Читать книгу Once Upon A Seduction - Jamie Sobrato - Страница 8

“MS. ELLISON, I’d like to see you in my office.”

Skye recognized that tone. It meant Nelly was drunk on his own power, ready to maximize his opportunity to be a dictator and strategize how he’d make her life miserable. She looked up at him hovering at the entrance of her cubicle and wondered if he practiced making her miserable at home in the mirror in his spare time.

But instead of spouting any of the snarky responses she’d practiced herself in the mirror a time or two, she said, “Um, okay,” as her stomach clenched into a cowardly little ball.

She followed him through the maze of cubicles, ignoring the curious stares of everyone they passed. Instead, she focused on Nelly’s backside—his saggy posture and the hint of a bald spot on his crown, his wrinkle-free-fabric shirt and the oddly empty seat of his pants.

Had the man been born without butt cheeks? Was that an actual medical condition?

By the time they reached his office, she’d come up with at least five crippling insults to spew at him if he decided to fire her, but she knew she’d never use a single one. Much as she might dislike Nelly, she had a feeling he probably disliked himself even more.

He closed the door and cleared his throat. “Please have a seat.”

He walked over to his desk and sat, playing the reigning king of no asses.

“I’ve been given some unsettling information about you.”

“That wasn’t my bra,” Skye blurted. There were more intelligent things she could have said.

“I’m not talking about a bra, Ms. Ellison.” His neck turned hot pink, and Skye wondered if he had a girlfriend, or if having no butt cheeks made romance impossible. “I’m talking about recurrent acts of job delinquency that have been reported to me by a trustworthy source.”

“What did that man say to you?” Skye asked, unable to stand the pregnant silence any longer.

“What man? Oh, your visitor on company time? He simply asked where the restroom was—odd, since he could have just asked the receptionist that.”

What the hell? Nico hadn’t reported her? Or was Nelly lying to her now?

An image of Dottie scurrying around the office appeared in Skye’s head, and suddenly she knew for sure who the “trustworthy source” was.

“Have you been monitoring my computer on the LAN again?”

“No, Ms. Ellison. I didn’t think I needed to. I thought you understood that company time is reserved strictly for work benefiting Dynalux Systems.”

“I do.”

“That does not include writing children’s stories on my clock.”

“I was doing it on break time…sir,” she forced herself to add, hoping to gain a few respectful girl brownie points.

Except, if he was lying about having monitored her computer activity, he’d know she’d spent a lot more than her break time writing.

“I’m afraid I have evidence that proves otherwise.” Nelly assumed his grave, all-important look.

“Do you know how slow business has been lately?”

Skye’s job consisted of, among other pointless and mind-numbing tasks, answering incoming sales calls. People called for information about Dynalux’s networking equipment, and Skye’s job was to answer their questions and try subtly but swiftly to urge them toward purchasing as much as possible. Sometimes they just asked for brochures or information via e-mail, and sometimes they already knew what they wanted, and she simply had to key in the order.

The job was slightly too complicated for a monkey, but not quite stimulating enough for the average human being to enjoy.

But the powers that be at Dynalux—including Nelly—liked to convolute the process by sending their employees to sales seminars and then urging them to employ the latest covertly pushy techniques to increase revenue.

Skye was so not into it. But it wasn’t as if she didn’t try. If someone was clearly in need of a router, she’d make sure they got the right one. If, however, they were a clueless grandma from rural Appalachia, who somehow had gotten the mistaken notion that they needed a Dynalux box to connect to their AOL account, she was not going to talk them into buying anything.

She had a conscience, which possibly disqualified her from ever becoming a wildly successful salesperson.

“I’m fully aware that we’re not dealing with a seller’s market at this time. But when your incoming calls are slow, there are a number of proactive measures you could be taking.”

Right. Follow-up calls. The bane of her slacker salesgirl existence.

“I’m sorry, I’m not doing follow-up calls. If someone needs networking equipment, they’ll call us.”

Nelly’s blood pressure was rising. She could see it in his disturbingly rosy cheeks. “Are you refusing to perform your job?”

“No, I’m just not willing to hassle people in their homes.”

“Let me remind you of your job description, Ms. Ellison.”

“That’s not necessary…sir.” Okay, so being respectful wasn’t one of her strong points.

In her fantasies, this would be where she’d quit. She’d stand up and fling off her headset, which was now dangling around her neck like a high-tech albatross. She’d tell Nelson Rudderman exactly what he could maximize and strategize, and she’d walk out the door. But in her fantasies, she’d be earning enough money from writing to pay the rent and wouldn’t be suffering this shit job.

And that’s why they were called fantasies. She couldn’t afford to lose her job right now. She needed to suck it up and appease old Nelly.

“I’m disappointed in your recent performance, Ms. Ellison. You’ve dropped from being one of our mid-performing sales consultants to hovering in the lowest quarter.”

Uh-oh. “I understand. I’ll work on improving my sales for the next quarter.”

“I don’t think you have the best interests of Dynalux at heart.”

Did the best interests of Dynalux Systems actually lurk in anyone’s heart?

“And I’m afraid the information I was given today is enough for me to terminate your employment here, Ms. Ellison.”

“But—”

“Dynalux can’t afford to pay employees who aren’t interested in doing their best for us.”

“I have done my best here,” Skye said, her voice veering toward high-pitched and squeaky.

“Then I’m sorry to say your best isn’t good enough for Dynalux. You should clear out your desk and vacate the premises immediately.”

Skye blinked. She’d just been fired by Nelson Rudderman? In one fell swoop, he’d wiped away all her glorious fantasies of quitting when she finally got her first big book advance. Her instincts—her stupid, faulty instincts—hadn’t even seen this coming.

This was the point where she should at least insult him, but she couldn’t do it. If Nelly needed to feel important, she didn’t have the heart to take that away from him.

“Are we done here?” she said.

He gave her his gravest look and nodded.

Skye kept her expression neutral on her way back to her cubicle. She’d talk to her friends at the office some other time and explain what had happened, but she absolutely would not give Dottie the satisfaction of knowing so soon that she’d been fired.

But Dottie was hovering near her cubicle when she got there. “What did Mr. Rudderman want?” she asked, her tone verging on gloating.

“He’s investigating some instances of theft at the Friday pizza parties. Apparently some cow’s been stealing entire pizzas and taking them home for dinner.”

Dottie, for once, was speechless. The entire office knew she slipped into the break room every Friday and snuck out with a double sausage pizza all for herself.

“Oh, that’s…odd,” she finally said, then hurried away.

Across the aisle, John stared at her with his signature look of tired amusement. “You’re evil, babe.”

“Are my horns showing again?” she joked, surprised at the sudden tightness in her voice.

She absolutely would not start bawling right now.

“What’s wrong? Does Nelly have the you’re-not-ago-getter stick up his ass again?”

She nodded, but her stupid lower lip started quivering, and she turned away fast.

“Don’t let the bastard get you down,” John said, but before he could see how upset she was getting, he got an incoming call. She could tell because he sat up straight and turned on his business voice. “Thank you for calling Dynalux Systems. My name is John. How may I help you?”

She knew that spiel by heart, even heard it over and over again in her dreams after a long day of work. But now she’d have to learn a new mindless spiel, something like, “Would you like to super-size that value meal today, sir?”

Skye grabbed a Nordstom shopping bag from under her desk and began casually gathering her belongings in it. Good thing she didn’t keep much at her desk—just a few framed photos of herself with some friends, a Far Side calendar, a bowl of Hershey’s Kisses, a battered issue of Vanity Fair and a few books that she officially did not read on company time.

Vacating would be easy. She’d been planning her departure since the day she’d arrived.

Figuring out how to pay the rent next month would not be so easy.

Maybe imminent starvation would help her break through her writer’s block and finally finish The Cinderella Solution. She had to believe that the book had a chance to sell once she got it into the hands of agents and editors. Without a job, she could bump up her usual twenty-pages-per-week goal to something more ambitious. Maybe fifty pages—or seventy-five. That fast a pace would have her finishing the book by the end of the month.

Which still didn’t answer the question of how she’d afford her next meal, but Skye would worry about that later. Right now, she had to harness all her frustration and turn it into the thing that would bring her success in her nonexistent writing career. She had to believe she’d sell her first book and many more after that. Then she’d never have to worry about working at a place like Dynalux again.

Her belongings packed up, Skye surveyed the cubicle. All her clients’ files would have to be given to other sales consultants, but she’d leave that for Nelly to worry about. And then she spotted the red lace bra lying in the corner. How could she have overlooked it? The thought of touching the thing repulsed her, but she couldn’t leave it behind as gossip fodder for Dottie and her cronies, who were not below rummaging through former coworkers’ desks.

Skye grabbed a pen and used it to lift the bra. She went for the garbage can under her desk, but something stopped her. It was as if, even after his slimy exit from her life, Martin still had a hold on her. Some other woman’s bra was the only tangible evidence of him left. At least now she understood his aversion to photo-graphs—he hadn’t wanted to leave proof of his presence behind.

Sighing, Skye dropped the gigantic bra into her shopping bag. She’d take it home for a ritual burning, if nothing else. Or maybe her roommate would decide to use it in one of her mixed-media art collages.

And now there was nothing left for her to do but slink out of the office.

Nico Valletti, the jerk… He thought he could strut into her office and screw up everything? If he hadn’t shown up and ignored that little troll Dottie, she wouldn’t have squealed on Skye, and she’d still have a job. Nico thought he could mess with her life without there being consequences?

Okay, so he probably could. What could she do to him, anyway? She wasn’t sure, but she’d think of something. At the very least, she’d let him know exactly what she thought of his setting off this chain of events. Why would he appear in her office, say he was going to get her fired, and then not do it?

It made no sense. But if she happened to accidentally hurl something at his head in the process of sorting out the truth, she definitely wouldn’t feel guilty.

Not one bit.

NICO DRUMMED his fingers on the steering wheel and watched the door of the office building. Should he stay or should he go? That was the question of the minute. And while logic said to leave and forget the whole problem of Skye Ellison, his guy instincts said to stay. Skye had been haunting his fantasies ever since he’d first laid eyes on her, and something had to give.

He could remember the first time he’d seen her as though it was a classic movie scene.

She’d been walking up the driveway to the cottage on his property last fall, on her way to visit Martin, and she’d been wearing a flippy little dress that was no match for the sea breeze. He’d watched through the window, half amused and half aroused as she’d struggled to keep her pink satin panties covered while her dress flailed in the wind. Damn, but he’d have loved to bring her inside, push that skirt up her thighs, tug off those panties, and bury himself inside her right at that moment.

Her long brown hair had caught his eye for no particular reason except for the way it was tangled around her face in the wind, and he couldn’t help admiring her sweet, tight ass as she struggled with her dress. He’d been composing his first witty comment to her when she’d bypassed his door and kept walking toward the cottage.

And that had been the first thing he’d disliked about Martin. Later, listening to him drone on and on about how great Skye was had only made it worse.

But showing up at her office the way Nico just had? Sitting in the parking lot now like a world-class loser? Plotting his next move? He definitely, without a doubt, needed to find a better way to spend his time.

Besides, being inconspicuous while driving a white Ferrari 360 Modena was going to be damn near impossible.

Nico hadn’t come to Dynalux planning to follow Skye—if he had, he would have borrowed someone else’s car—but after she’d refused to help him and he’d pretended to talk to her boss, he’d left her office unsure what else to do. So here he sat, like a stalker waiting for his next victim.

He had been sure cornering her at her office and threatening to let her boss know about her probable criminal history would be enough to get her to cooperate a little. Catching her slacking off on the job had been icing on the cake, and yet she’d surprised him by not giving in.

Nico suffered a few pangs of remorse over having come here at all, but he figured she’d get a slap on the wrist at worst for having a personal visitor.

Damn it. He couldn’t believe he was sitting here, thinking of following a woman whose ass he couldn’t stop fantasizing about.

This is what his life had come to. Why hadn’t anyone warned him how much retirement would suck?

Oh hell, there he went again letting self-pity creep in. He would not feel sorry for himself. He’d had a great racing career, and he’d chosen when to end it on his own—while he was still at the top. Wrecking his car, breaking his leg in five places and enduring the past year of physical therapy might not have been part of his plan, but he knew he was lucky to have walked away from that wreck alive.

And he had not quit out of fear, as some people had claimed. So what if his father, also a racecar driver, had been killed in a crash twenty years ago? That didn’t mean he was afraid of the same fate.

His quitting had simply meant he had enough sense to see a pattern emerging—Valletti men and racing careers resulted in bad news. Driving for Team California in the Indy racing circuit had been his dream come true, but he was ready to move on to the next thing.

Whatever that was.

The entrance of Dynalux Systems opened. Skye came walking out carrying a shopping bag and swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. As she headed across the parking lot, he could see that she was crying. Bawling, actually, her pretty face contorted in sobs that wracked her shoulders and made him feel like a complete jerk.

Just what he needed. A woman who could turn her emotions on and off like a faucet. Thirty minutes ago, she’d been all smart-ass comments and scathing looks, and now she was crying as if the world had come to an end. Knowing his luck, she’d spotted his car in the parking lot and had emerged from the building already trying to con him again.

He’d never thought of himself as a sucker before three weeks ago. Now, thanks to Martin, or whatever the hell his name was—Nico felt as if he couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not the two-faced little hottie who was probably still Martin’s girlfriend.

And yet, here he was, torn between wanting to prove she was involved with Martin so he could forget about her, and hoping like hell she wasn’t involved so he could get with her himself.

She got into the red Honda del Sol he’d seen parked in his driveway a hundred times, and he knew he was going to follow her. What he’d do when they reached her destination, he had no idea.

Nico waited until she’d pulled into traffic to leave his parking spot, allowing three or four cars between them all the time to make sure she wouldn’t notice she was being tailed. The rush-hour congestion on the road gave her little chance to get away from him anyway.

As they sat at what must have been their fifth cycle through the same traffic light, Nico allowed himself to examine his reaction to Skye today. Instead of hating her as much as he’d hoped he would upon confronting her, he’d found himself as mesmerized as ever.

Maybe it was the excitement she stirred in him that was such a draw. Whereas he mostly felt as though he was walking around in a fog, his senses and emotions dulled ever since he’d retired, Skye made him feel completely alive again. How someone he’d mostly viewed from afar could do that, he had no idea. Well, except that a woman as beautiful as her was bound to stir something in him.

She had silky brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, long and feminine just the way he liked it. And those eyes, those take-me brown eyes—what man could refuse their unspoken invitation? The clingy top and skirt she wore had given him the chance to admire her very well-shaped curves up close. She clearly spent time at the gym, and he found himself imagining what kind of sweaty workout she did to get such a sexpot body.

He imagined stripping her of her damp little shorts and top, licking the salty perspiration between her breasts, working over her body until her sweat mingled with his, and—

Whoa.

Those were exactly the kind of thoughts he needed to banish. Skye Ellison was likely a con artist herself. Okay, maybe a con artist in training, and possibly not a very good one, but still. She’d probably helped rip him off.

He recalled the way she’d gotten so defensive when he’d accused her, and that left little doubt in his mind that she at least knew about Martin’s scam. The way her hackles had risen at the suggestion of her involvement in the con, she might as well have had a guilty sign blinking over her head. It didn’t matter how damn sexy she looked if she was a criminal.

Okay, it was possible he was being paranoid. He couldn’t argue that his judgment had been a little off lately, but still, it seemed like a sure bet that Skye was not to be trusted.

Nico scowled at the person who had just pulled up in the emergency lane to the right of him and tried to wedge himself in front of Nico’s car. Only in L.A. would anyone be bold enough to try outrunning a Ferrari with a tricked-out Toyota. When the light changed and Nico edged up, coming within inches of hitting the car to keep it out of his lane, he knew he’d finally become an official Los Angelino.

Having moved to the city four years ago to join one of the premier racing teams in the U.S., he’d decided to stick around after he retired from racing. It was easier to film promotional spots from here and he’d gotten attached to his house on the beach.

He missed his hometown sometimes, but he couldn’t complain about Southern California’s glorious sunshine after having lived through Chicago’s miserable winters for most of his life. With only his mother and his sister back in Illinois—neither of whom he was very close to—he hadn’t seen any reason to return there.

Right now, in the middle of May, while there was probably a thunderstorm or something happening in the Midwest, it was a sunny, perfect seventy-five degrees in L.A.

After forty-five minutes of following Skye through rush-hour traffic, they finally made it to a North Hollywood apartment complex, where she parked her car. Nico pulled in next to her and got out just as she did.

“What are you doing here?” she said, doing a good job of acting as though she had no idea he’d followed her.

“You didn’t think you’d get away that easily, did you?” he said, wishing like hell he’d made a plan.

“I’m thinking I should call the police. Are you stalking me or what?” She began digging around in her bag, then produced a cell phone.

“Go ahead, dial 911. I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Only because being an asshole isn’t against the law in the state of California.”

“Now that I know where you live, I can really be an asshole if I want to be. Until you agree to help me, that is.”

“Fine! You want my help? Go rummage through my underwear drawers. Read my e-mail. See if you can uncover my big fat plot with Martin to steal your money.”

“Don’t tempt me. How about I just come in and you tell me everything you know.”

“I know nothing! When are you going to get that through your head?”

She turned and stalked up the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at him periodically as she went. Her hot little ass tempted and teased him with every step she took.

Then she made her way along the outdoor walkway to her door, number two C, moving as if she were about to break into a sprint.

Nico followed, making a concerted effort to notice his surroundings and not his companion. Skye’s white-stucco apartment building was a little shabby, but no more so than the other residences in the area. It was what he’d expect a twenty-something woman to be able to afford in North Hollywood, so no surprises there. The neighborhood was filled with hip young professionals and wannabe actors working their way up to a house in the hills.

Nico had looked at condos in the area when he’d first moved to L.A., but in the end he’d opted for a place away from the city, on the beach in Malibu. The price had been steep, but every time he heard the ocean from inside his house, or glanced outside at the view, he didn’t regret his decision. He’d chosen his place partly because of its in-law suite located in a separate cottage, which he could use as a guest house for visiting friends and family.

And the setup had worked out great until Martin had come along and convinced Nico that he was worthy of renting the place while he tried to get his so-called business venture off the ground.

Skye unlocked her door and shot him an incredulous look. “You don’t actually think I’m going to let you in?”

Nico shrugged. “I’m an optimist. What do you have to lose by talking to me?”

“Go to hell,” she said as she stepped inside the apartment.

Then she slammed the door in his face.