In my pocket, my phone vibrates, and I pull out the device, my heartbeat quickening at the email notification that appears. Neiman. The timing is suspect, and I glance up to the ceiling, wondering if the big man upstairs is trying to send me a message.
I open the email, and scroll quickly through the order, a smile pulling at my mouth as I see the purchase numbers. I stride over to her and wrap my arms around her, my chest to her back, my chin on her shoulder, my phone held out before her.
“Look,” I whisper, and I fight the urge to gather her against me, to press my hips forward, against her body, to feel the curve of that ass against me. “Look what you did.”
She twists around, throwing her arms around my neck, hugging it tightly. “We did,” she states, and when she pulls away, she is beaming.
She’s right. We did it. And dammit, I can’t mess everything up now.
chapter 9
Her
four months later
Las Vegas. I win three thousand dollars on a slot machine and am stretched out on my bed, basking in my newfound riches, when Trey walks in. He cocks a brow at me and holds out his wrist. “I need help. This cufflink is a bitch.”
I roll over and sit upright on the edge of the bed. When he steps forward, between my legs, I look up at him.
“This could get interesting,” he murmurs, a wicked gleam in his eyes. His shoes settle into place, and his pant legs brush against the inside of my knees.
It won’t. The man is a complete tease. He flirts like a teenage boy, then walks away and leaves me panting.
“There are certain lines I don’t cross, and fucking my employees is one of them.”
His line from my interview plays on repeat in my head. After our San Francisco road trip, I looked up Vicka Neece. Like I had expected, she is beautiful, and very different from me. Blonde instead of brunette. Taller than me, and thin instead of curvy. She has that sophisticated scowl that I’ve never mastered. I can see why a man would go for her. And I can see, in the tattered remains of Marks Lingerie, what interoffice relationships can lead to.
I hadn’t thought much about it while I was with Craig, but in the last five months as a single woman, Trey’s stance on fraternization has haunted me. And right now, his belt is at eye level, the buckle begging to be freed, zipper yanked down, and all of Trey Marks’s mysteries unveiled. My hand hovers above the belt. It would be so easy. I sigh and reach past it, for his waiting shirtsleeve, my hands quick and efficient as I fasten the cufflink. I look up at him and stick out my tongue.
“What is that for?” He extends the other hand, a smile playing across his lips.
“You. You and your ridiculous temptingness.” The truth slips out before I can harness it in. I bite my bottom lip and look down at the cufflink, struggling more with getting this one through the hole.
“Oh good. I was worried I was losing my touch.” He flips over his hands, offering them to me and I pull, getting to my feet.
“Nope. No worries there.” I eye his suit. “So it’s this kind of a dinner?”
“You were expecting the buffet? Keno and sweatpants?”
“Don’t tempt me,” I groan, moving past him and to the bathroom. “I’ve worn heels for, like, fourteen hours now.”
“You don’t have to come.” He stands in the doorway and watches me. I grab a washcloth and rub it over my face, removing my makeup. I glance in the mirror, at my face, slightly pink from the hot water, and frown. Maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that Trey isn’t trying to fuck me. Not when he sees me like this, in threadbare yoga pants and a shirt I borrowed from his suitcase without asking. That’s what he gets for owning T-shirts that feel like suede and for booking us in adjoining rooms. I may be bringing his company success, but I’m not above blatantly stealing from his suitcase.
“I know Mira and her husband,” he continues. “Why don’t you take the night off? Get room service and a movie.”
I turn off the water and glare at him in the mirror. “Her husband owns thirty-seven department stores in California. I don’t care if you know Mira. Their first order, if we can get it, will be huge. No offense, but I’m not letting you screw it up.”
“How can I not take offense to that?” He barks out a laugh, and follows me to my suitcase for a straightening iron.
“It’s the truth.” I plug in the iron. “And don’t flirt with her.”
“Oooh … jealous Kate. I knew you were in there somewhere.”
“I’m not jealous, I’m sane. You don’t know how you are, what you do to women. You say something casual to her, and her husband is going to bury you into next year—”
“Kate.”
“…and he isn’t going to care if—”