A flaxen-haired Dutch exchange student a few years back who was desperate for my attention after a drunken hookup. She wanted me so bad; she did the entire thing for free.
“Yellow and orange are energetic colors. We’re an energy corporation.”
Odessa’s green eyes widen, and she blows a disapproving breath past her lips as she turns the screen back and types a million words a minute.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m emailing my web developer.” She pokes the screen with her fingertip. “There. Okay, so let’s hone and polish your brand, then once we have it where we want it, I’ll blast all media venues, put out press releases, create your social media accounts, draft up some posts for you to keep in your back pocket. My consulting fee includes one future crisis. If your company is ever under media fire, you contact me, and I’ll draft up a press release to put out the flames.”
I can see how a woman like her would be good at putting out fires. You can’t argue with her. Everything that comes out of her mouth functions like definitive proof that she’s a woman who’s rarely wrong about a thing.
Color me impressed, but I’ll never admit that to her. Or to my brother. He’s still on my shit list for not trusting me.
Odessa’s phone rings, and she slides it from her bag. “Devin, hi. How are you?”
She smiles. Ear to ear. She didn’t even smile that wide last night after a round of multiple orgasms when my tongue was buried deep inside her and my fingertips dug into the flesh of her inner thighs, pinning her to the bed.
She stands, walking around my office and chatting to this guy as she flattens her palm across the top of her hair and stands by the window. I wake my computer and pull up a browser, typing in the address to my favorite travel website and pretending not to listen.
I’m due for a vacation. Cabo sounds good. Cabo in the spring is perfection.
“Thanks, Devin. You’re the best,” she says. “I appreciate it. Seriously. I owe you. Drinks on me, okay? All right…”
My grip on my computer mouse could easily pop the buttons off. Why does she kiss Devin’s ass, but speak to me with disgust in her voice?
I’m Beckham fucking King.
Any other woman would be flicking her tongue across her lips and shooting me coy glances. Any other woman would be tugging her blouse down to “accidentally” give me a peek. Any other woman would be toying with her hair and batting her eyes and raving about how amazing last night was.
Not Odessa.
A woman who wants nothing to do with me after one of my infamous all-nighters should be a blessing. I should be celebrating; not wanting to bend her over the back of my desk and show her how very wrong she is about me.
She waltzed into my life last night and out of my apartment with my crown in tow.
I’m getting it back.
Starting now.
Chapter Four
ODESSA
My office isn’t a shoebox, so there’s that.
I retire my tablet and crack my laptop open; spreading my things across the desk I’ll call mine for the next three weeks. The bulk of the last three hours were spent in Beckham’s office, developing a plan of action and discussing goals and hammering in the importance of conveying passion and innovation in all that they do.
I don’t think he listened to a damn word I said. He kept looking at me, his eyes flashing. He’d rake his jaw, brows furrowed, and say, “What was that again?”
Maybe working for him is a bad idea, but I need the job. My savings is paltry at best, unemployment is laughably trivial, and if Jeremiah doesn’t come back, I’ll be forced to swing our enormous rent payment until the lease is up in a few more months.
“I’m going to lunch.”
I glance up to find Beckham in my doorway, one foot in my office and the other out.
“Are you asking if I want anything or are you telling me because you think I care?” I yawn and click my pen, refusing to meet his gaze. Really starting to wish I’d have slept last night instead of…slept with him.
I almost feel bad being so cruel. I am not a mean girl. Anyone who knows me says I’m spun sugar and warm honey, instantly likeable. Personable. True blue. But this façade today is absolutely necessary. The man kissed me and chased me outside his apartment this morning. Who knows what he’s capable of? I have to protect myself, which is a shame because I love making new friends.
Beckham’s mouth slacks. I doubt he’s a man who normally struggles to find words, but I’ve rendered him speechless. In an instant, he’s gone, the soles of his shiny dress shoes tromping down the hall.
It’s okay if he’s upset with me. I don’t want him to like me.
I shrug it off and return to my work.
First order of business? Create a Facebook profile for Townsend Energy Holdings.
The outline of a figure catches the corner of my eye as it passes my open door. Did he come back?
I focus on my screen, signing up for a new account and using Beckham’s email as the primary.
The outline swishes across my doorway again. Men don’t swish. Maybe it’s Julie?
“He went to lunch,” I call out to her, though I’m not sure why he’d tell me and not his assistant.
A light rapping on my door precedes a lanky blonde who’s definitely not Julie. “Hi, sorry. I was looking for Beckham.”
She’s dressed to the nines. A full face of designer makeup. Tight skirt. Victoria’s Secret runway waves to complement the lacy lingerie she’s probably wearing underneath it all. A brown sack with a deli logo on the front is clutched in her left hand.
“I brought him lunch.” She raises the bag.
“Oh.” My stomach drops. Is she…is she his girlfriend? Did I sleep with a taken man last night? Numbness washes over me, quickly replaced with a bitter taste in my mouth. “He left a few minutes ago. Was he expecting you?”
Her head shakes, her shiny waves cascading and bouncing practically in slow motion. “Not at all. Thought I’d surprise him.”
She’s totally his girlfriend.
Fucking scumbag.
“I’ll tell him you stopped by. What’s your name?”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s okay.”
“You sure?” I lift a brow, poking my tongue into my cheek. “If you want to wait around, you can hang out in here. His office is probably locked.”
“I don’t think he’d like that.” Her voice is airy, breathy. Like Marilyn Monroe. It’s got to be an act. There’s depth in her curious stare.
“You should stay.” Rain trickles down the window behind me. I point to an empty chair against the far wall. “It’s warm in here. And dry. And he’ll be back soon.”
And I feel like a piece of shit for sleeping with your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t my fault he didn’t tell me he was taken…so let me make it up to you.
“You want some chocolate?” I offer. She looks like she could use a few pieces. I dig into my bag and pull out a miniature Snickers. Damn Easter candy. I can never resist buying a jumbo clearance bag every spring.
“I can’t stay.” She glances around, up and down the hallway like she’s about to get caught by some invisible hall monitor.
“He’s going to be really sorry he missed you.” I’ll see to it personally.
“Please don’t tell him I stopped by.” For someone who went through the trouble of bringing him lunch, she sure doesn’t want to make a big deal of it.
I bet he’s an asshole of a boyfriend.
“O-okay.” I drop the chocolate.
Before I have a chance to say another word, the blonde girl is gone. I didn’t even get a chance to ask her name. The entire exchange replays in my head not once but twice. Something isn’t adding up. I’m sure I’m missing some important detail hidden between the lines of our conversation, but my wearied brain isn’t firing on all cylinders.
I brush it off and return to my screen. The iconic blue Facebook logo glares from the top corner. I’ve been trying to stay away from my personal account for the last two weeks for fear of seeing what Jeremiah’s been up to.