Love Irresistibly

Twelve



THE NEXT WEEK, not surprisingly, was a busy one for Brooke. On the first of the month, Sterling would be taking over the food service at the Staples Center, which meant she needed to work nearly ’round the clock to complete the employment contracts for the managerial employees they’d hired.

That was her project for this week. Next week, she would have to oversee the company’s yearly anti-harassment and discrimination training, which was mandatory for all staff at Sterling’s eight Chicago restaurants. After that, it would be something else—there was always something else. Not that she was complaining.

Well, not mostly, anyway.

Shortly after four o’clock that afternoon, Ford called to check in on her. “You’re still planning on making it to the game tomorrow, right?”

Brooke balanced the phone against her shoulder, so she could talk while signing off on the expense reports that Lindsey had prepared for her. “I should be good to go. I’m trying to wrap everything up tonight so that I only need to work on Sunday this weekend.”

“Do you want to meet for lunch before the game?” he asked.

“Yes. But not at Murphy’s,” she said. “I got two beers dumped on me last time we went there before a game.”

“All part of the experience.”

“She who giveth the skybox tickets gets to picketh the restaurant.”

Ford grumbled at that. “Fine. But not Southport Grocery,” he said, referring to a cute brunch spot a few blocks from Wrigley Field, one she’d dragged him to on several occasions.

“Come on. They do awesome egg-white omelettes.”

“Remember that best-friend straw you pulled, the one with the penis attached? That straw does not do brunch before the Cubs/Sox game.”

Lindsey stuck her head into Brooke’s office, interrupting the debate. “You have a visitor. A Mr. Cade Morgan.”

That was a surprise. Brooke had been expecting a phone call, not a personal visit. They hadn’t spoken since their non-date last Friday, although Cade had crossed her mind a time or two. That kiss had been good—really good—but realistically, it wasn’t as if things were going anywhere between them. Like her, he obviously had issues with relationships, given the things he’d told her the other night about his so-called “emotional unavailability.”

“Send him in,” she told Lindsey, before turning back to her conversation with Ford. “I have to run. I’ve got a business meeting to get to.” Technically, that wasn’t even a lie. She and Cade did have a professional relationship. Mostly. “I’ll e-mail you later about lunch tomorrow.”

She hung up the phone, then caught herself checking her hair in the window’s reflection before remembering—oh, right—she wasn’t trying to impress Cade.

“Here you go, Mr. Morgan,” she heard Lindsey say, followed by a familiar rich, masculine voice thanking her secretary. Cade strolled into Brooke’s office a half second later, looking dashing and handsome as ever in his gray three-piece suit.

Oh, Lord.

She’d always had a weakness for three-piece suits.

From the doorway, Lindsey smiled at Brooke. “If you need anything, Brooke, just let me know.” Behind Cade’s back, she silently mouthed one word: Wow.

“Thank you, Lindsey.” Yes, fine, the man was hot. Brooke stood up from her desk, thinking it would be best to keep the door shut. She assumed Cade was there to talk about Sterling’s hacker, which she’d been keeping on the down-low.

As soon as she shut the door, Cade flashed her that thousand-watt smile. “Ms. Parker. How good of you to see me.”

She so was going to regret kissing him, she could already tell. Clearly, he felt that momentary indiscretion gave him leave to look her over, right there in her office, with a very bold, very familiar gaze.

“Mr. Morgan,” she said, emphasizing with her tone that they needed to keep this professional. “I assume you have some information for me?”

He eased back against her bookshelf, making himself right at home. “I have that name you were looking for. Eric Hieber.”

Eric Hieber. Brooke rubbed her hands together eagerly. Ooh, she so was going to fire his computer-hacking, homophobic ass.

As soon as she figured out who in the heck he was.

“Eric Hieber . . . that’s not ringing any bells,” she mused to herself, passing by Cade to look up the name on her computer.

“He’s a waiter at Reilly’s on Grand,” Cade told her. “Twenty-four years old, no priors, been with Sterling for two years. Good friends with Darrell Williams, one of the tech support guys here in the corporate office, who let it slip about a month ago that he’d been bombarded with work doing a software rollout that, among other things, temporarily switched everyone in corporate over to a default password. Hieber insists that Williams has no idea that he’d hacked into the company’s database. He claimed at first that the whole thing was just a joke, although, when pressed, he admitted that he waited on Ian Sterling and a male guest at Reilly’s about five weeks ago, observed that the two men were openly affectionate with each other, and said he was shocked that, quote, ‘A cool dude like Ian Sterling was into that homo crap.’”

When he’d finished, Brooke stared at him in amazement. “How do you know all this?”

“The Secret Service picked up Hieber this morning. I’m told he started crying during questioning when they mentioned the words ‘federal charges’ and ‘bank fraud.’”

Brooke was still trying to catch up. “Hold on. Does that mean your office is taking on the case?”

“I’ve arranged for a junior AUSA in my group to handle the matter under my supervision,” Cade said. “I suspect Hieber will end up with probation, but I’m guessing he’ll think twice before ever again hacking into a bank’s database as a ‘joke.’” His eyes skimmed over her, abruptly changing the subject. “And for the record, you look hot as hell in that dress.”

Brooke found herself going a little warm from his openly appreciative gaze. She’d put on a sleeveless red tailored dress that morning, mostly because she’d wanted an excuse to wear her red high-heeled shoes again. “This old thing.”

At her coy tone, Cade’s eyes flashed with undisguised interest. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”

His directness took Brooke by surprise. She’d expected more quips and quasi-flirtatious sarcasm, not to be asked on an actual date. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” Actually, certain parts of her were just fine with the idea of spending the evening with Cade. But other parts, the ones that were still thinking despite the blinding hotness of the cobalt blue eyes and three-piece suit, were remembering that she’d vowed to stay away from any emotional entanglements for a while.

“I was there when we kissed, you know,” he said in response to her hesitation. “I’m pretty sure you liked it. A lot.” He took a step closer, so that she was trapped between him and her desk.

She put her hand on his chest to stop him. “Easy there, cowboy. This is a place of busin—” she paused, pushing her palm against what was undeniably a very firm pectoral muscle. “Seriously, why are you so built for a lawyer?”

“I work out with Vaughn at the FBI gym,” he said with a casual shrug. “The pool there is good for my shoulder.”

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?” she asked.

For some reason, Cade seemed surprised by her question. “Just an old college injury.”

Before she could ask anything further, the phone on Brooke’s desk began to ring. “I probably should get that,” she said.

Cade remained standing right where he was. “You haven’t said yes to dinner yet.”

True. But she hadn’t said no, either.

Yes, fine. Cade had grown on her a little. He was smart and funny, and he’d gone above and beyond with the Eric Hieber matter. But even if, for argument’s sake, she was tempted to go out with Cade, she’d heard enough about Ford’s endless string of hookups to know there were certain rules to the casual-dating dance. Like maybe she was supposed to suggest drinks instead, but then again they’d already had dinner on Friday. But, maybe it didn’t count as an actual dinner if it had started off as a business meet—

Brooke’s phone rang a second time. Too much to think through, too little time. “I really should take that. How about if I get back to you about dinner?”

Cade looked her over, the long, slow look of a man not accustomed to waiting for something he wanted. “All right. The offer stays open for twenty-four hours.”

“What happens after twenty-four hours?”

“My fragile ego will be irrevocably wounded.”

She couldn’t help but smile at that. “I doubt that’s even remotely possible.”

“Maybe not. But it doesn’t matter.” He stepped closer and, with one hand, brushed Brooke’s hair aside. He lowered his head and whispered in her ear. “You’re going to say yes.”

His eyes held hers as he pulled back. “Have a good afternoon, Ms. Parker.”


* * *


THE REST OF the afternoon flew by with a steady stream of conference calls and e-mails. It was after six o’clock when Brooke finally came up for air again, having a few free minutes to scarf down an energy bar before jumping on yet another call. This time, she would be speaking with a partner in the Los Angeles office of the firm they used for employment matters, to discuss some modifications they needed to make, per California law, to the contracts they had with two current managers they planned to move over to the Staples Center. Probably not the most fun way to spend a Friday evening, but Brooke planned to make up for it tomorrow at the Cubs/Sox game.

Sterling’s offices were quiet, everyone else having gone home for the weekend. She liked the office when it was calm like this—it gave her an opportunity to think without the usual interruptions.

And right now . . . she was thinking about Cade.

You’re going to say yes.

The man was too confident. Part of her found this irritating, but another part of her found it admittedly intriguing. In her daily life, as general counsel for Sterling, she was often the one making the decisions. So it was refreshing to be around someone who challenged her the way Cade did.

But.

Before she even considered accepting his invitation, she needed to figure out the ground rules. She hadn’t done the casual-dating thing since college, and from what she’d gathered, it was a whole different world out there now that she was in her thirties.

With that in mind, she quickly dialed up Ford, the expert, thinking he was just the person she needed to talk to. Unfortunately, he didn’t answer his cell phone. Brooke left him a message, then sat at her desk, staring distractedly at her computer. Her gaze sharpened, coming into focus as she realized what she had before her, literally at her fingertips.

The power of the Internet.

Quickly, she checked the clock on her desk and saw that she had ten minutes until her conference call. Plenty of time to do a little “research.” She swung around in the desk chair and pulled her trusty iPad out of her briefcase—no way was she doing this on her work computer—then fired up the browser and quickly Googled “rules of casual dating.”

3,730,000 results in 1.8 seconds.

Bingo.

She scrolled through the links until she found one that sounded like it got right to the point, from a popular women’s magazine. “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.” Brooke tapped on the link and began reading.

1. Be candid about your intentions from the start. Make sure he knows you aren’t looking for a serious relationship.

Fair enough, she agreed. Be honest. No problem.

2. Never go into a casual relationship with expectations. Remember that both of you are free to walk out at any time.

3. Keep it simple and stress-free. And have fun!

Brooke rolled her eyes, beginning to think that this was really basic stuff, when the remaining rules caught her eye.

4. In a casual relationship, all arrangements should be made only via text message. And the dirtier the message, the better!

5. Be sure to alternate text messages with him so that mutual interest is continually reestablished.

6. No personal gifts except for sex toys and massage oils.

7. A minimum of eighty percent of your time together should be spent naked or partially naked.

8. Don’t call him just to say hi.

9. Never take a bath together.

10. Under no circumstances should you continue to hook up if one of you—and only one of you—wants something more.

Brooke scrolled through the rules, not sure if she should laugh or be very, very afraid. Eighty percent of her time in a casual relationship should be spent naked? Did that include sleeping? Showering? But no baths, no sir-ee, because those were distinctly off-limits.

This had to be a joke. No personal gifts except for sex toys? Sure, because nothing said “I like but don’t love you” like a “just because” vibrator.

Ridiculous. She’d save her questions for Ford—frankly, this advice seemed a little shady.

Brooke’s phone started ringing. Time for her conference call.

Seeing that there was a three-page article following “Ten Rules of Casual Sex”—oh, now she had to read the rest, just for kicks—she decided to e-mail the link to her personal account, thinking she’d finish the article with a nice glass of wine when she got home. Not wanting to keep the guys in L.A. waiting, and a pro at multitasking, she answered the phone with an efficient “Brooke Parker,” and—

Shit!—accidentally tapped the button to “like” the article on Facebook instead of sharing the link via e-mail.

Oh, no, no, no.

This was not good.

“Uh . . . hi. Hang on for a moment, guys,” she stammered. So much for being a pro at multitasking.

A box popped up with her Facebook picture, prompting her to add a comment to the link for the “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.”

She instantly hit “cancel.”

And just like that, the whole thing went away.

Whew.

Now that had been a near disaster. No more multitasking at work, she vowed. Like texting while driving, trying to do a conference call while researching the rules of casual sex could only lead to big-time trouble.

With a deep, calming breath, Brooke went back to her conference call, where the L.A. guys were waiting. The call lasted just under a half hour, ending with a promise from the other lawyers to get her the revised employment agreements by Monday afternoon.

Afterward, she wrapped up a few loose ends, and then packed up her briefcase. Before shutting down her computer, she checked her work e-mail and saw, with relief, that no emergencies had popped up in the last half hour.

She was good to go.

It was a gorgeous evening, perfect for the five-block walk to her high-rise. She strolled along Michigan Avenue, thinking about her elevator ride with Cade the other night—and more important, that kiss at her front door.

Perhaps, per the rules, she should add in an eighty percent naked clause to his dinner offer. She smiled, thinking that certainly would make for an interesting evening.

As Brooke entered her building, she nodded hello to the lobby security guard before stepping into the elevator with five other people. Seeing that they had three stops to make before her floor, she pulled out her cell phone to check her e-mail.

She had fifty-two new messages to her personal e-mail account.

That was odd. Especially since every message was a notification that someone had posted a comment on her Facebook wall.

Quickly, Brooke began clicking through the messages. All from men.

I’M GAME IF YOU ARE, BABE!

LIKE! LIKE! LIKE!

TEN RULES EVERY WOMAN SHOULD LIVE BY!

PICK ME!!!!!!!!

Brooke’s stomach hit the floor of the elevator.

Oh. My. God. She clicked over to her Facebook profile and saw the link right there in black-and-white on her wall, generously shared with all five hundred and twenty-nine of her closest “friends.”

She’d favorited the damn “Ten Rules of Casual Sex.”