know exactly who you are. What I
don’t
know is what you need.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I wanted to discuss one of the columns on your Snark Junkies website.”

He rocked back, cocking his head to the side and giving me an excellent view of his smooth, broad chin. I gulped at his amused expression. “And by discuss, you mean you’re going to complain about one of our most popular content providers? You’re going to ask me to remove Amanda from my site because she hurt your feelings?”

I jabbed my tongue into my cheek. “I wouldn’t exactly say she hurt my feelings—just plagiarized my hard work.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I tilted my own head to one side. “But yes, I guess I am complaining.”

“Amanda published your column to our site and claimed it was her work?”

“No, but—”

He shook his head. “Not even once?”

“No, Mr. Bradbury, but she—”

“So this isn’t about plagiarism but about what I first suggested.” He smirked. “She hurt your feelings by shitting on your fairy tale and now you want to cry about it.”

My mouth fell open. What the hell was the matter with this guy?  “Excuse me?” I raged. He was so gorgeous that I should have known he’d be an absolute ass—I mean, the fact he started a website that was like Buzzfeed on a marathon bender should have been some inclination that Max Bradbury wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. “I’m not crying about anything, thank you very much. I’m trying to have an adult conversation.”

“Really?” He licked his lips. Oh God, he licked his lips. How was it possible that such a full, sexy mouth could spew so much sarcasm? I quickly jerked my focus back up to his deep blue eyes, but it was too late. The shit-eating grin that had taken over his strong features told me that he knew I was checking him out.

“An adult conversation would’ve been you keeping your ass behind your desk and dealing with my content provider by modifying your own work.
Not
storming into my office and pointing fingers, expecting me to act as a guidance counselor. I’m not, Ms. Collins.”

“She’s ruining my career,” I said desperately through gritted teeth, hugging my arms more tightly around myself. “I’m sure the website is just some side project for you, but how would you feel if some game company did this to you? I’m sure you’d be furious.”

He shrugged. “Happens every day. So, we adapt.”

“By what? Creating games with AK-47 carrying elves?”

Snorting, he walked around me, the side of his body brushing mine. A jolt of energy pulsed through my body, and I swallowed the gasp that followed. “There’s a complaint box on the website. You’ll find it under the little link that says contact us,” he said. Pushing the brief moment of electricity from my mind, I whipped around to stare at him.

“A complaint box,” I repeated in a monotone voice.

Stepping behind his desk, he nodded and opened the laptop closest to him. “Someone will respond within forty-eight hours.” He focused his attention on the screen, and my chest burned at his calculated dismissal. “Have a good day, Ms. Collins, and thanks for visiting us here at Bradbury Enterprises.”

-End Sample-

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E
mily Snow is 
The New York Times
 and 
USA Today
 bestselling author of the 
Devoured
 and 
Savor Us
 series, 
Tidal,
 and 
Wrecked.
 She loves books, sexy bad boys, and really loud rock music, so naturally, she writes stories about naughty rockers. Visit her on
Facebook
, on her blog at emilysnowbooks.blogspot.com, or chat with her on Twitter @emilysnowbks for news, teasers, and contests.