The Reality of You (11 page)

When he pulled away,
I swayed and fell against the railing of the deck. We stared at each other in
the muted light. Waves rolled in. Music floated out of the bar. The rail
pressed into my spine. He moved as if to step back. I swayed forward.

He appeared
indecisive, his features strained, before he bent forward like lightning and
slammed his mouth on mine.

I’d had the
toe-curling kiss. Now I got the sex-fueled kiss. I kissed him back with the pent’up
lust of three years without a man’s touch. I kissed him with the desire of
having watched him for seven months. I kissed him in response to his slow,
pulsing kiss. But this kiss wasn’t slow. Instead, it was fast and hard. It
wasn’t his. It was ours. And it was fierce and hot.

As our mouths meshed
together and our tongues tangled, his hands gripped my hips and pushed me
against the deck rails before catching my hands and tugging them above the
rail. Both of us stretched out, his weight pushed into me. And what divine
weight it was. The hard curve of his chest. The power of his thigh against
mine. And yes, the evidence of his growing desire. I shifted and fit that bulge
right where it needed to be.

Perfection.

The kiss grew
hotter. We pushed closer. I wasn’t sure where my mouth began and his ended, but
oh, I could precisely distinguish the hard line of his lovely erection pressed
against me. My back bowed to rub against him. Rum leaked out of my veins. Lust
replaced it.

Until he tore his
lips off mine and stepped back faster than his lightning lean-in.

I was suddenly cold
and feeling more lost than I had all night.

He drew in a ragged
breath. I forced my hands not to reach out and yank him back to me.

“This was… It
shouldn’t… We’re here on business.” He shook his head, drew in another breath,
and glanced toward the ocean. His hands clenched at his sides. “You’re my
employee.”

Tingling like a
sixteen-year-old after getting to second base, I said, “Huh?”

He took another step
back. “I don’t… It’s unethical to fraternize with subordinates.”

“Fraternize?
Subordinate?” I spat out, getting angry as my body cooled faster than a
just-baked pie on an Alaskan windowsill while the sting of rejection rolled
through me.

I watched conflicted
thoughts dashing in his gaze. Running a hand through his hair, he let out a
sigh. “I’m not trying to upset you or make you feel inferior. I never—nor will
I ever—mix work with pleasure.”

“Pleasure?” Like on
the plane, I sounded like a parrot, but I was a temp—a fake temp for fuck’s
ridiculous sakes. And who the hell said pleasure? Fucking prep school
idiots—that was who.

“Besides being
unethical,” he continued in a monotonous tone, “it’s poor business, and—”

“Yeah, yeah,” I
said, stomping past him and marching up the stairs. If I had to listen to him
spouting business crap, I would vomit rum. On him. “Your business tops
everything else. Believe me. I get it,” I said over my shoulder.

Sooner than I could get
across the deck, Reese raced up the stairs, grabbed me by the shoulders, and
spun me around. “Listen, Naomi, I find you refreshingly attractive. Different
from the women I usually date, but…I, ah, I’ve worked hard building my company
up. I’ve set standards and I stick to those standards. Always.”

Oh yeah. What about your tongue down my
throat a few minutes ago?
I
bit back my sarcastic remark because, though his explanation was beyond lame,
he was trying, in his own egotistical, rude way, to apologize.

“I wasn’t being a
total ass. I get it,” I said, shaking his hands from my shoulders. “Let’s just
go.”

He watched me for a
second, his lips twisting in contemplation.

I spun around,
whipped Jules’s purse from the chair— still, no one had touched the thing—and
continued marching into the bar.

A quick call from
Reese had a car from the resort at the curb in less than ten minutes. Between
Reese paying our bill and a long bathroom break for me, we only had to stand
outside in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.

In the town car, we
sat on opposite ends of the back seat. Watching the dark scenery, I refused to
look at him. I felt like I’d jumped off a cliff, climbed back up, and jumped
again. Those kisses between us had been better than I could have ever imagined,
which made his rejection sting more.

Well, at least I’d
be able to daydream about kissing him now.

Dumbass that I was.

Chapter 12

Monday
morning, I went to work with a nervous pinch in my stomach. Or maybe it was a
tropical virus I’d caught while on
vacation
.
No, it was fear that I’d run into Reese that idiotically inundated me. Even
though I’d never seen him coming or going from the building, except at lunch.
It wasn’t until about my fourth month working here when I’d escaped to the
lobby for a lunch free from keyboard tapping or the breakroom of salivating
male computer nerds that I’d spotted him and nearly choked on a pretzel.

But my irrational
fear had me slinking across the lobby, going from plant to statue like Ace
Ventura. Only I wasn’t an idiot pet detective, rather an idiot of a woman. I
waited behind a tall, geometric sculpture near the escalator, once again
checking if the coast was clear before scrambling along the wall to a towering,
Italian-looking plant several feet away from the elevator that led to the
basement.

I tried to appear
inconspicuous by inspecting my phone when a, “Um, Naomi?” had me jumping and
falling into the plant.

Ray Burns reached
out and grabbed my elbow as both plant and I teetered. I jumped out of his
grasp and straightened the wobbling plant. With my face embedded in the plant
and my hands grasping leaves, I caught my breath. Holy hell! A huge plant
falling would so
not
have been
inconspicuous.

“Um, Naomi?” Ray
repeated as the elevator dinged.

“What?” I asked,
racing past him into the elevator.

Tall and lanky, Ray
caught up with me as the doors were closing. “Are you…okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Why
would I not be?”

Ray glanced at the
other people in the elevator. “Well…”

I raised my brows.

He shifted his
briefcase in front of his tan Dockers and straightened the flap of the chest
pocket on his green plaid dress shirt. “It seemed like—”

Luckily, the
elevator doors opened and we shuffled out into the hall.

As people dispersed
their separate ways and we went toward our office, Ray continued. “It seemed
like you were hiding.”

“Hiding?” I
repeated, opening the door for him. “Why would I be hiding in the lobby?”

Ray shrugged his
slim shoulders. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Fine. Great. Never
better.” I turned toward my aisle of cubicles and said over my shoulder, “Have
a good day.”

“Thanks!” Ray
shouted. “You too, Naomi. Maybe I’ll see you at lunch!”

Yeah, good luck with that, Ray.

In my cubicle, I
dragged my backpack from my shoulder, dropped it under the desk, and tried
very, very hard not to murder myself.

****

Two
hours until lunch. I wouldn’t go watch Reese. I. Would. Not. Go.

It was my fourth day
back, and so far, I’d resisted the urge, but around noon, the impulse to flee
and watch him consumed me. I was like an addict, my plant-covered bench the
needle and the vision of Reese the heroin. Besides the fact that he might
notice me now due to recognition, I’d become determined to be done with all
things Reese. But habits were hard to break. My feet itched with the desire to
flee upstairs even though I was working through lunch to catch up on stuff
after my
vacation
.

Perhaps Kara’s plan
had finally cured me. I hadn’t told her about the last night or that kiss. No
reason to. My feelings hadn’t changed since our talk in my hotel room. They
might have wavered a bit when Reese’s lips and body had been glued to mine, but
he had solidified them with his rejection. The terse and quiet plane ride home,
while my skin burned and itched, hadn’t helped matters either.

So why the hell did
I want to run upstairs into the lobby? Because I was a habitual idiot. That had
to be the reason.

Shaking off the
self-loathing, I continued working on a client website. Out of the nineteen
companies we worked for, I was responsible for the upkeep and design of two
websites. The two smallest, of course. But it seemed like both of them were
never satisfied and I was continuously sent change requests via email.

Immersed in web
design, my brain remained thought-free until my phone buzzed with an incoming
text. Expecting it to be from one of my friends, I finished the current line of
programming for a plug-in then yanked my phone from my purse.

We
need to meet and discuss a few matters.

Confused and thinking
someone had the wrong number, I stared at the unknown number without a name
before texting back,
Who is this?

Your
boss from last week.

The phone fell from
my hand, clanking on the desk, and my heart started beating wildly, like
blow-out-of-my-chest wild. It couldn’t be. It had to be. He must have got my
number from my
résumé
.

I leaned over my
keyboard, breathing in deeply, about to hyperventilate like a ninny.
 

He wanted to meet?
To discuss matters? What matters?

My phone buzzed
again.

Lunch?

What the hell? Why
would he want to meet? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

In
my office?

Oh hell no!
my mind snapped at the idea of
sneaking through the building and taking the elevator up to the thirtieth
floor—his floor.

I quickly replied
back,
Sorry.
Working through lunch.

A few seconds after
I put my phone down, it buzzed again.

Then
a drink after work.

A drink? He was
asking—more like demanding—me out for a drink? Inner Fangirl screamed,
It’s a ploy! It’s a ploy! He wants you!
Inner Fangirl was nuts, but holy hell, I couldn’t possibly. I definitely
shouldn’t. He had been a total ass then rejected me. Even if he were interested
me—highly unlikely—I was done with all things Reese. I was mighty curious
though.

Curiosity killed the
cat. Thus, I typed back,
Working late the rest of this week.

With a tremendous
amount of forced concentration, I started another line of programming, but my
phone buzzed again.

Do
I need to call the temp offices and arrange a meeting?

Oh, the sly fucker.
He had me. If I were a normal temp, I wouldn’t want him calling the office.
Since I wasn’t really a temp and my friend had set the entire thing up, I
really
didn’t want him calling the
office. I texted the pushy asshole back,
Perhaps a drink after work tonight
would work. Where?

I stared at the
phone for several minutes until his reply came up.

You
choose.

Think. Think. Think.
My hands gripped the edge of the desk.
Use your brain, Naomi.

Okay, okay. OKAY. I
had to beat him there. I had to leave work early. Not too close, but not too
far. Somewhere not too busy. Somewhere different, yet somewhere I’d be
comfortable and as cool—I had a feeling I’d be an idiot no matter what—as I’d
appeared in our texts. After a quick search on my phone, I had it.

Clutching my phone,
I slowly typed in,
Berbunk.

I sat there for a
few minutes, staring at my screen.

Quarter
to six okay?

I waited an
appropriate not-to-appear-stalking-my-phone three minutes to text back,
Fine.

A long wheeze of air
escaped me and I fell over my keyboard, the keys clanking as I rested my arms
over it.

Unbelievable. I was
meeting Reese for a drink.

After somewhat
collecting myself, I seriously considered not showing. Other than the whole his
being-a-dickhead thing, I looked like a complete nerd in a paisley button-up
blouse, a long skirt, rubber clogs, and black tights—though one hundred percent
dorky, they kept me warm on the hike to and from the subway. I didn’t have an
ounce of makeup on, and my hair was pulled back in a scrunchie. And beyond my
appearance, Kara’s job could be at stake. In reality, I’d done very little work
here for his company, but I had done some. They gave those assignments to the
more established computer nerds, like been-here-for-several-years nerds.

Sitting up, I rifled
in my bag. Other than lunch and books, I had some lip gloss and an old tube of
mascara. Shit. Damn. Shit. I needed resources, and because I was working
through lunch, I didn’t have time to get anything.
 

After some serious
contemplation, I made my way past the row of cubicles to one of the offices in
the back.

“Hey, Gracie,” I
said in a tone that came out anxious, standing in the doorway.

Over her shoulder,
her black-lined eyes spat hate at me.

Yeah, Gracie was not
a Naomi fan. When I started, she hadn’t been
as
abrasive, but the more Ray paid attention to me, the colder she
had gotten. Stuck in a perpetual Goth phase that I suspected had started in
middle school—a bit immature to keep it up, yet who was I with my snow globes
to judge?—Gracie freaked me out most of the time. The rest of the time, I
wanted to put her in a headlock and deliver her a swirly, thus removing her
pointed gaze
and
black makeup. And
yeah, I could probably do it. Gracie was tall but a thin walking stick, which
helped with the whole witch look.

My dislike didn’t
stem from her black hair, black eyes, black boots, and black nails. I had
nothing against the whole look—if she was comfortable with it, more power to
her witchy look— though paired with her evil gaze, I imagined a voodoo doll
that looked like me somewhere, like in her desk, with millions of pins sticking
out of it.

“Um…I…ah…wanted to
ask a favor.”

Eyes pinpricks on
me, Gracie pushed her rolling computer chair back, turned, and crossed her
arms. “A favor?” she asked, curling her top lip.

If looks could kill,
I’d be burning right now. Part of me wanted to flip her off. The other part
wanted to run. I told myself to suck it up.

“What size shoe do
you wear?”

Confusion crossed
her demonic
face. “Shoe size?”

“Ah…yeah, I made an
impromptu date, and—”

“With who?” she
squawked, standing up and towering over me in her high-heeled, calf-hugging
black boots—the point of this whole awful interlude.

“No one from this
office,” I quickly said.

“I thought you
didn’t date,” she said flatly, repeating what I had told half of the guys in
our department each time they’d asked me out.

The plethora of
offers didn’t stem from my unbelievable hotness; rather, there were two women
in this office space and, minus our boss, about fifteen men. And since the
other woman was scary Gracie—sometimes Goth made women sexy, but that wasn’t so
for my female officemate—I got showered with male attention.

“Just not anyone
from work.” Thinking of Reese’s explanation the last night in Puerto Rico, I
wrinkled my nose for dramatic effect. “Office fraternization—tried it once at
my old job. Didn’t work out too well, so never again.”

Her expression
turned skeptical. “Why would you want to know my shoe size?”

“I’d like to borrow
your boots.” I pointed to the back of her chair. “And that black scarf. And do
you have any eye shadow? What about hair products?”

****

After
some heavy bartering—I now had another website to upgrade—I leapt in a cab and
got to Berbunk a half hour early. Unfortunately, I’d have to stay late another
day next week to finish Gracie’s work.

In the tiny
bathroom, I got ready. No, I wasn’t above wanting to make an impression. Sure,
Reese had seen me for most of the last day at Puerto Rico without makeup, but
I’d been on the beach. Showing up looking like a dreary librarian wouldn’t do
when meeting one of the most eligible bachelors in New York. Even if he was an
asshole.

The application of
makeup didn’t take long. I had three things to put on. Luckily, my sunburn had
faded to a light tan. Next, I fixed my clothing by first yanking up my skirt
and folding the material over until it hung above my knees. The top three
buttons on my blouse were loosened. I wrapped the scarf around my waist since
the shirt was bulky and let the extra length hang at my side. My hair took the
longest. After releasing my ponytail, I used Gracie’s gel, my fingers, and the
dryer on the wall to straighten my waves. Almost done, I packed everything up.

Now the boots.

Those three-inch
heels were scaring the hell out of me, more than Gracie did. Once my footpad
sat in the bottom of the left one, I took a deep breath and hauled those
suckers on. A quick zip on each and I stood—more like wobbled—as I held out my
arms to help balance myself. I made it two steps to the counter and grabbed my
bag, slinging it over my shoulder. With a deep breath, I took one tentative
step.