Catch a Mate (8 page)

“Hey, Marcus,” she said in greeting. Gag. Someone kill her now. “It's nice to see you again.”

Once more, he blinked in surprise. Once more, confusion darkened his velvety brown eyes. “Nice to see you, too,” he said, unsure.

Everyone looked from Marcus to her, her to Marcus. “You two know each other?” Danielle asked.

Unfortunately. “Yes.”

“Yes,” he echoed.
Unfortunately
hung in the air unsaid.

“Marcus,” Anne said. “Are you ready?”

He nodded, stood and anchored his hands behind his back, his mouth slightly curled at the corners. Suddenly he looked ready for battle. For a riot. Something. But he tore his gaze away from Jillian, walked to the back wall, leaned against it and remained silent.

“I want to begin by saying how proud I am of each and every one of you,” Anne said. There was an odd inflection in her voice. A hint of sadness.

Jillian frowned. Usually Anne began her speeches and lectures by telling them they were ingrates and should fall on their knees, thanking her for allowing them to work for her. Anne, proud of them? Possibly sad?

This can't be good,
she thought, tensing.

“There were times you wanted to kill me, I'm sure,” Anne added. Was that a tear in her eye? “But none of you ever did. Not many women would show such restraint.”

“Anne?” Becky said. Her voice was shaking. “What are you trying to tell us? Are you…dying or something?”

Anne wagged a finger at her. “I'm getting to that, you ingrate, and I'd like silence until I do.”

Finally. Anne sounded like, well, Anne again. Jillian expelled a relieved breath. Her attention veered to Marcus, to see how he was responding to the speech, the girls.
Everything.

His gaze was locked on Jillian's mouth. Again. Unbidden, her lips parted as she tried to catch her breath. Her lungs burned for air. Marcus raised his eyes, dark pools, and for a split second they stared at each other and she was drowning…drowning.

His eyes devoured her, undressed her right there in the conference room. Blistered her from head to toe. Anne's voice faded from her ears and in that suspended moment, her entire world seemed to revolve around Marcus.

Her skin grew hot, her stomach flip-flopped.
Look away, look away, look away.
But she couldn't. He'd trapped her. Held her captive. She didn't want him. Really. She wasn't attracted to him.

Thankfully, for whatever reason, he tore his gaze away from her and she was able to do the same. She focused on the far wall. Its bareness irritated her. At least, she wanted it to be irritation she was feeling. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, all of her pulse points like little drums.
Boom, boom, boom,
knocking against her ribs. She could breathe, could hear Anne again.

“—should just say it.” Anne paused, squared her shoulders. “Change was inevitable. Change is always inevitable. And I can't say I'm sorry. It was…time.”

Change. How Jillian hated it. Marcus meant change, and she wanted things back to the way they were.

Treat him as a friend,
she told herself.
The attraction will go away if you're nice.
Yes. Nice. She straightened in her seat and, drawing on her determination, faced Marcus for the third time. For the third time, he was watching her. Pulled, perhaps, by the same invisible cord that beckoned her to take another look, no matter the excuse. She felt her body reacting as heatedly as before, but forced herself to smile sweetly, as if she hadn't a care.

He frowned in return. Looked away.

What kind of game was she playing? Marcus wondered. Her sex-kitten features radiated all kinds of different emotions. Lust—his favorite, though it shouldn't be. Hate—something he expected from her. Sweetness—a shocking development and surely a lie. Innocence—also a lie. Had to be.

The sweet smile was giving him a hard-on.

What didn't, nowadays? He was really beginning to miss his sexual slump. He'd thought—hoped—only Jillian's anger turned him on so potently. No such luck. Great. He'd have to be nice to her without making her smile.

That wasn't even the worst of it. She sat a good distance away from him, but he could still smell her from when he'd brushed against her a few moments ago. Not her perfume, but
her.
She smelled too good, like a tropical, hedonistic island catering to the pleasures of the flesh.
Stop breathing,
he told himself.

His mind kept flashing images of himself and Jillian, in bed. Naked. Tangled together. Writhing. And he kept finding himself watching her, studying. Wanting. Okay, so, to recap: he'd have to be nice to her without making her smile while standing far enough away from her that he couldn't smell her.

Totally doable.

Women like her should be caged. And thrown into a dark, never-ending tunnel. And then the tunnel should be permanently blocked from the rest of the world. A menace, that's what she was. A menace to his piece of mind. His good sense. His work ethic. His sex drive.

He couldn't help himself; he faced Jillian and studied her for the thousandth damn time. Hoping that this time she would not affect him. Hoping that this time the desire wouldn't make an appearance. Her hair curled down her shoulders and back. Black, silky. Pure sex appeal. She toyed with one of the strands, winding the end around her finger. When she released it, the tendril curled around her nipple.

Dear God. The agony. His mouth watered. Had she done that on purpose?

She didn't appear guilty, though. She appeared aroused. And worried. And angry. And then determined. But she smiled at him again. His stomach tightened into a hard knot and he stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from strangling that sexy, wouldn't-you-like-to-spank-me smile right off her.

Anne's next words penetrated the fog enveloping his mind. “I'm going to take a chance for once,” she said. “I've wanted to do this for a while, but held on, unsure. Well, I can't hang on anymore. I want a life outside of this office before it's too late. And so, I—I sold the business.”

Jillian's eyes widened.

“There,” Anne continued. “Now you know. I'm sure you knew it was coming, or at least suspected.”

Jillian's eyes widened even more, nearly popping out of her head.

“Ladies, I'd like you to meet your new boss, the new owner of Catch a Mate, Marcus Brody.”

He didn't expect applause and he didn't get any. Horror splashed over Jillian's face. She paled and focused all her attention on Anne. “What! What? No, no, no. Tell me you're lying. Damn it, Anne. You told me he was bait.”

“And I didn't lie. Marcus still plans to be active in the field. But he wanted a chance to meet everyone on equal footing, so I gave it to him.”

Stay where you are. Don't react.
If he displayed an ounce of smugness or triumph, it would piss her off and then he'd barely be able to control himself. He teetered precariously as it was.

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? This was one hand he wasn't going to fold. Later, he could regret it. Later, he
would
regret it. Now he'd simply enjoy.

Marcus strode to the end of the table and flattened his hands on the surface. He leaned toward Jillian, her scent stronger, more arousing than before. Sexy as it wrapped around him, lulling, begging for a touch, a caress.

He resisted as he opened his mouth to speak; Jillian beat him to it. “Double or nothing says you won't shut up and walk away from me right now,” she whispered quietly, menacingly.

With no hesitation, he whispered just as softly, “You win, because someone needs to say it.
You
are now a puppet, and
I
get to pull your strings. Dance, little puppet.” He grinned. “Dance.”

N
O
. N
O
!
Amid feminine twitters of confusion and delight, Jillian felt her safe, happy world crumbling around her. Leaving her destitute. Miserable. Of all the things she'd expected to hear from Anne, that had been nowhere on the list. For a moment, she forgot that Marcus was still leaning into her, still poised above her, and simply wallowed in the hell in which she now found herself.

Marcus was her boss.

Marcus was her freaking boss.
Dance, little puppet, dance.

Dear Lord. That meant he now called the shots, controlled her cases, would fill out her employee reviews. This, after she'd called him a pig and accused him of sleeping with Anne to get a job. This, after she'd insulted him time and again.
This,
after she'd offered to feed him poison. The knowledge hit her with devastating force, nearly doubling her over.

No, no, no. No!

CAM would not be hers. Not now, not later. Jillian felt like she was at a funeral, mourning the death of her dreams. The conference room was suddenly too bright, too hot. No, too cold. Her skin was like ice, her blood like fire.

Marcus was her boss. Ugh. Just…ugh.

Before Anne's announcement, she'd known her attraction to him had been bad. Now it was suicide.
Now
making him angry wouldn't just turn her on, it would get her fired.

Fuck,
she thought.
Well, your plan is still good. Be nice to him and he won't arouse
or
fire you.
But she didn't want to be nice to him anymore. She wanted to scream at him, to rant, to slap. The bastard had ruined everything!

Marcus was living her dream. He'd be in control. He'd get to try new things and expand the business. He'd get to choose the cases they took on. He'd—

Not yet moved away, she realized. He was still leaning toward her, his nose almost touching hers, his sinful scent enveloping her. She narrowed her gaze up at him.
Get out of my face,
she wanted to snap. At the moment, she truly did feel capable of murder.

Heat invaded his brown eyes, darkening them to that rich velvet.
Kiss me,
his eyes seemed to say,
and all your troubles will go away.
He licked his lips and she felt her anger draining as she melted under a strange, erotic spell. Her traitorous mind was shouting that he could comfort her. That he could soothe the hurt and depression suddenly washing through her.

Oh, no, no, no.
He's evil. He's the devil. He's destroyed your life.
She gave him a sweet smile.
Bastard.
“Congratulations. I'm sure you'll do a wonderful job.”
Running the company into the ground.

Frowning, he straightened and pulled his attention from her. He even walked around the room. The distance between them was not enough. No distance would be enough, she suspected.

After clearing his throat, Marcus said, “I'm happy to be here and I want you to know I feel it's an honor to join the CAM team. I've worked in this type of business for a long time. Together, we're going to do great things for our clients.” He paused, avoiding Jillian's general direction. “But as Anne said, change is inevitable. Things are going to be different around here, ladies.”

“I like change,” Danielle said happily.

“Me, too,” Becky agreed.

God, what a nightmare this was. Jillian glared at them, these women who should hate Marcus simply on principle.

“We'll miss you, of course,” Georgia said to Anne, a little sad.

Anne snorted. “I'm not your boss anymore. You don't have to kiss my ass.”

Selene's smile was radiant. “Thank God for that.”

“Good riddance,” Becky said.

“Don't think you have to visit,” Amelia said with a wink.

Danielle added, “I'm allergic to water, so don't even think about inviting me to your lake house.”

A smile curled the edges of Anne's mouth and for a moment it appeared as if her eyes misted. “I love you girls, too.”

Jillian couldn't bring herself to say anything, though she really would miss the old bat. She respected her—well, she'd respected her until now. What a horrible decision, selling the business to Marcus. Customers would hate that razor-sharp tongue of his.
I should have forced her to acknowledge my request to buy CAM.

That sense of depression skated through her, stronger than before because it was now laced with betrayal and insecurity. Why hadn't Anne given her a chance to run the place? She'd proven herself, hadn't she?

“Jillian, be a dear and get me some coffee,” Marcus said then, cutting through the goodbyes and pinning Jillian with an intense stare.

Silence filled the room.

Everyone turned to watch her, clearly speculating on what she'd say and do. They were used to her directness and probably expected her to verbally cut Marcus into a million tiny pieces, boss or not. Oh, how she would have loved to do it. To cuss at him, to refuse.

If she refused, what would he do?

Her eyes narrowed as realization hit her. He wanted to push her past the edge of her tolerance so she'd blow up and he could wash his hands of her. Well, he wouldn't get rid of her that easily. Her friends worked here and she was on the high end of the pay scale. She didn't want to make new friends somewhere else and she couldn't afford a pay cut. And if she switched agencies, she'd definitely have to take a cut—a big one.

“Sure thing,” she said airily. She stood. “Sugar? Cream?”

His mouth fell open in surprise, but he quickly snapped it closed. “Uh, black.”

“Black it is, then.” Jillian sashayed into the hallway, all eyes on her. As if she hadn't a care in the world, she stopped at the snack table just outside the conference room. She poured the desired beverage and with her back to him added three scoops of sugar and several splashes of mocha flavoring, then sashayed right back to Marcus. She handed him the cup without a word, only a smile.
I hate you.

How could she fight him? How could she make. Him. Leave. Forever?

The room was still silent and everyone still watched her, including Marcus, who claimed the offered drink, careful not to touch her. She was glad. She didn't want to know if their fingers would generate electricity again. Especially now. Her boss. Her goddamn boss!

“Thank you for the coffee,” he said, his voice strained. He hadn't expected her to do it, and he most assuredly hadn't expected her to do it with a smile, but he obviously wasn't going to drink it. He just held the cup.

“My pleasure,” she forced herself to say. She remained in place and eyed the coffee expectantly. “Is it too hot for you, Mr. Brody?”

He looked at her lips, and her stomach quivered. “I happen to like it hot,
Miss Greene.
”

“Are you sure? You're just holding it, not enjoying it to its fullest.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth before taking that first sip. His eyes widened when he tasted the sweetness. “Mmm, just how I like it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. Sweet.”

“I thought you took it black,” she said stiffly.

He leaned close to her and whispered smugly, “I lied.”

The fire inside her blazed all the hotter and she quickly sat down, just to get away from him. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief because disaster had been averted. She hadn't punched him.

Only Anne seemed disappointed. She rolled her eyes. “If you two get any more sincere, I'm going to need a tissue. Or a barf bag,” she muttered.

Becky said, “So, uh, what's your policy on interoffice romance, Mr. Brody?”

Several girls chuckled. Some giggled like schoolgirls, reminding her of Ronnie with an
ie.
But all of them watched Marcus with hawk-like stillness, predators stalking their prey. Did they think Jillian was dating him? Or did they want to date him themselves? Probably the latter.

Jillian wanted to gag. Did they know nothing about men and the horrible personalities that came with them? They should after working here, of all places. But the girls were soaking Marcus up, giving him a good eye-fuck, even though he'd just treated her like a lowly gofer. How could they not realize he was poisonous?

“Please, call me Marcus. And we'll get to office policy in a moment,” he assured them.

I'll just bet you will.
Jerk. He probably wanted to check everyone's teeth and survey the merchandise first. No doubt he'd have an open-bedroom policy.

“Anne,” he prompted.

“I guess that's my cue to leave.” Anne stood. She looked both happy and sad. Her eyes glowed brightly and there was rosy color in her cheeks. “We've had a good run together, girls. Stay in touch and don't take any crap. Do what you want, when you want.” A long pause ensued. “Truly, let yourselves have a life. Don't hide, don't regret.” Her voice had cracked as she cast a meaningful glance at Jillian. A tear slipped from her eye, traveling along her cheek. She hurried out of the room before anyone could respond.

Jillian almost chased after her. She wanted to know why Anne had done this terrible thing. She wanted to know why Anne hadn't given her a chance. When she stood, Marcus said, “Uh, uh, uh, Jillian,” and shook his head.

She sat without a show of emotion. Later, she assured herself. Later she'd track Anne down.

For the moment she'd focus on Marcus.

“Now, down to business. I've read over each of your files and I'm very impressed with your work,” he said. Everyone but Jillian chirped happily until he added, “But…with the new rules and policies I'm about to outline, you'll all be starting with a fresh slate. No pros. No cons.”

When he said
cons,
he leveled Jillian with a pointed frown.

Yes, she hated him. Could the day get any worse?

“One mistake,” he added, “and you're out.”

At that point, the girls lost all hint of amusement and happiness. One mistake. The legal system was more forgiving to hard-core criminals. And like he'd really wipe Jillian's slate clean. Please. He still looked at her with heat in his gaze. Angry heat. Lustful heat.

“That's a little strict, don't you think?” she asked.

“Rule one,” he said, as if she hadn't spoken. He paced around the table, arms locked behind his back. Of course, the position displayed his pecs and abs to utter perfection. Totally unfair. “There will be no arguing with my orders.”

“What, we're in the military now?” She rolled her eyes.

“Yes,” he said, taking her words seriously. “
My
military.”

She couldn't help herself. “Whatever you say, sir,” she said, saluting him.

“Do you have a problem with me, Greene?” He stated the question quietly. Hopefully. A dare, a challenge. He stared at her, expectant. “If so, you can pack your things right now and leave.”

You'd like that, wouldn't you?
“Nope. No problem, sir.”

“Is that so?”

Her jaw clenched. “Yep. That's so.”

“You sure?” His brows arched and he never once removed his attention from her. The challenge in his eyes intensified.

“I'm sure,” she bit out.
Be nice,
she reminded herself, no matter what the provocation. When his brown eyes darkened further, the challenge becoming desire, she forced her expression to soften. “I don't ever plan to argue with you, so I think rule number one is a winner.” She gave him a thumbs-up.

He rolled his eyes. “Rule two.”

He paused and she said, “I'm writhing in anticipation,” maintaining her sweetest voice, careful to remove all traces of sarcasm. The devil was inside her, no doubt about it. Marcus brought out her worst.

His hands fisted at his sides and he deliberately moved behind her. She didn't have to turn to know he curled his fingers around the top of her chair. She
felt
the heat of him, reaching for her, wrapping around her. Unbidden, she pictured his fingers caressing her back. Lower, lower, winding around. Right where she needed them most. Her breath emerged choppily, shallowly.

She shifted in her seat.
That's what you get for making him mad.
He deserved it, though.

“As I was saying,” he began. But he paused. Waiting for her to speak up so he could strangle her? A moment later, his fingertip brushed a lock of her hair. A gentle caress, almost a shadow, but effective nonetheless. She shivered. Had he done that on purpose?

“Rule two. There will be no relationships of any kind with a target or a client. Or an employee,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “Understand? That is my policy on interoffice romance.”

The girls nodded solemnly. Jillian remained absolutely still, too afraid she'd come into contact with Marcus again. “Anne already had that rule,” she stated.

“Wait. I'm sorry.” He leaned down until his breath trickled over her hair, making another shiver dance through her. Damn it. She gritted her teeth. “I must have failed to make rule number one clear. No. Interrupting. Me.”

“You said no
arguing
with you,” she reminded him stiffly.

“And what are you doing now?”

Danielle and Becky cast her sympathetic glances. Selene, Amelia and Georgia pressed their lips together to keep from laughing.

“Let's just say rule one is no arguing with and no interrupting me and leave it at that. Rule three,” Marcus continued, staying behind her. “No gossiping amongst the hens.”

Hens? Did that make him the cock? She knew he'd said it to piss her off, but she laughed. The entire situation was simply too surreal and it was better to find amusement where she could than to wallow in depression.

His hands hovered over her shoulders, then fell away. “Rule four. No complaining. I know women like to do that, so if you feel that you absolutely must, I'll put out a suggestion box. Just don't expect me to read your suggestions.”