Accidental Rivals_An Office Romance Page 4

  “I know.” He comes to me, a slight smile taking the place of the frown. “And I was hoping tonight could sort of—I don’t know—help smooth things over a little.”

  Wait. What? His hands land on my waist. Not demanding or anything, but definitely a little more possessive than an ex has any right to be.

  “I don’t think we’re quite on the same page, Mark.” I place my hands over his—gentle, but determined. He’s lucky I don’t consider him a threat, or else he’d get a face full of the pepper spray I carry in my purse. If he thought what we were smelling earlier was bad…

  “What do you mean, not on the same page? I thought we had a good time tonight.” He knows I’m a sucker for his smile, especially when he’s being sort of roguish. Like right now.

  “We did. Dinner was really nice. I’m glad we got the chance to catch up and I’m glad things are going well for you.” Very firmly, I remove his hands from my waist and hold them in mine, more to keep him from pawing me again than anything else. “But I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. I didn’t ask to see you tonight because I wanted to—well, you know…”

  His eyes darken. “You didn’t want me to get the idea that you actually wanted to see me for myself. Is that it? This is all business to you, the way everything always is.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Isn’t it? All you ever cared about was your next sale, your next commission, how your numbers would stack up against the rest of the company. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

  I can’t help wanting to ask him why he’d think I’d give half a damn what he wants now if I was such a raging bitch when we were actually in a relationship. Instead, I take a deep breath and count to five before replying, “Now’s not the time to go into that, Mark. Besides, I didn’t think there was anything wrong with our getting together as friends. Just because we had dinner tonight doesn’t mean I was hinting at anything else. I’m sorry you took it that way.”

  “Not sorrier than I am.” He sighs, letting my hands drop. “And here I was, thinking we’d be going to your place after this.”

  And now I remember another reason why we never worked: he’s a petulant, manipulative little baby. “You’re not interested in the house, I take it,” I comment as I lead him to the door.

  “Oh, it’s gorgeous, but I’d love to give it a little thought.”

  Right. I know what that means. For every sale, there are at least one or two dozen looky-loos who aren’t really interested, but don’t know how to tell you so without feeling like a jerk.

  “Great,” I lie with a smile. “You know my number.”

  “Yeah, I know your number,” he mumbles, as we head towards our car.

  Zack

  It must smell like the rottenest of rotten eggs in there. Maybe not my finest moment, setting off those stink bombs in the house, but as I sit in my concealed position in the pool house and watch the chaos going on inside, I remind myself there’s far too much riding on this for a little thing like ethics to get in the way. Even dick moves are fair in love and war.

  My palms get slick as I consider the alternative to not making the sale. My entire career is riding on this. I don’t need the money. Just the damn sale. If only she’d accepted my offer, none of this would’ve been necessary.

  Maybe I should tell her the truth, just lay it on the line. She’s a reasonable person when she’s not acting like a frigid nun. There were brief glimmers of humanity the other night while we were enjoying dinner. At least, I was enjoying it, and it seemed as though she might have been too. She dropped her guard, anyway, and even favored me with a few genuine smiles.

  Much more than I ever got before then. It was a start.

  Then she turned, became cold and haughty. For no reason at all, her walls were suddenly up. Nah, I can’t trust her with the truth. No way. I won’t put myself at her mercy. Not when it is extremely unlikely, she’ll break down and give me what I need, anyway. No, I’ll just have to get the sale fair and square, on my own merits.

  Which in this moment just happen to include stink bombs. Because I’ve evidently regressed to the point where this is a viable option.

  But hey, it’s working. I watch light after light come on as she runs from room to room. The entire house is lit up before long, blazing like a star in the night. And still she hasn’t been able to find the source. I almost feel sorry for her. I’m sure this was the last thing on her mind when she decided to show the property behind my back.

  Then, I see the guy who drove up behind her. He stands at one of the windows, opening it to let fresh air in, and I dislike him immediately. He’s got one of those square chins that just begs for a fist to smash into it. I’ve known guys like him my entire life. They’re all the same. Pampered, entitled hypocrites.

  So what is she doing with him?

  She wants the sale.

  If there’s one thing I can take for granted with Sienna, it’s that there’s nothing more than a professional relationship here. She probably doesn’t even have anything below the waist. Molded plastic, like a doll. Sex doesn’t help one’s sales figures, which are all that matter to her.

  I wish I’d brought binoculars. I can’t quite make out what’s happening inside. Then again, I hadn’t exactly planned on getting a close look. Just knowing that I was ruining her private showing was enough. So I thought.

  That was before I got a look at her potential buyer.

  I sneak out of the pool house while neither of them is near a window and dash across the back patio, nearly doubled over. Who am I? Some second-rate burglar? Or a Hardy boy? Sneaking around in the dark, peering into windows to get a better look at what’s going on inside? Anyone who knows me would laugh at the sight.

  What in the ever-loving fuck am I doing still dashing about in the dark. I did what I intended and there’s no way a serious showing can go on now, not after Sienna sprinted around the house like she did. With all that square footage, she’s got to be exhausted and out of breath. Most definitely unprofessional, which I get the feeling is what she hates most.

  But it isn’t enough.

  For some weird reason I can’t walk away. Maybe if the client were anybody else but him. I don’t know him, I’ve never seen him before in my life. But I know his type all too well and I don’t like him. I don’t like him being in there with her. I don’t like the way he looked at her when her back was turned and she was hunting around, looking behind furniture, poking her head into bathrooms. I don’t like the way his eyes rake over her body.

  The prick!

  Even as distaste-bordering-on-rage bubbles up in my chest, I can’t help remembering all the times I’ve checked her out as she walked in front of me. But that’s different. I don’t know how, specifically, but it just is. I’m not that perv. I didn’t practically lick my chops when she bent over. Well, okay, I did, but it was just different.

  There’s something about the way he looks at her. He moves closer to her. There is something intimate about their pose. I frown in the darkness. Are they more than professional acquaintances? No, they can’t be.

  Why not? She’s young, gorgeous, and as much as I’d like to believe, more than likely, isn’t made of molded plastic down there. Yes, but this guy? Doesn’t she have any taste? I gave her credit for at least that much.

  She’s closing the windows now and pulling the blinds closed, which means there’s less and less I can make out. The lights are going out one by one, too, so the stench has eased, and she’s relaxing a little. Damn it. I hoped he would run out, gagging, and drive away.

  He must really like the place.

  Or…her.

  My mood darkens further than ever. Is that it? He’s not interested in the house, but her. Shit. My palms are sweaty again.

  She takes him back to the entryway, which I can see clearly down the length of the hall which runs from the front to the back of the house. She’s laughing good-naturedly, definitely trying to hide her embarrassment. I can see that she is exhausted to
o. Can’t have been easy running around in that tight A-line skirt and those high heels. I can’t help but note another stab of guilt in my chest at this.

  That’s before he…

  Reaches for her. Hell, he’s placing his hands on her waist. Now he’s pulling her a little closer. As if that isn’t enough, he’s moving in even closer and looking down at her the way a man looks down at the woman he intends to bed.

  The bastard.

  I don’t know if I can stand here and keep watching or if I should just follow what my body is begging me to do. Storm in, fists flying. I can just imagine knocking him on his ass after connecting with that obnoxiously square chin of his. My hands tighten, my heart races. He has no fucking business putting his hands on her.

  Wait. What’s wrong with me?

  I shake my head in an effort to calm myself down and kick those thoughts free. What the hell is wrong with me? First of all, she’s not my girl. And something tells me she wouldn’t appreciate me barging in like some cliché caveman, beating the hell out of a guy just because I don’t like his looks or the way he has been eying her up.

  Besides, she’s catching his hands and very firmly taking them off her waist. The breath I was holding escapes in a rush. She’s got things under control. I should’ve known she would.

  “Sorry, asswipe. This one’s not for you. Keep moving,” I mutter as she lets him down easy. He doesn’t deserve that much, but she’s graceful enough to preserve his ego.

  It’s too obvious that he’s disappointed. He looks like he wants to stomp his feet and threaten to hold his breath until he gets what he wants. What did he expect? That they would christen every room of the house together?

  His face is wooden as she leads him outside. She locks up behind them.

  I wait until the roar of both engines fades into silence before going for my own car, parked at the edge of the property. I chuckle to myself when I remember how she turned him down. I wish I could’ve heard the exact words she used. Ha, ha, the way his face crumbled when he realized he wasn’t getting any tonight.

  Serves him right. She should’ve kneed him in the balls. I’ve been kneed in the balls before. Twenty years later and I can tell you it’s nothing to take lightly. And I wouldn’t normally wish it on anyone, but he’s a special case. He could use a shift in perspective.

  What bothers me more than wishing for another man to experience that sort of pain is the fact that I care so much in the first place. So what if he got a little handsy? She set him straight. Maybe they have a history. I don’t know her life.

  It just irks the hell out of me to think of another guy touching her that way, thinking he can get away with that sort of thing just because she wants a sale from him. I have no respect for people who think that way, male or female.

  Yes, that has to be it.

  I slide behind the wheel of the car and pull away from the property. I only detest that bastard because he thought he could take advantage. Not because he was trying to take advantage of Sienna, specifically. I couldn’t care less about her. Why would I? She’s just my partner in this sale. And she won’t even be that if I have my way. Besides, she’s got a decent head on her shoulders and she clearly saw right through him.

  But as I hit the road, I can’t get the image of him with his hands on her out of my head.

  “Get a grip, Zack,” I growl. The last thing I need in all of this is to let testosterone get in the way of what needs to be done. There’s too much riding on this. All that matters is the sale. She can have every sale after this, large or small, I don’t care. I just need this one.

  Which means it doesn’t matter who gets handsy with her. It’s none of my business.

  Even if that asshole deserved to get punched.

  Sienna

  I don’t expect to hear from Mark again, as I steer my way down the circular turnabout and down the wide driveway which leads to the road. He’s behind me somewhere. In the past. Just like he was before I called him this afternoon.

  But I can still hear the echo of his words in my head. Accusations, more like. I only ever cared about work. I never cared about what he wanted. Is that true?

  Not entirely. I cared very much about him. We just didn’t have the same priorities, was all. I’m not entirely sure what I need when it comes to a relationship, but I know what I don’t need… a man who doesn’t get me.

  He never did, he never tried. He wanted my body, my adoration, but not me. Not my ambition or my intelligence. He didn’t want to hear about my successes. I had nobody to share them with, and he was the only person I wanted to tell when something great happened. Sure, I would call my parents and Tami and they would be excited, but it wasn’t the same.

  No, he would complain that I was talking about work again. A little part of me understood that he was jealous of my work.

  I can’t believe I let him get under my skin the way I have again. He doesn’t deserve to be there. It’s funny how a person can forget, or at least gloss over the truth of the past. If I had remembered more clearly the way things really ended, the real problem between us, I wouldn’t have called him at all. No commission is worth it.

  I’d been too busy focusing on the sale. Tunnel vision blinded me. That and the need to beat Zack.

  My hands tighten around the wheel when I think of him. As if I needed something else to upset me. What would he think if he saw how terribly that ‘showing’ went? He’d laugh himself sick, no doubt. Even more reason why it’s good that he never knows about it.

  Men. What a pain in general. No wonder I’ve been single for so long. I haven’t missed the drama, for sure. And I haven’t missed feeling like there’s something wrong with me for being ambitious and liking what I do for a living. For wanting to be good at it. Not just good, but the best.

  It’s a relief to get home, to be alone. Nobody wants anything from me here. I can slide out of my heels and into a pair of slippers before going up to my room. Sometimes I wonder if a studio apartment would make more sense for me than a full house, since I rarely spend time in anything but the kitchen and the bedroom. But I do like the thought of owning space, even if I don’t take advantage of it.

  What would it have been like if I’d allowed Mark to follow me here? We’d be going upstairs together. I wouldn’t have to be alone. But that’s no reason to be with somebody, just to keep from being alone. I haven’t sunk that far yet.

  And I have no intention of ever doing so.

  As I wash my face, I think about any other contacts I can reach out to. There’s bound to be somebody interested on the list of people I’ve been working on for years now. I’m pretty sure I’d miss my contact list more than I’d miss my arm if I ever lost it.

  By the time I’m back in my room, with an old movie on the TV and the laptop open beside me, I’m ready to send a few emails. One of them will be to Mark, to follow-up on our showing and to thank him for dinner. He might be a manipulative, sulky baby, but he knows plenty of people through his father’s law firm and they know lots of wealthy people, too. It’s never a good idea to burn bridges.

  What would it be like to tell him what I really think about him? Maybe not quite as satisfying as it would be to tell Zack off, but close enough.

  There’s Zack again!

  I can’t seem to keep him out of my thoughts for very long. I tell myself not to stress about it. It’s to be expected: we’re working together. I won’t be rid of him until the house is sold. After that, he’s toast in my head, but not before I tell him off but good for trying to screw me over today.

  It’s thoughts of that event that keep me working long into the night.

  It is nearly two in the morning when I stop and stretch. A feeling of slow languor hits my body. I’ve worked hard, I deserve a break. I head for the bathroom, run a bath, and strip. Naked, I pour fragrant oil in the steaming water. Then I light a strawberry scented candle. Slipping one foot into the silky water, I sigh with luscious pleasure.

  To hell with Zack. And his stron
g, masculine hands. And his hard jaw. And that flat stomach.

  The sensation of the hot bubbles enveloping my body is tantalizing. The candle provides an extra touch of sensuality as it pulsates its sultry light across the curves of my body. I run my hands down the silky smoothness of my shape. My nipples are firm and erect.

  Yes, I’m aroused, but it’s not Zack.

  Not at all. It’s just that I haven’t had a man or climaxed for such a long time. There is a new and mysterious fire inside me that needs quenching. I imagine myself lying on my bed, naked but for my four-inch high red stilettos. There are pillows under my hips, and I’m slowly spreading open my legs for the man standing at the bottom of the bed. Afternoon sun beams in illuminating my spread open body for him. I try to imagine that he is Mark or some faceless stranger, but he morphs into Zack.

  Fine, whatever. It’s just a fantasy. It doesn’t mean anything. People fantasize about taking part in orgies, it doesn’t mean they actually want to do it in real life. As much as I want to be angry with myself for not being firmer with myself, I can’t deny that I’m curious where this is going to go.

  “Spread your legs wider so I can see your wet pussy,” Zack orders. He strokes his erection through his trousers.

  Once, when he was sitting opposite me at dinner ‒ my gaze accidentally dropped down and I saw his bulge it…was big. Very big. I widen my legs in the most provocative and sexy way I can as I feel my pussy open up to receive him.

  “I always knew you were talented,” he says throatily.

  A wave of heat bursts through me, and my imagination starts running wild and vivid. I see him undo his belt. “Mmmm.” His hard dick stands proud. Thick, angry looking veins snake around it. It wants to enter me. I am ready for him. My hand moves to caress my clit. “Oh, yes.” A wave of pleasure runs through my body. Completely immersed in my fantasy, I watch him come closer. His large hands cup my breasts. They are full and heavy with excitement. He bends his dark head and licks one nipple while pinching the other in his fingers. A gasp slips out of my mouth and my body aches. The feeling is almost more than I can bear.