The Reality of You (4 page)

I shrugged,
pretending cluelessness—no use arguing anymore with demented people—picked up
my drink, downed the rest of my tequila, and handed Kara my empty glass.
 

Fresh drinks in hand
and plates loaded, we soon settled at the table before exchanging cash for
chips, and the gambling commenced. Sadly, the pestering continued. To the
point, I kept stuffing my face and downing tequila like a co-ed let loose at
spring break in Cancun. Perhaps the tequila consumption led to my downfall. Or
perhaps it was the conniving, dirty faces when I came back from the bathroom
somewhere toward the end of the poker-slash-Mexican-fiesta.

Three hours, two
enchiladas, half a bowl of bean dip, and who the hell could count how many
margaritas later, I decided that my three aces were taking the pot. So I raised
it, pushing a stack in the middle of the table.

After flicking her
cards and regarding the pile nervously, Kara not only raised my stack, she
added another as tall.

I didn’t have enough
to match.

She glanced at the
pitiful amount of chips next to me. “How about we raise the stakes another
way?”

Both having already
folded, Jules and Avery watched us like it was high noon in some dusty Western
town and Kara and I were about to pull out pistols from our pants.

My mouth curled at my
roommate. I wasn’t inebriated enough to not realize her point—the Reese
thing—or how she was using my fierce competitive streak against me.

This was serious
poker. We sat around guzzling liquor, stuffing our faces, and gossiping, but
the gambling remained serious.

However, I had three
aces. How many times do you get three aces in five-card stud? Like never. The
statistics of it were on my side.

“Okay, fine,” I
said. “If I win, you’ll drop it and never bring it up again. In fact, you’ll
cease all Reese attacks.”

She drummed her
fingers on the table, critically contemplating the pile in the middle of the
table. “All right then. What have you got?”

I triumphantly
slapped my three aces down. Kara blinked at them before leisurely fanning out a
full house.

Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch. Son of
a bitch!
I stared at that
full house, and bean dip mixed with tequila threatened to escape from my
stomach and spew into Kara’s face.

Avery gave Kara a
high five. Jules cackled in glee.

Holy shit.

We took our poker
very serious, and the betting outside of money was just as serious. Avery once
had to go with Jules to a weekend-long dog wedding after losing. Kara had had
to clean our bathroom for a month after losing to me. I’d lost to Avery once
and had to pick up her dry cleaning for a month.

Holy double shit.

The room spun a bit,
and it wasn’t from all of the tequila.

I was probably going
to Puerto Rico for a week with Reese, a.k.a. Mr. McGriddle Pants.

I’d finally know the
color of his eyes.

Chapter 4

Kara
had been right. Out of all the candidate files she’d given him, Reese had
chosen me.

Two weeks later, on
a Sunday afternoon, I calmly—well, I might have appeared calm—walked onto a
private charter plane. Eight empty, huge seats and no Reese. I paused in the
aisle. Anxiety rushed, bubbled, and pounded through my veins.

That I was actually
here was mad crazy.

As I sat in a random
front seat, the lone attendant asked if I’d like coffee or a drink. I so wanted
a drink. Every cell inside me felt as if it were about to burst in
anticipation.

I ordered coffee.

After tightening my
seat belt around my waist, I decided to get my mind off our impending first
meeting by scrolling over the various secretarial duties that Kara had sent me
for about the tenth time. My apparent duties, other than resort activities,
included being a receptionist, a note taker, a coffee girl, and an errand girl,
creating reports, proofreading, and whatever else he needed. It didn’t sound
too hard, yet the prospect made me nervous as hell. I went over the itinerary
Reese had sent Kara. Each day of the week was full of meetings, lunches,
dinners, and resort activities. It was a busy schedule.

Takeoff was
supposedly in minutes. Well, the long taxi to the runway would start in
minutes. But still no Reese.

 
A light, bright and shiny and beautiful, shone
into Kara’s dark well of craziness. Perhaps he would not show. Perhaps he would
cancel. Perhaps I would go to Puerto Rico
by myself.

Though the plane
would obviously not leave without him, I imagined lying on a white-sand beach
in a bikini—no, a tankini—and maybe a cover. Maybe not a whole cover, just one
of those flowered wrap things that tie on the side, since my thighs were whiter
than a ghost. I’d buy naughty romance novels. Reading luscious smut, I’d sip
fruity drinks with bright umbrellas, ordering them from a buff waiter in a
black speedo…and a matching bow tie. The sweat dripping from my body would come
from the warm tropical sun rather than nervousness. The waiter—who,
unsurprisingly, resembled Reese—would drop off another drink, winking
seductively at me. I’d watch the tight curve of his butt over the top of my
book as he sauntered away, the sight causing me to fan myself with the novel…

My beach vision was
destroyed by the chatter of the lone flight attendant then someone settling
into the seat across the aisle from me.

I drew in a deep,
deep—really deep—breath and looked up. I met the most amazing pair of eyes I’d
ever seen. They were green—no, brown—maybe gray? Actually, with a brown center
around the pupil and a greenish-gray marbling the rest of the pupil, hazel was
the correct color name. And they were lovely. We stared at each for the longest
moment of my life. Okay, for about three seconds tops, but I finally knew the
color of his eyes.

Warm, luscious
hazel.

Those hazel orbs
slowly traveled over me, constricting with each inch they passed of my body in
a black, designer, short-skirted suit that belonged to Jules. Jules and Avery
had raided their closets and dressed me in every outfit imaginable over the
last two weeks. The goal had been sexy chic, yet classy. Whatever all that
meant. I drew the line at shoes. I never wore heels unless I wanted to fall
flat on my face. Funny, my goal had never been a face plant, so Jules had taken
me shoe shopping, like five times, and we settled on two pairs of wedges I
wouldn’t kill myself in. With his intense gaze on me, I became suddenly more
than nervous and ready to face-plant from a sitting position. I became hot,
flush, and slightly sizzling. But when his gaze came back up to mine, it
appeared cool. Very cold. Like arctic air turned into a stare.

He put out his hand
in what seemed like a begrudgingly manner and said, “You must be Naomi Porter.”

Like a moron, I
gawked at his large hand, the perfectly cut nails, and pushed-back cuticles.

Was I actually about
to
touch
him?

“Reese Jordon,” he
said, stretching his hand closer.

“Yes, I’m Naomi.” I
drew in another deep breath before I giggled. “Sorry, you startled me.” I
grasped his hand, hoping mine wasn’t sweaty.

He gave me a quick
shake and let go of my hand. Dang. There hadn’t been enough time for me to feel
the sparks that had to have been there from his touch.

I gestured to my
iPad. “I was just going over…reviewing the itinerary you sent.”

Reese settled into
his seat, his expression tight and businesslike. “I sent you some other items
this morning, Ms. Porter. Go over all of those too.”
 

Ah, apparently we
were going with last names.

He efficiently
clicked his seat belt. “There are a variety of documents including the resort
brochure. You need to familiarize yourself with the data and the information
prior to landing,” he said in a clipped tone.
 

The plane started
moving away from the gate.

Data. Information.
Brochure. He was too close because those words floated over me as I stared at
his strong jaw, his thick, dark hair, his straight, perfectly angled nose. He
wore another expensive suit. Black this time. I caught a hint of his cologne
each time he moved. The scent smelled deep, rich, spicy, and luxurious. I tried
not to breathe it in with a noticeable whiff, but damn, the man smelled good.
Far better than anything I’d imagined in all of my daydreams.

He kept talking
steadily, his monotone words not making much sense.

Because I was too
giddy, too amazed, too overwhelmed that I was sitting on a plane next to the
man I’d been watching for the last seven months. He was talking to
me
. Sure, he assumed I was a secretary
while my head envisaged lusty, idiotic thoughts. I felt like a twelve-year-old
next to her boy crush. Inside, I was a fangirl screaming, fanning my flushed
face, and screaming again. On and on he droned, his full, lush lips moving, his
white, straight teeth—teeth I wanted to lick—peeking from behind those lips as
he talked. I had to stop my mind from imagining those lips on mine. I had to
remember Kara’s warning.

“
They hire temps from us not only because
their own secretaries are too busy to leave, but because we always send them
the best. Do not screw up because you’re all goo-goo eyed over this guy
.”

He turned toward me.
“Do you suppose you can accomplish that by the conclusion of the flight?”

Instead of his
profile, his entire face was turned toward me. Absolutely yummy. So yummy that
it obliviated his condescending tone.

Do not screw this up.

He shifted his body,
making me aware of his size. From across the lobby, I hadn’t fully noticed the
total width of his shoulders or his height. He had to be at least six-three,
and he had more of a football player’s physique than a basketball player’s.
Ironic how I continued to think in sports.

“Well, do you?” he
asked in a demanding tone.

“Um…” I murmured.
Oh, crap. I had no idea what he had asked. “Well, sure. Of course. No problem.”

He nodded and sat
back. “Toward the end of the flight, we can discuss the items in detail.”

“No problem.” My
teeth clenched. I sounded like an idiot parrot.

His brow arched a
smidgen before he reached into his inner breast pocket, removed a newspaper,
and flicked it open. Apparently, I was dismissed.

A sting of rejection
hit my chest.

Just a secretary. Do not screw this up.

The flight attendant
came over, checking our seat belts prior to takeoff.

As the plane moved, my
entire body sizzled with tension and want. I wanted to reach out and touch him
again. See if he was real. Would my fingers brushing his arm seem
that
weird? Fangirl in me said,
“Not weird at all! Do it! Touch him! Touch
him! Oh, please, touch!”
I curled my fingers around the armrests so I
wouldn’t give in to the demand.
 

The plane took off
with the normal rush and whoosh that got my pulse beating in overdrive no
matter how many flights I’d taken. At least it had calmed Fangirl down. Reese
continued reading his paper. Out the tiny window, I watched the world grow
smaller, trying to get control of my hormones.

I was on my way to
Puerto Rico. I was going to be Reese
Jordon’s secretary for the next week. I peeked at his striking profile and
reminded myself that I was just a secretary.

Do not touch him!

Once we were in the
air, he got out his laptop and didn’t look away from it once, his profile
tight. I examined charts and documents and spreadsheets until it felt like my
eyes were bleeding. All the while, my mind and body buzzed with the excitement
of being near him.

The single break
from the torture came in the form of an overdone piece of salmon. I didn’t
really like salmon, but I replied to the flight attendant that I’d have the
same when Reese had ordered his, though I should have ordered the chicken.
After picking at the salmon and charred red potatoes, like Reese, I declined
dessert and, like Reese, requested coffee. Apparently, in my hormonal teenage
state, I had lost all of my brain cells. My whims and my wants now aligned with
Reese Jordon’s.

After I spend hours
and hours of scanning business crap I knew nothing about along with trying to
ignore the desire to stare at or touch or sniff at the person across the aisle,
Reese began asking questions. Though his questions sucked, a break from all the
charts didn’t. Also, it let me study him without being stalkerish.

“Did you notice the
progression of declining revenue over the first year?”

Of course I hadn’t
noticed anything being in a highly hormonal state. “Yes, I saw that right
away.”

In a stoic tone, he
went on about how the resort had opened two years ago and done all right but
hadn’t made a mark, hadn’t grown to be the opulent vacation spot it was
supposed to be.

As if I cared.

However, as long as
he glanced at me with those hazel eyes, he could talk about sales progressions
as long as he liked. Next, he questioned me about several of the charts and
documents. Nodding, I parroted and agreed with all of his conclusions.

He closed his laptop
and turned to me once again. “My object this week, Ms. Porter, is to determine
if taking on this account is feasible. J & M doesn’t undertake accounts
that won’t fulfill the promises of an advertising campaign. If we conclude to
run an advertising campaign, then the resort better hold the promise we
establish.” His jaw was stern, his large hands gripped the now closed computer
as he spoke. “We’re an advertising company with principle. Pure capital is not
enough to acquisition our services. We will run a campaign for almost anything.
It just had better be the best or very close to it.”

My head bobbed, for
the most part comprehending his vision and dedication to J & M while
wondering how old he was. Funny, Kara hadn’t told me. Looking at him, I’d guess
late twenties. Listening to him, I’d guess midthirties. Reese was obviously a
very serious business-minded person.

The flight attendant
announced that our trays needed to be upright for landing. At the thought of
landing, I was surprised to find myself excited as if this were a real
vacation.

The landing went
smooth. Reese went straight to the exit and a limo driver holding a sign with
the company name. In seconds, we were in the limo and heading down dark,
curving streets. Even if it were light out, nervousness would have kept me from
noticing the island sights.

How many times had I
imagined us together like this in a limo?

Countless.

Unfortunately,
reality proved nothing like my imagination. I stared ahead but peeked at Reese
every few minutes. He ignored me and scrolled through his phone, frowning now
and then at the screen. This went on for over forty minutes.

Finally, we turned
onto a drive lined with lit palm trees. At the end, a lighted fountain spewed
in the center of a circle of tropical flowers. Beyond the fountain sat the main
building, three stories of verandas, pillars, and tall shutters amid palm
trees. Side buildings extended from each end of the imposing building.

As soon as we exited
the car, an entourage of workers swept Reese into the hotel. They took his
computer bag, handed him champagne, and introduced him to managers and a
concierge. Then they rushed him through the double doors and into the lobby.

 
I was left standing next to the car, listening
to recorded classical music from a speaker somewhere and chirping crickets,
wishing for the façade of my seven-month crush, who had been ruthlessly torn
from me. Plus, I could have really used some bubbly. Specifically, I could have
used a lot of bubbly.

After listening to a
long cricket serenade, I decided to go to the front desk. There was some
confusion, but after the clerk at the counter pounded on his computer keys for
several minutes, he gave me a room key and directions.