Can't Touch This (28 page)

His eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face.  “You forgot the third thing.”

“I don’t have a third thing.”

He holds up three fingers.  “Third, I’m stubborn and don’t like to take no for an answer.  I will wear you down.”

My skin heats at his words.  Swirls of desire encompass the two of us and I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to withstand his advances without eventually caving in.  Cockiness becomes him.  Kyle
is
a rogue after all.  This might be hard, but I’m sticking to my guns.

“Nettles, there you are.”  It’s the older one of the two Willies.  “Jiles needs us pronto.”

“Oh, okay.  Catch ya later, Vanessa,” Kyle says with a wink.

So much for my holiday mental cleansing.  There goes Kyle sweeping in and taking over my thoughts again.  As I watch his gorgeousness round the corner to Little Baby Jesus’ office, I pick up the 8-ball and toss it from hand to hand.

He won’t give up, huh?  Doesn’t care about company rules?  I’m flattered that someone like Kyle would find me worthy of a challenge like this.  I look at my new toy and ask, “Is he for real?”

My heart skitters along while the hazy blue liquid settles.  The 8-ball reads, “BETTER NOT TELL YOU NOW.”

“Oh, the hell with you,” I say, flinging it to my desk.

I’ll figure this out on my own.

*****

J
anuary is over
and done with before I know it.  My time in the office increases as my time at home wanes.  I’ve hardly seen Kyle or had the chance to talk with him since that morning in my cube.  The Willies constantly have him out at customer sites throughout the country.  Also, I’ve been to Dallas and Chicago for tradeshows.

Work—and lots of it—is good.  I’m staying busy and focused and I’m not even thinking about the fact that Kyle wants to date me.  We both know it’s impossible, especially with the updated Employees Manual that was passed out two days ago with what I call the Reagan Rules and Griz Amendments.

Griz and Rick are still dating.  Sleeping together to be more precise.  They do a good job keeping it cool at work, but I’ve barely seen her off-hours because she’s practically living with Rick.

“Why do you do it?” I ask her over lunch of our halved tuna, Muenster, and bacon on wheat.  “Why are you risking everything?”

She chews carefully and waits to speak.  “It’s really quite simple, Double-Vee.”

“Nothing’s simple, Griz.  Not work.  Not life and certainly not love.”

“I risk it because Rick is...
the one
.”

I nearly gasp.  “How do you know?”

She shrugs.  “We mesh well.  And he makes me laugh.”

“But you work together and it’s against the rules.”  I can’t seem to get this through her head.  Griz lives in Back Bay, for heaven’s sake, where rents aren’t cheap.  She has to be afraid of unemployment and not having any money.

“It is what it is,” she says, wiping her mouth.  “So we were sloppy in the beginning, but it was because of that first love, can’t get enough of each other feeling.  You want to be with them and let them know you’re thinking about them twenty-four/seven.”

I want to feel that too.  I’ll admit it; I’m scared.

I press.  “Are you afraid that you’re being watched?”

“Yeah.  Course, I figure Jiles and Nancy don’t have anything better to do than to legislate our private lives.  Honestly, Vanessa, you worry too much about what Jiles Chancey thinks.  You have to take charge of your life.  Do what’s best for you.”

I take a bite of the sandwich and think for a minute.  “Kyle sort of asked me out.”

She bolts to attention, nearly dropping the remains of her sandwich.  “It’s about damn time.  I told you he likes you.”

“I know he does.  I’m the one who doesn’t want to do anything about it.”

“Are you insane?”

Probably. 
“No, I’m being smart.  Besides, the client services meetings have kicked off, he’s going to be on the road a lot.  The company’s watching expenses and I have to do everything I can to make sure marketing is doing their part for the bottom line.”

Griz folds her hands on the table and cocks her head to one side.  “Vanessa Virtue is the cause you have worry about.  Work is work.  We’re still in our twenties.  There will be other jobs.  There will be more important jobs.  Quit stressing over this one.  Someone like Kyle doesn’t come around every day.  Don’t fuck it up.”

My mouth forms an “O” and I stare at her.  “Did you just say the ‘f’ word?”

“You’re goddamn right I did,” she says and then takes another bite of her sandwich.  She means business.

Deep down, I don’t want to admit that she’s right.

When I get home that night, weary from trying to manage the myriad emotions and thoughts swirling in my head over Kyle, my responsibilities at work, and what’s right or wrong, Mr. Paulsen is shoveling the remains of the latest New England snowstorm out of the driveway.  He’s bundled up in a hooded orange parka with only his creepy eyes.

I crawl out of my Cabrio and the land lizard stares at me.  “Hi, Mr. Paulsen.  They say we’re supposed to have an early spring,” I babble.  If I’m nice, maybe he won’t mess with my karma again.

He sets the shovel in front of him and rests his pointy chin on the handle.  “I see you’re wearing a rather large coat, Vanessa.  Are you hiding something?”

“Hiding something?  What do you mean?”

“Like all the weight you’ve gained?”

“Excuse me?”  Yeah, I gained some poundage over the holidays, but this idiot should know you never mention weight to a woman.  Then it hits me.  “Do you still think I’m pregnant?”

His mouth flattens out in a disapproving grimace.

Other than the innumerable times I’ve had secret sex in my head with Kyle, I am so chaste it hurts.  “You’re a freak, you know that?  I was
never
pregnant.  Get over it.”

I hear the window upstairs open and see William peek out.

“I don’t appreciate that tone of voice,” Mr. Paulsen says.

“And I don’t appreciate you sticking your nose into my business.  Listen up, bub.  We pay our rent on time and we don’t cause any problems.  You need to back off.”

Next thing I know, William’s beside me and pulls me by the arm up the front stairs.  “You’ll have to excuse her.  She hasn’t been getting any lately.  You know, sexually frustrated.  All built up inside needing to explode.”

“William!”  Great, tell the whole street how pitiful I am.

“You better watch yourself,” Mr. Paulsen yells after me.

I snap back.  “Freak of nature.”

William closes the door, wraps his arm around my shoulder, and chuckles.  “I guess when our lease is up in June, we’ll be looking for a new place, huh?”

A new place would be lovely with no milk crates for shelves, no squeaky floor, no Mr. Paulsen, and as much as I love William, I’d love a new roommate.

I’d love for it to be Kyle.

“R
ockin’ good time
in Chicago, Virtue,” LBJ says out of the corner of his mouth as I sit at his conference table with my marketing reports two weeks and three thousand air miles later.

Travel has kept me focused on work.  I’ve gathered a ton of sales leads, the client services meetings are going off well (Kyle e-mails me to let me know what’s up—and we do some harmless e-flirting) and the tradeshow in Chicago netted the greatest number of business cards yet this year.  I’m proving to Little Baby Jesus that I can handle the extra duties dumped on me since Aislin’s maternity leave.  More than that, LBJ seems to be taking note.  I’m about to get up my nerve to ask about my review and yearly raise.  Armed with stacks of paperwork, I’m confident and ready to plead my case.

“Thanks, Jiles,” I say.  “The clients loved the party we threw at the Sheraton and Ted even made a new sale.  We kept the costs on budget and everything seemed to work out for the bottom line.”

“Yeah, well, any time you spend a dime, it’s bad for the company, but what can you do?”  He rubs the hair under his nose.

“I adjusted the marketing budget on the February events and I think if we reallocate a couple of the line items everything will be—”

“—Move along,” he interrupts, slurping from his Snapple Half and Half.  “We’ve got to think big picture here.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing?”  My agenda is blown.

“I’m thinking we need something huge to knock the customers on their collective asses.”  He snaps his fingers.  “I know!  A party in Denver.  It’s in the middle and we’ll draw lots of customers.”

I shuffle through the pages of my marketing plan and see nothing on the schedule for Denver.  The last client meeting Kyle and I planned is Salt Lake City on February twenty-sixth.

“Jiles, I’m sorry but you’re losing me.  Can we start over?”

“Keep up, will you?”

He’s all over the place, fluttering around like a hummingbird on Dexatrim.  I look at his desk where two empty mega-ounce Starbucks coffee cups sit.  God only knows what all of that caffeine does to his mini-man system.

Jiles stands and begins to pace.  “The party in Chicago went the distance in tending the wounds of our whiny clients.  We’ve done all these touchy-feely Dr. Phil sessions and where has that gotten us?  Nowhere.  I want more from this Denver meeting.  We’ve got to distract the clients.  Wine them, dine them, set them up with hot women.”

I don’t understand what he’s getting at.  “Are we running a house of ill repute?”

“You’re funny.  I like creative thinking.  Stick with me.”

He scratches his hairy blond chin and flicks something off his finger that he harvested from the depths of his beard.  Then he leans forward and pounds in an extension on the speakerphone.

I hear, “This is Kyle,” and there goes my rascally heart, hammering away at the sound of his voice.

“Get in here, Nettles.”

“Be there in a sec, Chance.”

Kyle has a nickname for Jiles? 
Oh, Kyle... gross
.

“Sit,” Jiles says when Kyle walks in.  He takes the chair next to me and I scoot closer in case I need him as a shield.

Over the next ten minutes, Jiles shuffles through papers, flails his arms, and rips apart the remaining portions of the customer service plan.  “Cancel Salt Lake and have those clients gather for a customer appreciation party in Denver.”

I let out a long sigh.  Great, now I’ll have to get out of the hotel contract, but apparently, LBJ doesn’t care.

Jiles keeps railing.  “I want everyone there; dressed to the hilt, ready to service the clients any way possible.”  I don’t believe he actually intends to prostitute our sales force, but being the materialistic creature he is, he probably thinks pleasing eye candy will ease customers’ tensions.

The throbbing vein in Kyle’s neck indicates his mood.  He tries to defend the plan we’ve come up with and the effectiveness of the feedback we’ve already gathered.  “Shouldn’t we run this by Will and Will?” he asks.

“Nettles, you have a case of the Willies,” Jiles says, and then laughs at himself.  “I should’ve been a comedian.  Don’t you think I’m funny?”

No, not funny.  Psychotic more like.

I look at Kyle and he scratches his head.  He throws his hands up in surrender.  “So what do you want, Jiles?”

“I want an open bar, food, and music.  We’ll give attendees two months of service for attending.  That’ll ease the moaning and will seal the deal on profitability.”

“How will giving away our services make us profitable?” I can’t help but ask.  Jiles isn’t making any sense.

“We’ll bill them for our time in Denver.  They’re used to client services billings, so we’ll pass the cost off to each company.  Unless they compare bills, they’ll never know.”

“That’s double-dipping and it’s illegal,” Kyle snaps.  I respect him for standing up to the president like this.  I’ve always thought he was another one of Jiles’ lap dogs.  Obviously not.  Kyle marches to his own drum.

Jiles waves his hand, as if to dismiss Kyle’s protestation.  “It’s only illegal if we get caught.  Besides, these clients don’t deal with each other.  We’ll feed them, booze them, schmooze them, and be home free.  I have calls to make—starting with Dyno Technologies.  They’re our biggest client and they’re the lynch pin.  Don’t sit there looking at me, get on this!”

Before we can get out of the chairs, Little Baby Jesus taps on his speakerphone and starts autodialing.

Kyle ushers me by the elbow.  “Let’s go.”

So many unanswered questions cyclone around in my head.  What about the lead report I worked on all weekend?  What about the revised marketing budget?  What about my raise?

“Oh, and Virtue,” LBJ adds.

I turn.  He’s going to tell me about my raise now.  “Yes?”

“Fed Ex this for me.”  He tosses a small box my way.  I catch the package and tuck it under my arm, apparently not having a choice in the matter.

I sigh when we get into the hallway.  “He’s mental.”

“Completely whacked,” Kyle whispers.  “He’s letting the pressure get the best of him.”

“What pressure?”

Kyle looks around and then leads me toward the Bobby Orr conference room where he closes the door.  “Don’t tell anyone, but the Board gave Jiles an ultimatum two weeks ago.  Profitability by the beginning of March... or else.”

“Or else what?”  My heart pounds frantically in my chest.

“I don’t know.  It’s up to the Board.  Jiles is only their mouthpiece.  Don’t fool yourself into thinking he has more power.”

“He’s a tiny little jerk.”  I clasp my hand over my mouth.

Kyle laughs.  “You’re so cute.  Don’t worry about what you say to me.”  He reaches out and strokes my upper arm.  “Besides, I don’t know how much more of this company’s alleged leadership and idiotic rules I can take.  Nothing but seagull management.”

“What’s a seagull manager?”  I can barely concentrate with Kyle’s hand on my arm and his eyes peering through me like laser beams.  My skin heats where his fingers are and I try not to give in to the desire to toss him onto the conference table.

“Oh, you know, Jiles flies around, squawks a lot, craps on everything, and then flies off.  Then, we’re the ones who get to clean up his mess.”