Unlikely Allies (21 page)

Unable to control herself any longer, instead of screaming at the idiot, Maggie’s outburst came in the form of laughter. “Let me get this straight. You, who I do not know, want to give me and my daughter twenty thousand dollars.”

“Exactly,” Ms. Kensington responded as if it were no big deal, and she did this kind of thing every day.

Yeah, if she believed it to be a true offer for one second, rather than the malarkey she knew it for, she would’ve thought she hit the lottery. But that wasn’t her kind of luck. Out of patience and all funniness gone, she got within spitting distance and demanded a final time, “What do you want?”

The beauty queen must’ve had enough too, because she stopped mincing words. “Stay away from Rick.”

Rick? This BS had to do with him? As Maggie shook her head, a chuckle rolled out of her, but she swallowed it fast when she realized what the money meant. “Unbelievable.” She stomped up the stairs. “Don’t follow me. If you do, I can guarantee you won’t make it out of here without a black eye or two.” As she rounded the next landing, she glanced down between the stairwells and saw Ms. Kensington still on the step where she’d left her. Bent over the rail she yelled, “Don’t you ever,
ever,
try bribing me again. You’re a piece of work, you know that? You’re disgusting. Stay away from me, or you’ll be very sorry.”

Tired of climbing or just being in the same space as filth, she yanked the door to the third floor open and entered the elevator that appeared in the nick of time. After stabbing the button for her floor, she scooted between two guys and collapsed against the paneled wall. She leaned her head back and pressed her fingertips to her temple, rubbing clockwise and then counterclockwise. This day sucked. When the bad outweighed the good, she guessed the rest of the night had a higher probability of disaster too. The ride to her floor happened in no time. Furious, she hightailed it down the hall not paying any mind to her surroundings. She fumed and grumbled the entire route:
I have a proposition for you. I’m giving you and your daughter a wonderful gift. You should be thanking me.

As she came around the corner, she ran right into the individual who’d caused this entire fiasco. “Get away from me.” Shoving Rick in his chest, she sidestepped around him. Before she could kick up her pace, he grabbed her upper arm.

“Whoa, hold it just a second. What the hell is your problem?”

She yanked out of his grip and charged on.

“Maggie, what’s going on?” His voice trailed behind her, coming closer.

She quick-stepped into Westlake’s lobby, waved at Alice the receptionist, and dashed into her office. The location to the right of the entry made for an easy escape. She locked the door and plopped onto the leather chair behind her desk. Then waited and waited and waited, staring at the wood panel, expecting knocking to follow. She checked the digital clock on her desk and noticed five minutes had passed. Even though her reluctance to see him kept her in her seat, she realized there wasn’t much choice. She still needed to see her daughter. Easing the door open, she peeked into the reception area.

“Look who I found.”

“Mama.” Rick held Cece in his arms. Their beaming smiles increased when they saw her.

She should have figured the bastard would use a down and dirty trick. Her daughter’s hands stretched out, and Cece almost leapt out of his hold and into hers. She kissed Cece on the temple and each cheek, and gave her a big smooch on the lips, while squeezing her tight and swaying side to side. “Hi, pumpkin. I missed you.” Maggie closed her eyes and breathed in Cece’s baby powder mixed with glue and crayon scent, almost breaking down into tears. Stress overwhelmed her and clogged her throat. “I love you so much, sweetie. So very much.” The whispered testament strained over a swelling lump, which grew larger as she spoke. She opened her eyes to a hazel examination that scrutinized each tic and twitch on her face.

As if coaxing a terrified kitten, he asked, “Are you okay?” Concern creased his brow, and he reached out to her but then dropped his hand to his side.

Cece grabbed her cheeks and smashed them together, puckering her lips. “Ya gotta make cupcakes.”

“When?” Her question came out muffled, constricted by her fish mouth.

“Tomorrow.” Cece punctuated the announcement with a peck on her lips, releasing the strong hold on her face.

As though Maggie hadn’t heard right, she repeated, “Tomorrow, tomorrow.”

Bobbing her head up and down, Cece confirmed, “Yeppers, Mama.”

Groaning, she ignored Rick’s smirk and marched toward the investigators’ cubicles. “Kat.” Her sister’s head popped up over the partition. Alex’s had already been visible since he had a habit of sitting on Kat’s desk, gossiping. Which he did better than any old lady.

“Did you check Cece’s backpack? Is there a note about cupcakes tomorrow?”

“Yes.” Cece answered for her, shrieking the response and dragging it out like a train whistle.

Kat shrugged, glanced left and right, and then picked up the glittery pink tulle bag. Undoing the drawstring, she pulled the take-home folder out and flipped it open. “Uh, yeah, there is.”

“Told ya.” Cece repeated the phrase three times, a very annoying parroting habit, relishing in the fact she’d been right and the adults were wrong.

Maggie snatched the paper out of her sister’s hand and read the reminder. “Fifty? Who are they feeding, an army?”

“What kind you makin,’ Mags? Save me some,” Alex requested, high-fiving Kat and then Cece.

“Oh, I’ll get right on that, while I’m answering phones and inputting your months of travel receipts in the computer. I’ll hop on over to the break room, whip them up, and pop 'em in the microwave just for you.”

“Cool.” Alex’s sarcastic reply and “yummy” added to it while he patted his stomach had not been appreciated.

Instead of taking her wrath out on him, she aimed a glower at her sister. After she handed Cece over to Kat, she ordered, “You two have to do it. Cece knows where the recipe is. She can make them with her eyes closed.”

“Yeah.” Cece bounced up and down, clapping her hands. “Go, Kitty, go.”

No matter how often Maggie heard Cece blurt her aunt’s pet name, she couldn’t resist giggling. Kat hated it and knowing that fact delighted Maggie even more. After the piss-poor day she had, she’d take pleasure wherever she could get it.

“I can’t bake, kid, so I’ll supervise. You do all the work. Deal?”

“Yippee.” Cece wrapped her arms around her aunt’s shoulders, pressed her mouth to Kat’s cheek, and blew raspberries on it.

“Ew, gross.” With the back of her hand, Kat swiped away the slobber and planted one in the crook of Cece’s neck, tickling her in the process.

“I want chocolate with fudge frosting.” Alex didn’t know when to let up.

“Ya betcha. Max, ya want some?” Cece shouted.

Figuring he would’ve been long gone by now, Maggie whipped around to find him resting an arm along the metal-trimmed partition. How long he’d been there she had no idea.

“Yes, sweet pea. Whatever you make.”

“All right, monster, let’s go home. Give your mama another kiss and we need to go.”

After another round of hugs and smooches, including “Max too,” Cece waved both of her hands over Kat’s shoulders while being carried out.

Seated behind her desk, she jabbed at the keyboard, pretending to work. A bad attempt to ignore Rick, who stood in her doorway with his shoulder leaning against the jamb. “We need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.” His requests and her denials fired back and forth for the next ten seconds or so, and the longer it went on, she considered flinging pencils at him from the decorated cup, which had Cece’s photo and “Happy Mother’s Day” on it. She might not be a good shot, but she’d hit something, since his oversized male ego and broad shoulders took up the entire space, blocking the exit.

“What was that about? And don’t say you don’t know.”

“If I tell you, will you go away?”

“Yes.” He agreed, but she wasn’t sure he meant it. Regardless, she had tons to do, and if she didn’t fess up, he’d never leave.

“Fine.”

“Finally,” he huffed, shutting the door and pulling a chair up right next to her. There wasn’t a lot of room in the eight by eight square, and with both of them using their chairs’ armrests, sitting elbow to elbow, arm to arm, it felt even tighter. Of course he didn’t bother to budge even with a good foot or two on the other side of him.

She picked up a piece of paper and waved it back and forth, fanning her face, neck, and chest. “Is it hot in here? Are you hot?” Once she blurted the second question, she realized how it sounded. The jackass laughed at her expense and had the nerve to grab her wrist, redirecting the air onto him.

“I think I am.” He eased his shoulder along hers, inching his hazel eyes, suckable lips, and everything closer.

“Stop that.” She yanked and his grip loosened, giving her a chance to scoot her chair several inches away. His deep, guttural chuckles echoed in the overheated, shrinking box.

“Quit stalling, Maggie. What’s going on?” His demeanor changed from jovial to serious and professional in an instant. All joking aside, he sat back in the chair with his hands clasped, resting them on his buttoned-up suit and flat stomach. “Out with it.”

“Don’t you have a meeting to go to?”

He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the armrests like he might jump out of his seat at any moment. “Knock it off. I’m serious. Why are you so pissed?” His voice got gruffer, if possible, when he asked, “Does this have to do with Antonio?”

“Antonio?” Absolute absurdity bubbled up and over, and her hilarious uproar howled in his face. “You’re kidding.”

“No. You going to tell me there isn’t something going on between you two.”

“Oh that’s rich.” She shoved her chair back, banging it against the wall hard enough to leave a mark, and rounded her desk. When she flung the door open, she thrust her arm toward the reception area. “Get out.”

“No.” He relaxed into his chair again, lips firm and eyes determined. He’d get his way or else. The master negotiator was in his element. He had her on the defensive and at a supreme disadvantage.

“You’re gonna get me fired,” she pleaded, a whiny grovel her next play, and exaggerated with a sniffle. She needed to work on her acting skills, because without an ounce of sympathy, he tilted his head toward the ceiling, rolled his eyes, and released a tired exhale.

For a brief instant, she wished she could be four years old again: get away with stomping her feet, throwing herself on the carpet, and screaming and kicking her way out of this with a temper tantrum. About to turn twenty-seven next month, she figured she couldn’t. All that maneuver would get her would be a straightjacket and a speedy trip to the psych ward.

With his thumbs rapping on his stomach, he stared and waited. He thought he had the advantage since he was bigger and more powerful, or he’d just wait her out and she’d give up. He was right.

She shoved the door closed and plopped into her seat. As she gathered her thoughts, he stretched his hand across the divide, grabbed onto her chair, and wheeled her into the exact position she’d been before. Except now, his arm was laying across hers on the rest, holding her in place. “Talk.” He linked his fingers with hers and squeezed them. His expression turned to tender and supportive. The hardened negotiator long gone, replaced by sincere compassion.

In no way could a woman resist him when he wore such emotions on his face and sleeve, tugging at her heart. Everything that happened earlier vanished, and instead of anger, she melted and got lost in
him.
He really was gorgeous. His ash brown hair had streaks of golden beige, shimmering black, and a single silvery whisker in a sideburn. His finger-tousled strands—longer and thicker on top, buzzed at the sides, cropped short at the nape—didn’t resemble any executives’ style she saw. No, the sexy, natural cowlick and curl that darted toward his left eye gave his face a hint of boyish charm. His dimpled chin had a five o’clock shadow and extended from his sideburns, along the ridge of his angular jaw and above his upper lip, emphasizing his caveman side and screamed:
scrub me, lick me, bite me.

She swore she could still taste his salty, tangy tongue on hers from the too short of a sample a month ago. He’d sucked her in, lips clashing and tongue swapping, gifting her with the best French kiss she experienced in her life. Oh, the twirling, twisting motions he did with that muscle had left her with erotic images for weeks now. Her lusty dreams woke her up in the middle of the night. In order to go back to sleep, a temporary, disappointing relief came about from pleasuring herself. Yet “pleasure” didn’t equate to satisfaction in the least. The only way to achieve that miracle would be to throw off his pinstripe suit jacket, rip open his white dress shirt, and slowly loosen the red-and-black paisley tie he had laced in a professional knot at the hollow of his neck. She’d pull and clutch it in small clumps, flicking the tip against her taut nipples as she straddled him. Her core would rub against his erection, a sizable offering he didn’t have a problem providing before.

“Whatever you’re thinking, Maggie, you need to stop right now.” His down in the gutter, Adam’s-apple-bobbing order revved her up even more. It didn’t help that his arm held hers down, producing a whole slew of images: his hairy thighs pressed against her smooth ones, his hands clasped to hers above her head, his naked chest smashed against hers in an embrace so tight, neither of them would be able to breathe.

He lifted their joined hands from the armrest, pressed their forefingers together, and sucked them into his mouth. Seducing, tempting, luring—he massaged them along the crease of her lips and teased the divide.

Her legs scrunched together and hips bobbed—up—down—and as she squirmed her panties dampened more and more. The stiff seam of her pants provided a rigid hardness she craved. His gaze narrowed on her clenched thighs, and their fingers began a descent: over her tingling chin, along her begging neck, across her shirt to a pleading nipple, swirling around and around. His thumb used as leverage, he pinched and pulled the puckered tip, then drew their linked hands down the center of her chest and stomach, catching on the button of her pants and flicking it open. He pulled down the zipper, widening and separating the material. His knuckles tickled her flesh and increased her breathing. With his head bent, watching, heated air blew against her stomach, sending prickles along her skin. Together, their fingers coasted over her sheer peach panties, revealing her shaved mound.