Stockings and Suspenders (2 page)

 I pulled my eyes up the length of his
body, to his face. “Oh, um… I didn’t go,” I answered.

 My cheeks turned hot. He never said a
word. He just kept his gaze locked with mine for a moment before he sat my
documents and folders down onto an oblong table.

 Mesmerized, I stood still, unsure,
watching him saunter forward toward me. He picked up my hand. My breath hitched
before I noticed he was looking at the bloody mess which was my nail. His
aqua blue eyes flashed. Turning my finger he examined the damage I’d
inflicted. Mr. Hall actually grimaced.

 “Don’t move,” he instructed. In
the next instant, he dropped my hand and was gone, out the door.

 I glanced around the room, wondering
if I should stand there or if I should buck-up, finish my archiving job, and
head back to my office. With that thought, I gazed at the clock which sat
on the counter. It was after two and I still had a ton of work to complete by
five. I did not want to give the devil’s minion another reason to chastise
me nor did I wish to receive two write-ups in one day.

 The air conditioner kicked on,
causing the snowflake garland which hung off the work space countertop to
flutter. Yes, I did say air conditioner. Something this born and bred southern
girl would never quite get used to. Heat in December. Nope, Los Angeles would
not be privy to a white Christmas, not that it ever was. Perhaps I would turn
into Scrooge, but no snow at Christmas, well, that didn’t seem right.

 My attention was drawn to the art on
the wall by the window. It was some of the agency’s top advertising campaigns.
And hanging in the center, the campaign which made Mr. Dravin Hall a superstar
in the ad world. I studied the ad, the use of color, the layout of the design.
He’s
really good.

 The sound of whistling caught me off
guard. I turned, looked over toward the table and saw him. He breezed back in,
first aid kit in hand, whistling along with the song which was playing.
Rudolph
the Red Nose Reindeer.
This week was almost over, and soon the incessant
sounds of Christmas would be no more.

 “Take a seat,” he directed. I
complied. I moved to the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. “Give me
your hand, Grace.”

Obediently, I lifted my hand,
presenting it to him.

 He took hold of my wrist. Held it
carefully. A scowl, temptingly delicious, crossed over his brow. I came to the
conclusion Dravin Hall had the kind of face which made you want to stare. It
was a mixture of rugged masculinity, perfect proportions, with a touch of male
model good looks. I had to snap out of it, stop staring.

 He studied my throbbing
finger. Rubbed the middle of my palm softly with his thumb. Chills ran up
my arm. Mr. Hall had strong hands, yet gentle. He opened up the first aid kit,
pulled out some antibiotic ointment along with a Band-Aid then hesitated. “This
won’t do,” he said. “Come with me.”

 Without argument I got up and
followed him, but this time we did not go into an office. We entered into the
men's restroom.

 “Um… I don’t think I should actually
be in here,” I managed to say. He turned around, eyed me then grinned.

 “Give me your hand, and don’t worry.”

 I gave him my hand. He walked me
forward three steps, coming to a stop at the sink before he turned the levered
handle, allowing the stream of water to flow. Without notice, he pulled my hand
forward.

 “This might sting,” he said.

 Mr. Hall placed my battered finger
beneath the faucet. It did in fact sting. I jumped a bit when the blood
began to wash away in pinkish streaks down the drain of the snow-white
porcelain.

 “Sorry, Grace.”

 “I’m fine. I’ll live.”

 He twisted my hand under the stream
of water to the left, the right…While doing this, his body brushed up against
the side of mine. He smelled scrumptious, but I needed to keep my
head. I desperately tried not to allow my imagination to wander. And it
wanted to meander into some very naughty territory which included my hands tied
to a headboard and his head between my thighs. With the knowledge that
particular terrain would be filled with exploding landmines, I focused on my
throbbing finger and not the warmth of his body.

 He pulled some towels from the
dispenser, it
clanged
and
grinded,
releasing them like a long
flapping tongue at the bottom of the dark machine. I needed to stop
thinking about tongues. His tongue. My tongue. The places our tongues could
mutually explore…
Stop it, Grace.

 Carefully, he patted dry my hand then
the offending finger. Mr. Hall shook his head as if he were dissatisfied.
His dark hair fell over his right eyebrow, tempting me. Then in a blinding move
he lifted me up, causing my breath to catch in my throat. He had placed my
backside down onto the long marble counter. I sat, tucked in-between two sinks. I
must have looked dazed, confused, and maybe even a little turned on.

 “Relax,” he said softly. “This is a
much better angle.”

 He placed his large hand into his
pant pocket. My eyes roamed down the length of his well-tailored body. Oh, I
meant his well-tailored suit. He pulled out the antibiotic ointment and
the Band-Aid.

 My skirt seemed to ride up into
immediate obvious territory. In a panic and unsure of what to do with my
legs, I wondered,
leave them dangling or try to cross them?
Mr. Hall
made my choice when he walked forward and placed his body between my
thighs. Once again he picked up my hand. I watched in blushing
amazement as he gently blew his warm breath across my finger as if to sooth. It
took all of my strength not to reach out. Touch him. He rubbed the ointment
onto my broken, jagged nail then circled a bandage around the felonious
digit. It was strangely erotic.

 “Too tight?” he asked as he secured
the Band-Aid.

 “No,” I assured, “thank you for—”

 He stopped me with his expression.
His faced beamed. “Grace, you are welcome.”

 Mr. Hall lifted me up from the
counter then placed my feet back down onto the ground. I gazed up at him. His
eyes met mine. If I didn’t know better, I would swear he was interested. I
tried to smile back but this whole thing, this whole day was very bizarre to
say the least.

 “Well,” I muttered, then ran my hands
down my skirt in an attempt to straighten my wrinkles.

 “You shouldn’t tempt me like that,”
he said.

 I blinked, twice. “Hum?”

 He shook his head. “Nothing.”

 I was pretty sure he was hitting on
me, than again maybe he was just being nice and I didn’t really hear him
right. 
What about me could be tempting to a man like him?
All
right, so I kept in shape, and for the most part I dressed well, today being the
frumpy exception, but still.
Oh, come on
I told myself. You know he is
probably falling into the knight in shining armor dilemma. Mr. Hall probably
felt the need to help the poor damsel in distress. But what about the
whole,
let’s have drinks?
And then there was the fact he was dating the
evil witch, Charlotte. She being the original definition of a frigid cold
hearted bitch and who I was pretty sure had sold her soul to the devil.

 “I better get out of here before we
start rumors,” I said.

 Mr. Hall opened the door to the
restroom and stood aside. “Yes, we wouldn’t want rumors now, would we.”

 His voice lowered when he said this
and I knew it wasn’t a question nor was it an agreement with my earlier
comment. It was almost said like a dare. But was he daring me?

 I walked out, confused, conflicted,
and more than a little turned on. I stopped to pick up my files, which I
left behind me on the table in the ad departments copy room, and almost forgot
about. I gave one quick glance at the table, to make sure I had the whole
untidy mess. I would put off the copy job, it could wait. Archiving would be my
main focus. Assured I did indeed have all the documents, I turned and walked
down the hall. There
he
was, heading for the elevators. And
damn,
Mr. Hall was smiling, brilliantly. Too brilliantly, and whistling,
We
Wish You a Merry Christmas.

Chapter Three

 At five-thirty I finished with the
last file when the devil stopped me.

 “Did you complete the Johnson
project?” she asked.

 “Yes, I emailed the file to you,
faxed off the proposals, and put together your presentation. All of the
copies are in your box.”

 “Good,” she said in a snippy tone.
“Did you make a copy for Dravin?”

 “Um… no,” I admitted. “I wasn’t aware
Dravin was working with you on the Johnson project.”

 My boss gave me a wicked
grin. When her smile widened, I looked for fangs, and didn’t find any.
However, she was good at hiding them I suspected.

 “Well,” she sneered, “it looks like
someone will be staying late.”

 She whipped around, long blonde hair
shimmering, moving in almost slow motion. You know the kind of glossy
flying hair one would see in a shampoo commercial; that’s her.

 “So—” I started to confirm she wanted
me to make another full packet for Dravin when she cut me off.

She tapped her foot. Placed her hand
on her hip. “I expect Dravin’s copy to be completed tonight. We will meet with
the Johnson group first thing in the morning.”

 “Okay,” I muttered.

 “And by the way, his name is Mr. Hall
not Dravin where you are concerned,” she corrected.

 “Of course,” I agreed. “I will
complete Mr. Hall’s packet tonight.”

 “And Grace.”

 “Yes, Ms. Saxton?”

 “We are professionals here.” Her
blazing blue eyes raked over me. “I do expect this frump look to go bye-bye. Do
I make myself clear?”

 “Yes,” I answered. But inside I
recited every vulgar combination of cuss words I knew. Including a little down
home southern charm, which incorporated one of my mama’s classics.
Girl,
I’ll slap the stink off ya.

 By eight-thirty I completed the
presentation packet, the proposal paperwork, and placed it into Mr. Hall’s box.
Only this time, I made sure to make an extra copy, just in case. I secured
the extra copy by locking it away in my desk. I glanced at the clock and
knew
he
was probably livid with me. He almost certainly thought I
blew him off, and I knew he wasn’t the type of man who was used to that short
of thing. I was a realist. Deep down, I knew he would no longer be waiting
for me at The Fireside Grill. Two and a half hours would be more than any
man would wait, especially Dravin Hall.

 I finally made my way to my car and
actually drove to The Fireside Grill. I told myself I would just check,
but I had little hope of seeing his midnight blue Hummer in the parking lot. As
I pulled in, it was as I suspected. I did not see his vehicle. I knew my
chance had passed me by. I could thank my bitch of a boss for once again
adding to my already bad day. Dravin Hall would never ask me out for
drinks again. But what’s worse, I would never hear his proposal.

 I decided to stop and go inside
anyway. It had been a long day. Besides, I could use a drink as well
as something to eat. I didn’t feel like cooking. Anyway, with the
luck I was having I would probably burn my house down and end up living in a
homeless shelter. I parked my Volvo, scanned the hideousness of myself in the
rear-view mirror, decided,
what the hell,
and went inside.

 I took a seat at the bar, looking
suspiciously like a bag lady. My hair had fallen out of my clip, my
stockings were displaying a nicely glaring run, my finger was wrapped in a
Band-Aid, and to make matters worse I had gotten black ink on my cardigan. Yep,
there was a big black blob of ink on display on the bottom right corner of my
sweater.

 I caught a glimpse of myself from the
mirror over the bar. The mirror which was outlined in colored Christmas lights
blinked on and off, highlighting my unsightly reflection.
At least I could
put on some fresh lip gloss.
In a mission of mercy for my lips, I grabbed
my purse. While scrounging around inside my purse I found my favorite cherry
flavored lip gloss tube had run dry. It was dry because it had spilled out
happily onto the bottom of my purse, making everything inside my purse a cherry
flavored sticky mess.

 “Michelob Pale Ale,” I splutter to
the bartender. He nodded, and to his credit came back quite quickly with
the golden bottle along with a chilled glass. The tender sat the glass on
a green and red festive coaster. I placed my fingers to the cool glass
considering my manners before I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a
generous guzzle, obviously permitting my manners to fall to the wayside.

 Allowing the taste to fill my palate
I savored the deliciously floral and citrus taste of the ale before finishing
with the un-lady like lip-smacking swallow.

 From somewhere close behind me I
heard, “Way to knock back a bottle.”

 I froze.
Absolutely no way,
I
told myself. I swung around on the bar-stool to see Dravin Hall, smiling
at me. He sported the same expression he had displayed with perfection
earlier today as he entered the elevator. Beaming from ear to ear.