Love Emerged (11 page)

“You have it all wrong. Your name is on the account, but you won’t be presenting it. I’m putting you on the Nike account with McCain.”

He widens his eyes—expecting an apology, I’m sure. Not going to happen.

“Nike?” A bunch of small bubbles pop in my stomach, and I bite my lip to hide the happiness swelling inside me. This is huge. The giant break I need to gain recognition in this firm.

“McCain has the plans, and he’s primary on the account, so talk with him.” He turns his attention back down to his computer.

I turn to exit his office. “Thanks, Tim,” I say right before I walk out the door.

On my way to my cubicle, I imagine how propelling this could be for my career. If I help Dylan and we come up with something that wins Nike over, I could make senior exec by year-end. As a reward, I steal a Snickers bar from John’s drawer, sit in my chair, and spin around. I’ll hold in my squeal of happiness until I’m at home by myself.

“Thief!” John points his pen at me with his notepad tucked under his arm.

I quickly gobble down the rest of the candy bar in my mouth. “Sorry,” I mumble with my arms out. Chewing at a fast speed, I swallow it down with the help of a gulp of water. “I’m celebrating. You’ll never guess.” I lower my voice, hoping John will keep the secret until I find out all the details. “Dylan nailed the Nike thing, and I’ve been selected to help.”

John sits in his office chair, and spins around. He started only six months ago, so I don’t expect him to be jealous. Envious maybe, but not jealous.

Our hands join each time we spin around in the same spot, and we continue spinning over and over again until there’s a knock on our cubicle wall. When our chairs finally stop circling, I find Dylan leaning against the partial wall, bearing a smirk to say,
I overhead it all
.

“Why don’t we go for that drink now?” He pushes off the wall and disappears back to his cubicle.

I stand up and find him swinging his messenger bag over his shoulder, so I bend back down.

“Oh. My. God,” I say to John, who winks.

“Your dreams are about to come true. A hot guy and the big account. Things are looking up.” His eyes dance up his eyelids in a fluttery movement.

“Don’t throw any fairy dust. The account is all I need. Dylan’s hot body is just a bonus to stare at while I climb that ladder up to being a senior.” I hurriedly throw my cell into my purse, pack up my laptop, and hold out my palm for a high five from John.

“This is a hug time, girl.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders.

I can’t help but stomp my feet on the floor. I haven’t been this excited since the state finals my senior year of college. We were so close to winning, and I hope this doesn’t end like that—me on a couch with a tub of Ben & Jerry’s.

A deep voice clears his throat, and I already know it’s Dylan, so I slide out of John’s arms.

Dylan is sexy, standing there with his hands stuffed in those gray slacks, the dark-rimmed Clark Kent glasses, and his neatly gelled hair. I positively wouldn’t mind another round with him.

“Okay.” I clear the lump forming in my throat from the dirty images of the two of us.

“Bye, you two. Make sure you get some work done.” John waves his hand, and he winks to me once Dylan has started walking.

“See you, John.”

He holds up his hand to his head, like a phone, mouthing,
Call me
.

If things go the way I hope they do, my hands will be much too busy to call him.

“So, first of all”—I glance around the corridor of the elevators to make sure no one is around—“thank you for picking me,” I whisper.

Dylan shakes his head, his lips turning up. “I need the best on this, and from what I hear, it’s you.”

My heart pierces with joy at his words. Finally, my reputation is proving itself.

I lose my thought process from his compliment, but I feel my cheeks flushing.

“Don’t inflate your ego from the accolade. If you do, we’re going to sink. I’m a firm believer that, if you feel like you have shit, you’ve really struck gold. The other way around, and you have shit.” His arm holds the elevator doors open for me to walk in first.

Once he’s out, he turns around, and with his arm, he blocks the doors from closing. I step out, and he waits for me to walk ahead. Always the gentleman.

In silence, we wind through the revolving door and walk down the street to Kilroy’s. The hostess seats us in a booth in the back. At least whatever he’s about to talk about will be semiprivate.

The waiter comes over, and I roll my eyes, hiding myself behind the menu. It’s Axel, and he hits on me every time I come down here for drinks. For some reason, he refuses to accept the answer no. His long hair is swinging from a ponytail today, like normal, but he’s sporting a new beard.
Always the trendsetter, isn’t he?

“Hey, Bea.” He immediately spots me.

Dylan looks between the two of us.

“Hey, Axel.” I place my menu down since I’m obviously not good at the whole invisible-girl act.

“You want your usual?” he asks.

Dylan’s eyes zoom in on me again.

“No, I’ll just have a Diet Coke.” I fidget, showing how uncomfortable Axel is making me feel.

Axel slides down next to me, putting his pad of paper on the table. “Boring but okay. What about you, bud?” He nods his head to Dylan.

Seeing the furrowed brows on Dylan, I tighten my lips together, trying not to stifle a laugh.

“I’ll have a Blue Moon. We’re going to share the appetizer platter.” He holds out the menus in the air toward Axel.

He stands, taking them from Dylan’s hands. “Sounds great. I’ll get it going.”

I release my breath once Axel is back at the bar, punching in our order.

“Friend of yours?” Dylan asks, his fingers tapping on the table.

“No, he works here, that’s all.”

His vision locks on me, holding my eyes with his. “Have you slept with him?”

“Excuse me? That’s none of your business.” I wiggle in my seat as rage rises within me. “How dare you!”

He lifts his hands and shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s not my business.”

“Damn right, it isn’t.” I lean over the table, so he can see how serious I am. “I’m guessing you’ve heard the rumors about me. Well, they aren’t real, okay? If you’re so hurt that maybe you were part of a long line of men, you’re wrong. I’m not some virgin, but I haven’t slept with the company. Fuck Yasmin.” I sit back in the booth, wishing I could crawl into the vinyl fabric and disappear.

“I’m sorry, Bea. I shouldn’t have believed her.” Dylan grows closer over the table. “I got angry because . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” His lips are straight, and his eyes look apologetic.

“Don’t assume anything about me again. If you want to know, you come to me,” I clarify.

He nods. “Definitely.”

I wish away the zing of joy I felt, thinking that he was a little jealous from believing that he was number umpteenth on my list.
If he only knew . . .

I’m not a saint, and I’ve made mistakes, but it’s none of his business anyway.

“So, let’s just talk Nike.” I change the subject.

He holds his hand up. “I want to clear up one thing. If we are going to be on this campaign together, we need to make sure everything stays platonic. I’m not going to sit here and deny my attraction to you, Bea.”

A smile creeps up my lips at his admission.

“But we can’t. Anything physical would confuse this situation. So, we’re friends, okay?”

“Did you think I was begging for a another time?”

Maybe, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“No.” His whole face distorts into this as-if look. “I’m just drawing the line, so we know where we sit.”

“Line drawn then.” For some reason, an annoyance starts taking residence in my body. I shake it off because the Nike deal is what I’m here for, and that’s all.

“Okay. So, the deal,” he continues.

Axel comes over and places our drinks on the table. He winks over at me before saying, “Your platter will be out soon.”

Dylan rolls his eyes and nods with a tight smile.

“Thanks,” I say.

Axel leaves us alone again, and I pull out my notebook to write down everything I need to, so I can place this promotion in my pocket.

“We have to have it done by next Wednesday.”

All that hope and excitement bursting through me extinguishes like a flame on a stove. “That’s impossible. Plus . . .” I don’t want the pity look, but if I’m going to see my father this weekend, I have to tell Dylan. “My dad is sick, and I was planning on going out to Chicago this weekend.” I sit back, my fingers knotting in my lap, concealed under the table.

“I told Tim we wouldn’t be in from Friday to Tuesday. We’ll return on Wednesday morning with the campaign all done.” Dylan expectantly looks at me.

“So?” I ask.

“So, I’ll be coming to Chicago with you.”

How on earth does he expect this to stay platonic if we are going to go away with each other?

“What?”

“You heard me. I’ll pick you up on Friday morning.”

Dylan

MY GTO ROLLS TO A
stop in front of Bea’s apartment. She’s sitting on her suitcase, her jean-clad legs crossed and her fingers busy on her phone.

She doesn’t look up at first, and I half-wonder if her ignoring me is some ploy to grab my attention or to test if she can claim it. Little does she know, she’s had my attention since I first glanced at her on the Ashby’s patio. She’s not even my type. Ava was my usual—long dark hair, brown eyes, shy, and preppy. Not that it turned out so well for me in the end.

Bea though has got initiative, goal expectations that she’s positive she’ll meet. She’s outgoing and even rude at times. But, damn, if my dick doesn’t twitch each time she tells someone what everyone else is thinking.

Her hand pounds on the window, and I jolt from my dreamland. Quickly, my hand moves to the handle, and I spring the door open and then get out myself.

“Good morning,” I say, smiling wide.

Her eyes bore into mine. “Why again are we driving?”

She wheels her bag to my trunk, and I pop it open.

“Brainstorm. We have limited time, and since you’ll be with your family for most of the trip, I figured I’d get the most time with you this way.” I plop her suitcase in the back and shut the trunk.

We each go to our designated sides.

“You can have as much of me as you want.” She winks a hazel eye, and there goes my dick again. “Maybe thirds aren’t your thing. They aren’t usually mine.”

Before I can drag her up to her apartment and show her how much I’ve been craving another round with her, I slide into my car, and she does the same. When we’re inches apart with her perfume overtaking the oxygen in the car, I second-guess my decision to spend the next four hours so close to her.

“Remember, platonic,” I remind her.

She laughs, shaking her head. “Okay, sir.” She mimics a soldier saluting.

A few minutes later, I’m pulling out onto the highway, thinking I’ve just made a torturous mistake.
What choice did I have though?
I’m not going to take away any time she could be spending with her ailing dad, and if we’re going to nail this campaign, we need to think about it this weekend.

I grab the folder at my hip and hand it over to her. “This is the file I have so far. Nike’s last five campaigns. We need something fresh.”

Bea crosses her legs, poises the folder on her lap, and ruffles through the information I collected.

“So tell me, Mr. McCain, why am I the lucky one here?”

“You’re the best.” I retrieve my sunglasses from the visor and put them on.

“Surely, Tim didn’t tell you that.” She shuts the folder and swivels toward me.

“Yes, he did,” I lie because I’m not about to admit that I fought for her. That I pretty much verbally battered my boss in order to get her on this account.

“Liar, but thank you. I need this if I’ll ever make it to senior exec.” Her hand extends over the imaginary line I thought was present and squeezes my thigh.

I shift it away because any more touching and my dick will be doing the saluting.

“You’re welcome, but the truth is, I need the best on this one. I have a shit-ton riding on this account, too.” Like Tim’s job, but that topic should be unsaid.

“I’m all peachy that you selected me. So . . .” She opens up the folder again, holding Nike’s previous ads in front of her.

For the next two hours, I have the reprieve of talking about work, which means there’s no hand crossing over or talk of another hook-up. I’m good with work, with the natural flow of conversation, and I always know what I’m talking about. Whereas, with girls, not so much.

“I hate to tell you this, but I have to go to the restroom.” Bea cringes, like it’s an inconvenience, and her niceness throws me for a second. “Damn you and this driving shit.”

Never mind.

“I’ll pull over. Do you want to grab an early lunch or continue on?” I ask, trying to decide on stopping at a rest stop or an actual restaurant.

“I’m guessing you don’t eat or drink in the car?” She looks at the restored black leather with white stitched seats.

“Nothing but a bottle of water.” My hand slides along the vinyl dashboard, giving my baby some love.