Compromising Positions (An Erotic Romance Novel) (2 page)

She nodded. Another opportunity for sarcasm. She had great respect for women in all economic brackets and here she was with another male chauvinist.

But no, she wouldn’t risk her job for a punch line.

“For the time being, I hope you don’t mind sharing your office with Mr. Ryan. You’ll be working together anyway, so I figure it would be good for you to share the office. Once the overall department structure is in place, we’ll make more permanent arrangements.”

The threat in his tone was unmistakable. Reading between his words was like reading a neon sign. Cost-cutting was a priority to the new brass. There would be only one marketing director.

And there was no way in hell she’d let it be Gabe Ryan!

*****

Gabe made the last few adjustments to his new desk’s placement, lifting a corner and pushing it toward the wall. When he’d been called this morning and was told to report to Love Lines, he’d no idea what was going on. Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed the truth.

As it turned out, reality was better than his wildest dreams. Yesterday, he’d been the marketing director of a mediocre dating service. Not the most rewarding job he’d ever held—certainly not the kind of job he’d dreamed of as he’d slogged through four years of college and two years of grad school. He’d be in debt for the next ten years, all for a crummy job selling memberships to a dating service.

But, that was yesterday.

Today, a god had knocked the world on its side. And how much more pleasant this angle was—even if the blood was rushing to his head.

Six-thirty, bright and early, he’d reported to Love Lines as directed, and after learning he was sharing an office with Fate Doherty, not only his former adversary, but also a woman he’d dated and slept with briefly in college, he’d gleefully planned his next move.

Desk in place, he adjusted the white cloth vertical blinds, which had become tangled when he’d brushed against them. He peered out the window, savoring the view of the traffic-clogged road and neighboring glass and steel temples to the god of capitalism.

The memory of his earlier confrontation with Fate buzzed through his mind. Was he cruel, the way he’d toyed with her? Possibly. Did he feel guilty? A tad. But overall, he’d enjoyed their heated exchange immensely. It was better than what little interaction he’d been afforded over the last ten years.

No longer would he begrudge Monday mornings, not when he had so much to look forward to. And the new partnership between companies already stirred his creative juices. He was nearly exploding with ideas. The thought of targeting twenty-somethings, rather than the conservative thirty and forty-crowd, sent a jolt of revitalizing energy through his brain.

New name, new marketing strategy, new advertising media. Maybe television.

The only hurdle he had to overcome was also the one thing that made his new position so delightful: Fate Doherty. He needed to let her see the other side of Gabe Ryan, not a particularly settling thought.

Although he still found her absolutely stunning, with her curly copper hair, ivory skin, vivid green eyes and heart-shaped face, under the surface of that angelic veneer lay a hardened ice-queen. And the arctic slivers she shot from those emerald eyes could slice a man to pieces. She was not a woman to mess with. And he couldn’t wait to do just that.

Sure, she’d grown comfortable in their adversarial relationship. Why wouldn’t she? By remaining enemies, he guessed she didn’t have to face any threatening emotions. But now, neither of them had a choice.

If he were a religious man, he’d be on his knees right now, thanking the gods. No doubt about it, one of them was smiling down at him. He’d been wishing for an opportunity to rekindle the explosive chemistry he and Fate had shared so long ago. At last the opportunity was his, and there was no way he would blow it.

Turning, he took in his surroundings, still not sure whether or not he was dreaming. Nope. Couldn’t be a dream. In his dreams he never had such a nice office. This place was a palace compared to his cubbyhole at the former Date Doctor headquarters. The walls were pristine white, and Fate’s furniture matched—definitely top dollar. Real artwork even graced the walls.

He walked over to Fate’s desk, notably devoid of clutter, and scooped a framed photograph from its lacquered surface. She was accepting an award from the ex-C.E.O. of Love Lines. Tracing the outline of her face, he thought, Fate Doherty, you have no idea what’s in store for you.

Damn, did she look sexy in the photo, even if she was wearing a conservative blue suit and overly grim expression. He couldn’t wait to see her clothed in more casual attire—a pair of shorts, or sweats and one of his tshirts. He closed his eyes and imagined the scene, sighing.

“What the hell are you doing, you psychopath?”

Her voice struck him like a bolt of lightning. His eyes flew open. “Thinking about our new partnership. What do you think about the news?”

Her eyes flashed. “I want to make one point perfectly clear. We have no partnership. Our companies merged, but there is no way we will be sharing anything. You understand?”

“Sure.” He hadn’t expected her to give in easily. Actually, the tougher she was the better. He enjoyed a challenge, especially from a woman. Once she realized he was more than a cocky, troublesome, man-boy, she’d come around. He’d have plenty of opportunity to reveal the depth of his intelligence and personality.

A grimace firmly in place, she followed his movements with narrowed eyes as he set the photograph down and returned to his junky aluminum desk. Missing a metal foot, it rocked noisily when he rested his arms on the top. No matter. He didn’t need a fancy one.

He slumped into his chair and kicked his feet up on the desktop, intentionally rocking it. Even with his back turned, he could see her grimace in his mind’s eye with each hollow bang. He smiled and stared at the Rembrandt print on the wall, a portrait of a man painted in dark colors. The solemn tone of the painting might have matched the former mood of Fate’s office, but that was about to change.

He stood, took down the painting, and in its place hung his babe and motorcycle calendar. There. That ought get her goat. Damn, this was fun!

Before getting to work, he took a few minutes more to rummage through his boxes, delivered by a stream of movers over the past half hour or so, and found his more charming decorations—gag gifts never meant to be on display anywhere sunlight might reach. The Whip and Chain Chiropractor coffee cup his friends had given him after he’d graduated from college, the Rodney Dangerfield talking bust his brother had thoughtfully bought him for his last birthday, and a Voodoo computer his last boss had given him after he killed three computers were the perfect compliment to his ugly desk.

Forcing his mind back to the task at hand, he slipped down deeper into his chair. Time to brainstorm, his favorite past time. “What do you think about television?”

“Huh?” was her unenthusiastic response.

He kicked his feet against the desk front, spinning his chair around. As he turned to face her, his feet slammed on the ground, stopping the momentum. “Television?”

“What about it?” She glared at him.

“I’m not trying to trap you or anything. We’re on the same team now, remember?”

Pulling several files from a low cabinet next to her desk, she shook her head. In a soft tone, like a mother would use when scolding a toddler, she said, “No, we’re not. There isn’t room in this office for two of us. Someone will be leaving, and I’m guessing it’ll be within the next week or two.”

“Hmm. Hope you’re wrong. Wouldn’t give us much time to get reacquainted.”

Clearly ignoring his comment, she continued, “The way I see it, we’ll both be better off if you do your thing and I do mine. No partnerships.”

“Damn! You’re gonna take all the fun out of this.”

“No, this is a job, and I’m taking it seriously.”

“Of course you are, Fate. By the way, I’ve never told you, but I love your name. Your parents hippies? I never did get to meet them.”

Something on her desk captured her attention, exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t been such an immature goon in college you might have had the chance. My parents have a warped sense of humor. I imagine you would get along with them just peachy.”

He chuckled at the insult, having heard it so often it had lost its former sting. “Well, I have some great ideas about the new company. You might want to listen.”

She lifted her eyes. “Okay, fire away.” Her cynical expression and emotion-void voice suggested she had no interest in his ideas, but her lack of enthusiasm didn’t deter him.

“I say we produce a dating program. You know, like a blind date show. We can screen the applicants and set up the dates…”

“A television program would require an enormous capital investment. Video and sound crews, producers, directors, staff to screen applicants. Where would the money come from? Last I checked it wasn’t in the marketing budget.” She flopped open the Date Doctor marketing binder, shuffling pages until she found the budget page. “Nope. Not there. Sooorry!”

Shot down. No matter. He would find a way. He rummaged around in his brain for an idea. “I know. We’ll sponsor a show or provide the contestants, do the applicant screening for a show that already exists. That way, we’d get hundreds—thousands—of young singles in the door. Then we could sell them our service.”

“I don’t know. Your plan sounds sneaky. I don’t like it.”

“You have a point?”

Cutting him off again, she dropped her head and started reading.

The fun was over.

Determined to find a solution, Gabe spun his chair to face his desk and doodled on a notepad. He wasn’t an advocate of team meetings or brainstorming sessions, but he was beginning to see their benefit. Fate was the perfect person to bounce ideas off, intelligent, honest, critical. If she permitted, together they could be a force to be reckoned with.

Resolved not to let her intelligence go to waste, he turned to face her. “What about a name? Any thought there?”

The paper she held slipped from her fingertips. Pushing against the desk, she scooted her chair back. Her dress, black with simple lines that traced every curve, shimmied down her body as she stood. “Mr. Ryan, I think we’d better set things straight right now.”

There was no mistaking the tone of her voice. He waited with expectation. She was tough, inflexible, beautiful, and wielded a tongue as sharp as a saber. He had dreams about that tongue. A man had to be tough to stand up to her, or insane, but he was far from intimidated.

No, she was his perfect match. In every way.

She continued, “I have no choice but to accept the situation, and I suspect you don’t either. I am determined to make the best of it…”

“Good, so am I.”

“Would you let me finish?”

“You weren’t through yet? Oh, sorry.” He had to smother a laugh. Baiting Fate was his favorite hobby.

After a deep sigh and a shake of the head, she muttered, “They can’t expect anyone to work like this.”

“I think it’s a great set-up. You’re looking at the whole thing wrong. Instead of searching for a way out, you need to consider how the situation can work to your advantage. I’ve always done that, and I can’t complain about the results. Look where I am now.” To illustrate his point, he swept his hand toward his desk, presenting it like a game show hostess did a valuable prize.

She bit her quivering lip, and then the corners of her mouth lifted into a brilliant smile. “Yeah, I can see what you mean. That desk is to die for.”

He stood, shook it, and kicked at the legs as though he were inspecting a used car. “Good tires, solid. What’s there to complain about?”

They faced each other, and a tense silence fell between them like a curtain…electricity sizzled between them. He imagined himself pulling her to him, and planting a deep kiss on those pouty lips.

“What are you grinning about? That is the goofiest expression I have ever seen.”

Her words yanked him from his musings before he’d fully enjoyed them. “Um, thinking about my game show idea. It could be a lot of fun.” His cheeks reddened. Good Lord! He couldn’t be blushing…nah, must to be the heat.

“I think your idea is absolutely ridiculous. It’ll never work. For one, you’ll never find a show willing to let us do the screening. They look for specific things when they select contestants… Then again, maybe you should pursue it. On your own, of course. I’m going to lunch.”

He shrugged. No need to sell her on his idea yet. Once he’d worked the bugs out, she’d see its genius. He was simply glad to have broken the ice a bit, eased the tension. Or—He watched her ass sway as she walked to the door. Damn, that was one round, firm ass. The heat from his face spread down his body…

What was he thinking when Fate’s ass interrupted his thoughts? Shit, he had it bad.

Today, of all days, am I going to be stood up?

Fate sat at the tile-topped table in the noisy restaurant, glancing at the door every few minutes. More than ever, she needed the benefit of Tracy’s levelheaded logic. Where was she?

The atmosphere of the restaurant was an odd melding of Tex-Mex steakhouse and English pub. Pop music blaring from speakers and diners’ chattering voices did little to diminish her stress. Her heartbeat quickened with every minute that passed, and each time the waiter ran by without acknowledging her.

After another glance at her watch, she sighed and waved at him again. “When you get the chance…”

Turning, he smiled and took her order: a sandwich she could pack away, take to the office if she had to. No way she would take more than an hour. How bad would a leisurely-extended lunch look today?

As the waiter stepped away, Tracy ducked from behind him and plopped into the chair across from Fate. Studying Fate with a grimace, she asked, “What’s the deal with you? On the phone you sounded like the world’s come to an end.”

“Thank God you’re here.” Fate looked at her watch. Forty-five minutes would have to be good enough. At least she didn’t have to drive back to work; she’d purposefully chosen the restaurant next door to save a few precious minutes.