Can't Get Enough (14 page)

7

"HE SAID WHAT?"

Claire stared at Morgan Beck, aware that she'd crouched forward in her chair and placed one hand imperiously on his desk.

"You heard me, Claire. I know this whole arrangement sticks in your
craw but I flatter myself that after thirty years in the business I
know what I'm doing. I don't care what sort of a disagreement you and
Jack have had, but you're just going to have to sort it out."

Morgan was cranky, his voice hard and his posture aggressive as he glared across the desk at her.

"I just don't understand it. Yesterday the two of you seemed to be in perfect accord, and now this," he said.

You have no idea,she thought. And she tried very hard to get the image
of her and Jack doing the wild thing on the elevator floor out of her
mind as she held her boss's eye. Now was not the time to get turned on
by rogue memories. This was her career she was talking about here. Jack
and his perfect penis could
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go hang as far as she was concerned.

"Wait a minute—are you telling me that Jack Brook has refused to work
with me?" she asked, still trying to get a grip on this concept.

"Have I been talking to myself for the last five minutes, Claire?" She
fought back the impulsive urge to tell him to keep his pants on, then
blanched that any such urge had even crossed her mind. What was wrong
with her? When she'd first entered his office, she'd found him seated
with his feet up on his desk. She'd had trouble hiding her smile at his
aggressive, I'm-the-boss posture. She'd got control of her unruly
mouth, but she'd been appalled at herself—when had she ever felt
anything but respect and a faint tinge of fear for Morgan Beck?

"Mr. Beck, this comes as a complete shock to me," she assured him now,
neatly sidestepping the fact that she'd come to work this morning with
the single-minded intention of finagling her boss into removing Jack
from her project. It was one thing for her to reject him…

"Really?"

The single word dripped disbelief. She found herself glaring back at
her boss, her temper well and truly firing on all cylinders now. Before
she could stop herself, hot and angry words were pouring out.

"Yes, really. Do you truly think I'm so pathetic that I'd get him to do
my dirty work for me? I assure you, if I didn't want to work with Jack
Brook I'd let you know in no uncertain terms." Okay, that was a lie,
because she'd spent the whole night trying to come up with subtle,
nonaggressive ways of suggesting Jack be reassigned. But Morgan didn't
seem to understand that she'd spoken out of anger—his eyebrows were
rising up, his expression one of pure shock. She tried to remember if
she'd ever come close to speaking to him like this before.

No, probably not. Mostly she concentrated on smiling and sounding
competent and on top of things when she met with him. Mostly she'd been
way too aware of his power and her own desire to win his approval.

But today she was too annoyed to remember any of that. Today she was
outraged that not only had Jack left her dangling all night, he'd also
pipped her at the post on the work front, too. To top things off, this
balding little man in front of her thought she was so wimpy that she'd
use someone else as her front man.

"You know, I was prepared to wear all this rubbish about placating Mr.
Hillcrest, but I'm beginning to wonder if I wouldn't be better off
stepping aside and letting you simply replace me with someone better
qualified," she heard herself saying silkily.

Good grief. Give a girl a little rush of power to the head, and suddenly she was the Genghis Khan of office politics!

Morgan had gone pale, but she bit down on the apology that sprang to
her lips the moment she uttered her challenge. Instinctively, she
understood that much hung in the balance right now. He needs me,she
reminded herself.
It's my project, and he needs me, and he should remember that.
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Except this wasn't her style at all. She was a worker, a quiet
achiever. A nonconfronter . And she was going to lose her job. She was
going to be escorted from the building by mustached security guards,
and she was never going to get another job in publishing. She'd get
kicked out of her apartment, and her car would be repossessed, and
before she knew it she'd be coming up with catchy names for bad adult
movies for a living, titles such as
Ordinary Peepholes
and
Free Willy.
Although, technically, that was no different from the original even if
it had a new interpretation. Maybe she'd be no good at this new career,
either. Ah—
Three Willy!
Maybe she'd survive, then…

To her surprise, Beck suddenly laughed, pushing himself back from his desk and loosening his tie a little.

"Okay, Claire. Point taken. I apologize."

Her vision of her career in pornography receded and she hoped she wasn't looking as surprised as she felt.
He was apologizing.
Her boss was apologizing. She'd answered back and threatened him and he
hadn't had her escorted from the building. A slow feeling of elation
bubbled into her blood. She felt…strong. Powerful. Valued.

All these years she'd been toeing the line and working hard and waiting
to be acknowledged—and all it took was a bit of mouthing off to get
some respect.

"Look, it's a crappy situation we've put you in. I acknowledge that.
But if you can swallow your pride for just a few months, I assure you
we'll get Jack off your back as soon as we can. And your…flexibility
won't be forgotten."

A little drunk with her newly discovered power, she toyed with the idea
of making another startling, bold statement. Something such as "I hate
that tie," or perhaps, "For God's sake, do something about what's left
of your hair," while she was on a roll, but she was wise enough to know
when to quit.

"I'm not happy," was what she actually said. "But I'll do it, because I've put too much into
Welcome
Home
to walk away."

Her boss nodded.

"Understood. The board knows that magazine is all yours, Claire, don't
ever underestimate that. We consider you one of our most talented
executives."

She managed to contain the grin that was threatening to stretch her mouth wide. Respect
and
praise, all because she'd lost her temper.

"I trust I can leave it with you to sort things out with Jack?" her boss was saying, shuffling papers around on his desk.

She recognized the meeting was over and she stood quickly.

"I'll take care of it," she assured him.

Once out of Beck's hallowed office, her focus swung around to consider
Jack and his sneakery . It was a testament to how angry she was that
she didn't even think twice about getting in the elevator and taking it
down to Jack's level. She was concentrating instead on what she was
going to say to him. He'd gone behind her back and tried to undermine
her on her own project. She conveniently swept to one side the thought
that she had been about to do the same to him. And she couldn't even
bear to think that while
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she'd been sitting home all night agonizing over why he hadn't called,
he'd been planning to approach Beck and get out of working with her.

She steamed out of the elevator and surveyed the open-plan office space
confronting her, quickly spotting Jack's assistant at a desk in the
corner. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the fact that Jack enjoyed
a corner office. One more reason to find him incredibly annoying. Linda
looked up with a smile when Claire stopped at her desk.

"I need to see Jack," she said baldly.

Linda's smile faded as she registered Claire's mood, and Claire
immediately felt like a jerk. Perhaps she was taking this pushy thing a
little too far….

"I mean—how are you?" she tried again, summoning a smile of her own.

"Fine. Jack's not in right now," Linda volunteered.

She shifted her gaze to the closed door over Linda's shoulder.

"Is that a he's-in-but-doesn't-want-to-be-disturbed not in, or a real
not in?" she asked, trying to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

"He's in a meeting down in Sports," Linda expanded.

"Right." Claire stood for a moment, tapping her toe as she considered
her options. She could leave a message for him, go back down to her
office, get stuck into some work. She shook her head. She could just
imagine him screwing up any message she left him and tossing it in the
bin as he headed out to an executive racquetball game.

"I'll wait," she announced suddenly. Then she pointed to Jack's office
door. "In there." Linda opened her mouth to protest, but Claire sailed
past and into Jack's inner sanctum. She did a quick survey of the room,
aware that Linda had followed her and was standing behind her.

"Can I get you a coffee while you wait?" Linda asked politely, nothing in her tone giving away her true feelings.

"I'm fine, thanks," she said.

Linda gave a small nod and exited, closing the door behind her.

So she can warn him without me overhearing,Claire guessed. Well, tough. He'd have to come back here some time.

She glanced at the two seating options—a hard-looking chair at the
front of Jack's desk, or a squishy-looking sofa in the corner. She
opted for the squishy sofa, throwing herself into it impatiently. It
embraced her like an overly affectionate uncle, its cushions giving way
alarmingly so that her butt sank low enough to lift her feet off the
carpet.

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Only Jack Brook could have a bucket-seat couch, she thought, struggling
to lever herself up and out of its tenacious hold. She'd worked herself
into a sweat and only managed to wriggle her hips forward, finally
getting her high heels on the ground, when the door swung open and Jack
entered. His blue gaze swung around like a spotlight and she felt the
completeness of his scrutiny, becoming painfully aware of her flushed
cheeks, the way her skirt was rucked up and the fact that the buttons
at the front of her blouse were strained and gaping open because of the
way her arms were levered behind her. This was not the way she'd
imagined seeing him for the first time after what had happened between
them. Neither had she imagined that her body would instantly go onto
high alert, eager for any signal from him. Suddenly her breasts felt
tight and sensitized in her bra, and she was aware of the brush of her
silk shirt against her skin.

She gritted her teeth against the knowing smile dancing around Jack's
lips and pushed herself up and out of the sofa with a surge of power.
It was like coming out of quicksand, and she staggered a little before
finding her balance.

Jack just watched her all the while, one hip braced against his desk,
his arms folded across his chest. She stood panting before him, pushing
her skirt back down.

"That's the most stupid couch in all the world," she said, aware that any advantage she'd had was long gone.

"I like it," he said simply.

"You would."

She tried to regain the towering anger and feeling of
self-righteousness she'd had when she arrived not two minutes ago.
Unfortunately, most of her was too busy remembering what it had felt
like to be pressed up against his chest, to have his hands on her skin
and his tongue in her mouth. A floodgate of sense memories threatened
to engulf her—the look on his face as he slid inside her; the small
noise of appreciation he'd made when he'd first seen her bare breasts;
the moist heat of his breath against the skin of her neck as he
shuddered out his climax. She blinked, overwhelmed for a moment by a
surge of desire. Fortunately for her dignity, close on the heels of
those searing memories came the painful reminder of how humiliated
she'd felt when he didn't call last night.

Snap out of it,she told herself, squaring her shoulders and looking him
in the eye. The effect was ruined somewhat when one of her blouse
buttons popped off, performing a little somersault in the air between
them before tumbling to land at his feet. The cool breeze on her torso
told her that once again her underwear was on display, and she was
unable to stop the flush of heat that was even now flooding her face.

"We really have to stop meeting like this," he drawled, stooping to
pick up her button. She hated him for his casual nonchalance—if his
shirt had popped open she would have been bug-eyed and slathering with
lust. But he just stood there, cool as a cucumber, completely
unaffected by her near nudity. The bastard.

She crossed her arms in front of her breasts but a glance down revealed
that this only made them seem to pop up and out over her bra even more.
Yesterday in the elevator, and now this. She wanted to die, and as
quickly as possible, please.

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She could feel his eyes on her, and she settled for holding the two sides of her blouse together with one clenched fist.

"I've just been up seeing Morgan Beck," she announced, determined to
win back the initiative. Perhaps if she just pretended she hadn't
practically forced herself on him, it would just go away.

"Figured as much."

His tone smacked so much of casual expectation that she felt her anger heating up all over again.

"Well, thanks for consulting me first. Thanks a lot. I get hauled up
there first thing this morning and he practically accused me of making
you ask to be taken off the magazine." He looked surprised. "Where the
hell did he get that from?"

"From you, I take it."

"Well, you're wrong. As usual. All I told him was that I had too much on my plate to take on your project, as well."

She puffed her cheeks out to stop from swearing out loud, almost letting go of her blouse she was so furious.

"Take on my project?"she stuttered. "Are you forgetting that you were
only ever going to be the token male, wheeled out for meetings to keep
that Neanderthal at Hillcrest happy? Take on my project my ass!"