Twice Smitten (A Modern Fairy Tale) (10 page)

“I thought you gave up sex for sex sake?” Abigail pointed out.

“I did.” Sasha sighed and finished off the salsa. “Doesn’t make me miss them or encourage others to partake.”

“This is why I talk to Emma. She’s always the voice of reason.”

“You’re usually blunt and honest. I find this telling.” Sasha’s gaze flicked to Drew’s. She picked up the napkin and wiped her mouth. “I should confess. I saw you guys and sat down. Didn’t really want to eat anything.” She frowned at the empty salsa bowl. “But, you know.”

“Tell Emma I won’t be by later,” Abigail said. “I’ve got some uber-planning and plotting to do.”

Sasha made a noncommittal noise as she rose from the table. Abigail waved bye to her friend and finished off what was left on her plate. Drew took his time. She wouldn’t talk about what happened. She would act like it didn’t happen.

“Scale of one to ten,” he paused, “how much do you hate me right now?”

The question deflated some of the tension holding her spine erect. “I don’t hate you,” she answered without looking at him.

“You look like you hate me right now.”

She sucked in a fortifying breath and refused to glance at him. “I don’t, but the kiss was a mistake. Let’s not talk about it.”

He snorted. “Won’t make what’s between us go away.”

Something dark and twisty squirmed in her stomach at the soft spoken words. “Yes, it will.”

He laughed and took her chin in his hand. Close enough to kiss again, her treacherous mind noted. Goose bumps rose along her skin at the prospect, and she didn’t want to pull away. She wanted him to take the choice in his hands and kiss her, making the argument moot. It was cowardly and Abigail was so rarely a wuss.

He took in her face, stopping at the small pout of her lips. “So what excuse have you come up with to not lean forward?”

“It’s not an excuse.” She licked her lips nervously.

“If you don’t want me to lean forward,
don’t tempt me
.” He ran his thumb over her chin. “So, what’s the excuse, Ms. Johnson?”

She sighed. “If we get involved, it can have repercussions not just for me but my team. The job comes first for me.”

“That’s a non-issue.”

She turned her head and his hand fell away. “It is if my boss finds out I’m involved with you in a way that isn’t professional. How would you be able to say your decision to keep my team intact had nothing to do with us?”

He nodded. “And if I come to the conclusion your team needs to be fired, you’ll hold it against me.”

She chuckled. “I’ll hold it against you either way.”

“Either way?” His brows rose. “There’s still a possibility.”

Her gaze went to his mouth, and she forced herself to sit still and not lean forward. “Absolutely not.”

He ran a finger over her bottom lip, and she shivered from the touch. “Right, Ms. Johnson. If it’s what you want.”

“It’s what I need.” She turned away. Abigail didn’t hold it against him when she licked her bottom lip just to taste him again.

*****

Drew stopped at the borrowed office door and his heart skittered. Abigail stood in a Wonder Woman pose—hands on her hips and legs parted—at the war board he put together. In another lifetime, he could see himself surprising Abigail from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a gentle kiss on her neck. The raven strands would smell of the shampoo she used. The scent would fill him with comfort, and the closest to home he’d ever felt. The vision fed the longing and deepened the yearning. The kiss earlier didn’t help. It only added to the emotion.

That lifetime didn’t exist.

“I didn’t take you for a cheat, Ms. Johnson.” He strolled into the office.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You bring out of the worst in me.”

“Your story and you’re sticking to it.”

“Damn straight.” She plucked a sticky note from the wall.

He ambled over to her, and then Abigail said, “You have very neat handwriting, but I have no idea what this means. You write in code.”

He put his hand out and she placed the note in it. Drew scanned the words, and then glanced at her, a little surprised she didn’t understand it. “Blue blood translates to wealth. Hope diamond—”

“Unattainable,” she said, getting it.

“And coveted,” he added and something much deeper than warmth spread in his chest at her understanding.

“Exclusive,” she shot back and turned to him with her gaze bright.

This language is what fueled them. Concepts and deeper meaning sold ad space and moved products. Her breath hitched. He wondered if she noticed. God, he hoped so because he needed her to see them as a unit, like this, in moments just like this to feed the longing he could barely understand, much less describe.

“Sophisticated wealth.” He inched closer.

Her shoulders slumped. “Exactly what the client wants.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Why’d you get out of the business again?”

He put the note back where he had it. “Got tired of the rat race. Constant and never ending. You can’t have an off day. You can’t choose which clients to take on, at least not at the company I worked for. Unless you wrote the paychecks.”

“And you…” She plucked another note off the wall. “Like to make your own rules.”

He tsked, snatching the note out of her hand. “I hate to be bored.”

“Picking your own clients gives you variety.” She grabbed at the note in his hand and missed.

Drew put it behind his back. “Ask nicely and I’ll let you see it.”

Abigail snorted. “Couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

Their form of asking nicely, he gave her the sticky. “Nope.”

“Speakeasy,” she read and then shook her head. She placed the note where he had it on the wall. “You seem so full of ideas, and…I’m stuck. In the next hour I have to go to my team with a brave face and tell them—what?”

“Desperation brought you in here?” Drew scratched at his scruff.

“That and nosiness.” She pursed her lips for a moment and shrugged. “And none of your team cracked.”

Pleasure warmed him. “I bet they didn’t.”

Abigail made a noise of frustration. At the sound, Drew pulled her closer. She hesitated and then let him position her in front of him. His fingers pressed into warm and soft skin. She’d ditched the suit jacket. Today’s shirt was a vibrant red and had short sleeves. It complimented her beautiful skin.

And it just felt good to touch her and for her to let him. “Tell me what you see.”

“Orderly notes only you understand.” She sighed. “Someone who out of the two of us actually knows what he’s doing.” The doubt put a strain in her voice.

“What I see is a brainstorming board full of gibberish,” he said.

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. “You’re going to win.
Goddammit
.”

She put her hands on her hips and shook back her hair. His eyes closed for a moment. The scent of her shampoo rose up from the motion. Cinnamon. What home could smell like. It was pure torture to stand there behind her, space and doubt and their past keeping them apart. Yet he could have stood like that all day: Drinking her in with each breath. Touching her skin lightly. Basking in the heat of her skin beneath his fingers.

With only a slight regret, he stepped away and went to the wall. He began taking down all the notes until the wall lay bare. Drew stalked to his desk and picked up the pad of Post Its and a pen. He wrote down the word beating at his heart.

“Put this on the wall,” he said.

She frowned at the note. “Home?”

A quick jerk of his head motioned for her to do it. “Put the note in the middle of the wall.”

She did and then shrugged at the next moment’s silence. “What next?”

He handed her the pad and pen. “First thought.”

“Fireplace,” she said.

“Write it down.”

She raised a brow, but he gestured for her to write the word. Abigail scribbled and then placed the sticky note next to the first one.

“Now, you’ve got fireplace. What does that make you think of?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Bear-skin rug.”

He lifted a hand with a shrug. “Write it down.”

She blinked. “This is ridiculous.”

“Maybe, but this is how I work. Gibberish until something comes together and I can see a bigger picture, until more words and associations come to me. Keep going.”

She bit down on her tongue and continued the process he usually went through. He stepped back and watched her work and let the scent of cinnamon do things to him it shouldn’t have.

It was compelling to watch to say the least. Their world was about using tried and true images to tell a story in thirty seconds or less. On a deeper level, their work tapped into people’s baser needs—hunger, lust, love. Everyone felt those stirrings and certain words, images called to them.

It was both of their jobs to feed that longing and turn it into a yearning and then an action—buying the product. They could do it in smart, clever ways. Subtle and poignant. But it all started as a seed of an idea and watching it come to fruition was
compelling
. More so because it was watching Abby at work.

Ten minutes later she stopped, stood back, hands on her hips again. None of the words made sense to him, but from the way Abigail pursed her lips they made perfect sense to her.

“Huh.” Her gaze had narrowed when she looked back at him. “Why’d you help me?”

The real answer? The one that beat against his chest and stole his breath? He didn’t know and even if he did, he wouldn’t say. Instead, Drew forced a smile to his lips. “Wanted it to be a fair fight.”

She made a noncommittal noise, gaze once again on the wall. “And it’s what friends do?”

Friends. The one thing they could never truly be. That damn kiss made it worse. He hadn’t intended to bend down and finally know what her mouth would feel like against his. He’d known, on some level, it would only dig him deeper. And it had. Even if he’d thought they could truly be friends, touching her and Abigail touching him back, would have staked the idea right in its heart.

“Friends.” He felt bitter and conflicted saying the word now. “Of course,” he said.

An emotion passed behind her gaze as she looked at him. What should have been a crush, what should have been a simple infatuation, another chance to see where they ended up, shook him to the core. And Drew didn’t even know what it was that
compelled
him.

She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it. “Thank you. I—I’ve got to get ready for the meeting.”

Drew nodded, unable to speak as he watched her walk out the door.

Chapter Eight

Marilyn stood about five feet even. She’d tied her shoe black hair into a ponytail. As was her usual stance at the batting cage, she bit down on her lip, gaze narrowed at the target. At the far end in front of them sat a massive pitching machine. Metal fencing separated them in their own cages.

His cousin choked up on the bat and hit the ball hurtling toward her with practiced ease. “What’s got your jock strap in a bunch and making you hit like a girl?”

“Play nice,” Keri said behind him.

He took a step back and glanced at Marilyn’s girlfriend. She had on a Red Sox’s jersey as was usual for their sports’ day. The helmet covered most of the bob cut, but her hair still looked soft as its namesake of sable. Sunglasses covered her sharp hazel gaze.

“Years and still you stay with her. I think that says more about you.” Drew shook his head.

“It does,” Keri said.

Marilyn barked, “Pay attention. We have pride and dignity riding on this.”

Drew fixed his stance. “You beat me every week. I don’t know why we have to do this.”

“You refuse to do a mani-pedi day,” Marilyn said.

Drew finally hit a ball. “It’s like thirty minutes of tickle torture. I’m good.”

Marilyn twirled the bat. “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

Drew sighed after missing the ball. His swing and focus was off. “I’m in a complicated situation. It’s a first for me. I don’t know how to deal with it.”

“A woman.” Keri hit the ball effortlessly. “It’s all in the tone. And, yes, a first for you.”

“He doesn’t ever talk about his conquests,” Marilyn said.

“I don’t have conquests,” Drew said, offended.

“I know.” A grin brightened Marilyn’s face. “I was being facetious.”

Drew choked up on the bat. “When are you ever not?”

“Never.”

He heard the smile in her voice and this time he made contact with the ball, and it sailed behind his head. Drew scowled at the pile of baseballs behind him. “You weren’t at the wedding,” he said to change the subject.

“You know why.”

He rolled his shoulders and got back into position. “Actually I don’t.”

“Greg still hasn’t forgiven me.”

“That was a year ago. He asked about you.”

“No, he didn’t.”

He grinned as her ball sailed to hit the back wall. “No, he didn’t, but he’ll get over being pissed off at you. He’s married Yvonne. In a way that’s taking your advice.”

“He’s always listened to you instead of me. I don’t get it. I’m older and wiser. It was damn time for him to get over She Who Shall Not Be Named.”

He pursed his lips. “She was at the wedding.”

The bat hung loose as Marilyn’s jaw fell. “Oh, you should have called me. I would have broken my neck to see the fireworks between Abigail and Nadine. Did she shank her?”

“Nadine wouldn’t.”

“I’m talking about Abigail. I remember meeting her mother. It’s a small wonder Abigail isn’t crazier than a Betsy bug.” She stopped the tirade to gasp. “No, don’t tell me.”

Marilyn ignored the baseballs hitting the gate. “Is that the complication? Please tell me that is not what’s gotten a hold of your jock strap. She’s bad news. You see what she did to Greg.”

It was no surprise when he missed the ball. “She’s the complication,” he confirmed.

She shook her head at him and didn’t bother to make an attempt to hit her last ball. Neither did he.

Keri cleared her throat. She’d won the contest hands down. “I still get to walk away with my pride and dignity, but I think this conversation has made the point moot. Who’s Abigail?”