The Romance Plan: Cupids: Book 5 Page 4

  “Well, that’s a good thing,” I say, reaching for the coffeepot and pouring myself a cup—black, no fuss. No waste. “Fear equals efficiency.”

  “Do they teach you that in business school?” she asks, looking at me dubiously.

  “Yes, actually.” I gaze at her for a moment, unable to help myself. “You don’t seem afraid of me,” I can’t help but notice.

  Eliza shrugs. “Why would I have anything to be afraid of?” she asks. “I know I’m good at my job. And soon enough, you’ll know it too.” She holds up her latte in a salute. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office. Paper towels are on top of the fridge, unless you’ve decided the company doesn’t pay for them anymore.” And with that, she turns on her heels and strolls out of the kitchen.

  I feel my whole body relax. See? I remind myself. You can be professional.

  But—paper towels?

  That’s when I look down and realize I’ve poured my no-frill, no-waste coffee… all over my shoes.

  Focus.

  Right.

  5

  Eliza

  One thing about your new boss threatening to axe your entire author list is that it really does tend to light a fire under your ass in terms of productivity, but once I get back into my office, I find I can barely concentrate. Because that whole story about an editorial call with Verity Lange? Is just that: Fiction. I still haven’t managed to reach her, so I’m stuck spinning my wheels, hoping the hard-to-reach lady will reach out before Liam clocks that something is wrong. I accidentally misfile an important contract, and spend the better part of the morning retracing my steps trying to find it. I read the same memo three times. And I’m so busy trying to catch a glimpse of Liam through the open door of Harry’s office that I trip over the mail cart on the way to the photocopier and wind up breaking the heel of my favorite pair of work pumps.

  The view of Liam’s ass in those suit pants almost makes it worth it, though.

  The guy is a commanding presence, I’ll give him that much. He’s got Harry’s whole office redecorated by lunch, pulling out the velvet divan and overstuffed leather sofa and loading in sterile office furniture with sharp lines. Farewell, bar cart, I think mournfully, watching the movers roll it onto the elevator, bottles a-clinking. I hardly knew ye.

  That’s when Liam catches me watching…

  … And pointedly closes the door.

  “What is with that guy?” Rachel asks after lunch, stopping in the doorway of my office with an open bag of Chex Mix.

  “I don’t know,” I say, rearranging the icons on my computer desktop for the third time today. That counts as doing something, right? “He’s a piece of work.”

  “He’s a piece of something, that’s for sure,” Rachel fires back, offering me the bag. “I heard that at the last place he worked, he came in, fired half the staff, then sold the rest of the company off for parts.”

  I think of the bar cart, wondering if he’s using Harry’s antiques to make a quick buck. “I don’t think it’ll come to that here,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “This is a great company, with great employees. If we all just keep our heads down and do our jobs, hopefully he’ll see that.”

  “Hopefully,” Rachel says darkly, then sets the Chex mix on my desk. “You keep that. I’ve started hoarding all the kitchen snacks before they disappear in the name of corporate downsizing. I’ve got fourteen bags of M&Ms, a case of Kind bars, and half a dozen Snickers in my bottom desk drawer.”

  I smile. “I will be sure to remember that if the zombies come.”

  “They’re already here,” Rachel says ominously, then tilts her head in the direction of Liam’s office before shuffling back to her desk.

  Once she’s gone I check my email one more time, hoping for something from Verity’s people, but no matter how many times I hit refresh, my inbox remains stubbornly empty. I grimace. Liam might have believed my lie about an editorial call this morning, but I can only put him off for so long. I leave her another voicemail—“Just following up! Would really love to talk to you!”—and head out to meet Katie for lunch.

  We meet at a sweet little outdoor café in Bryant Park, the grass crowded with sunbathers. The sun is pleasantly warm on the back of my neck, but I feel a shiver as I fill her in on the carnage at Sterling—although I’m careful to reassure her that her contract is safe. “You’re a star,” I remind her with a smile. “Even someone like Liam Sterling will be able to see that.”

  “He sounds like a total jerk,” Katie scowls on my behalf.

  “He is a total jerk,” I declare firmly. “I just wish I had known that when I kissed him.”

  Katie gapes at me over the tops of her sunglasses,. “I’m sorry, when you what now?”

  I take a long, teasing sip of my lemonade, then confess all the dirty details of our night outside the ice cream shop. “In any case, now he’s acting like it never happened and I’m just another anonymous, expendable corporate drone,” I finally finish, “which is fine. Well, not the expendable corporate drone part. But the acting like it never happened part. Because it shouldn’t have. Happened, I mean.” I shake my head, knowing I’m talking in circles. “It’s just…”

  “It’s just…?” Katie prompts.

  “It was a pretty good kiss.”

  Katie raises her eyebrows. “How good are we talking, exactly?”

  I nibble my salad, considering. “I mean, if we’re judging random makeouts outside a bar, then… the best ever.”

  “And if we’re not?”

  “It was still pretty damn good.” I sigh. “I’m not going to sit here and do a song and dance number about how I’m not attracted to him. I’m totally attracted to him. I want to climb him like a mighty oak! I just don’t know what to do about it when a) he’s my boss and b) turns out he has all the personality of a Swiffer Wet Jet.” I give her a pleading look. “That was me asking you how to fix my life, in case that wasn’t abundantly clear.”

  Katie laughs. “I mean, that depends,” she says, rattling the ice in her tea. “Are you asking me as your friend, or are you asking me as The Breakup Artist?”

  I think about that for a moment. “Both?”

  “Gotcha.” Katie nods. “Well, on one hand, secret and forbidden boss/employee liaisons are sexy as all get out,” she muses, tapping her chin with one polished fingertip. “I mean, just ask Verity Lange.”

  “I’d love to,” I deadpan, “if she would return any of my one thousand voicemails.”

  “Point taken,” Katie says with a laugh. “On the other hand, it’s probably not the kind of relationship that’s actually going to last.”

  “No, I know.” I think of Liam’s buttoned-up demeanor and his cavalier attitude when he was talking about layoffs, the dismissive way he sneered at my (impressive, thank you!) author list. A long-term relationship with someone like that? I’d sooner shack up with Dick Johnson, the chest-beating author of The Real Man’s Guide to Being a Real Man.

  Never going to happen.

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” Katie echoes. “But on the third hand, if you’re looking for a dirty, illicit fling…”

  “You know,” I say with a grin, snapping the lid back onto my salad container, “the third hand has always been my favorite.”

  I get back to the office a little while later to find Liam himself sitting in my desk chair, waiting for me. “Where have you been?” he asks, before hello or how are you doing or anything else remotely civil. It’s like he’s been taking lessons in social graces from Dick Johnson himself.

  “I had lunch with an author,” I tell him, dropping my purse on the credenza. “Is that still allowed?”

  Liam sighs. “Next time, do it over coffee instead,” he advises seriously. “And have her bring her own.”

  I gape at him. Trimming the fat is one thing, but this is getting ridiculous. “Are you serious?”.

  “Do I seem like the kind of person who would joke about something like this?”

  “You
don’t seem like the kind of person who jokes about anything, ever,” I fire back.

  “I—well.” Liam clears his throat, though I think I’m probably imagining that he looks faintly stung. “Be that as it may, I came to check in with you and see how your call went.”

  I stare at him blankly. “What call?”

  Liam’s eyes narrow. “Your editorial call with Verity,” he reminds me. “Didn’t you say that was on the agenda for today?”

  “Oh!” I feel myself blanch. “Um, yes! I did. Of course! But Verity was on fire this morning—a real writing streak—so we went ahead and moved it to this afternoon.” I make a big show of checking my watch. “In just a few minutes, actually.”

  “Hm.” Liam nods, though I can’t tell from his expression if he believes me or not. “Well, I’ll need a full update as soon as you speak to her.”

  “Absolutely!” I say, doing my best to wallpaper over my BS with cheery enthusiasm. “Coming right up.”

  Once he’s gone I sink into my chair and stare up at the ceiling, running my hands through my heat-wilted up-do. This is ridiculous. What am I going to do, sit here hoping she finally gets in touch with me and making up excuse after excuse until eventually Liam cops on and shows me the door once and for all?

  Not going to happen.

  Time to get creative.

  I pick up the phone and dial the number for the office of Verity’s attorney one more time, a tony uptown firm with a name so long I’m surprised they can fit it on the company letterhead. The attorney is out of the office, like almost everyone else in New York right now, but I do get a hold of her assistant.

  Which is even better.

  “Hi there,” I say, affecting my best and most convincing Noo Yawk accent. “This is Angela, uh, Soprano calling from the great Brooklyn Chawcolate Company, in Bay Ridge? We understand Ms. Verity Lange is a fan of our products, and we’d like to send her a complimentary gift basket full of our most high-end chocolate to thank her for her loyalty all these years.”

  “Please hold,” the assistant says. Two minutes of Muzak later, she’s back on the line with an address on Long Island.

  “Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom,” I say once we’ve hung up, delighted with myself. I have to say, it’s amazing how many rich and famous celebrities are total suckers for free crap. I had a friend in high school who once talked her way into the Jonas Brothers’ hotel room by pretending to be a corporate representative from Chick-fil-A who wanted to talk to them about a sponsorship opportunity.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon in meetings, basking in the glow of my amateur detective skills. Tomorrow is Friday, I figure. I’ll rent a car and drive out there after work, get the lay of the land. With any luck, I’ll have some actual progress to report to Liam on Monday. He’ll be none the wiser, and I’ll manage to keep my job.

  * * *

  By the time I get back to my apartment that night, I’m desperate to unwind. The stress of the week and all my, ahem, temptations, have left me in dire need of some relaxation, if you know what I mean. I grab a glass of pinot noir from the kitchen and run a bath, adding some bath salt from a fancy shop in Soho and queuing up my favorite relaxing spa playlist.

  Then, right before I slide into the water, I grab my trusty vibrator, too.

  The hot water feels amazing, the steam fragrant with lavender and eucalyptus. I feel my muscles unclench as I run the vibe between my breasts and down over my stomach before bringing it in for a landing in the place I need it most. My legs fall open against the sides of the tub, my head tilting back in pleasure as my mind wanders. What will it be today? A wicked weekend with Captain America… Stranded on a deserted island with Sam Heughan…?

  But when I close my eyes and sink back into the water, it’s not a hunky Scotsman I see chopping wood, but…

  Liam?

  I frown. Hardly the stuff of fantasies, but when I try to redirect back to one of my old standbys, my mind stays fixed on my new boss.

  Liam, kissing me on the street that night—and then walking me up to my place. Pushing me up against the door… Taking that kiss further… All the way to my bed...

  I sigh. Dammit. The heart—and, okay, the body—wants what it wants, so I may as well roll with it. I picture his full mouth and sharp jawline, the dark hair I’d like to sift through my fingers. And I remember the way his body felt against mine, taut and toned. He may have gotten rid of the velvet divan in Harry’s old office but in my head, it’s still very much there. I imagine him bending me over it, his lips migrating down along the ridges of my backbone, his strong hands squeezing my ass.

  I lift my hips, getting closer, closer—

  And that’s when my phone rings on the edge of the sink.

  “Whaaaa?”

  I startle, dropping the vibrator into the soapy water as I grab for it. Thank God I splurged on the waterproof model. But that’s about as far as my luck goes, because when I check the caller ID…

  It’s Liam.

  Good lord, were his ears burning? Or like, other places? I don’t know what parts of you are supposed to tingle when your employee is bringing herself extremely close to orgasm thinking about your infuriatingly muscular pecs.

  “Um,” I gasp, hitting the button to answer. “Hello?”

  “Eliza,” Liam says brusquely. “I’m glad I caught you. I’m looking for a copy of the sales records for the latest—” He breaks off. “Are you exercising?”

  “Um, no,” I say, barely able to get the words out. “Not… exactly.”

  “You sound out of breath.”

  “I’m fine,” I manage, even as I clench at the sound of his voice.

  Oh my god, is this really happening?

  I know I should put the vibe away. Forget about unprofessional—this is downright inappropriate. But it feels so good and I’m already so close that I just… It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to just, slowly reach down and…

  Keep stroking.

  Would it?

  My hands move of their own accord, bringing the vibe softly against my clit again. I have to bite my lip to keep from making a sound—and all while Liam is droning on about updating our accounting practices.

  “These expense reports won’t cut it,” he’s saying, as my body twists tighter, and I arch my back in the sudsy water. “I’ll need full details of which authors you’re taking out, and what project to bill the account to.”

  “Uh huh,” I manage to murmur in agreement, as blood pounds in my ears. Right there, oh God, just a little more…

  “And when I say there’ll be consequences, I mean it,” he adds, a stern note in his voice. As if he’s warning me not to misbehave.

  As if there would be punishment if I did it again.

  I can’t help it, just imagining those consequences takes me over the edge. I break apart in a swift, delicious orgasm, the pleasure rushing through my body, hot and sweet.

  “Mneuh,” I can’t help gasping, my toes curling against the edge of the porcelain tub.

  “What?” Liam sounds alarmed. “Eliza, are you all right?”

  Oh. My. God!

  I gulp, my cheeks burning up. “I’m great,” I manage, trying to keep my voice steady, even as pleasure swims through my limbs. “Never better. I just remembered, I think those sales records are on Rachel’s desk.”

  “Well, all right,” he says. “Thank you. I suppose I’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

  “You will,” I promise, still breathless. “Looking forward to it.”

  He hangs up and I slide back into the water, overcoming with guilt and shame and… Pure, delicious pleasure.

  I can’t believe I just did that!

  Christ, is this what my romantic life has come to, using my hot boss as an unwitting phone sex operator?

  And is it terrible that I want more?

  6

  Eliza

  I’m sure that the second Liam lays eyes on me he’s going to know exactly what I was up to on the other end of the phone la
st night, so I spend the next day holed up in my office with the door shut and the blinds tightly closed, counting down the minutes until I can escape this building, rent a car, and speed out of town to go see Verity.

  In the meantime, I do everything I can think of to avoid a Sterling sighting: I text Rachel begging for coffee. I bring my own lunch. I seriously consider peeing in a bottle like a long-haul truck driver, but in the end that feels a little extreme even for the situation at hand. Instead I open the blinds a crack and peer down the hall in both directions to make sure the coast is clear before scurrying down the hall to the bathroom, peeking around corners and ducking behind doors.

  I’m nearly back to my office—and already breathing a sigh of relief—when someone taps me on the shoulder. I jump about a mile in the air, and then whirl around—

  And come face to face with Liam.

  “I wasn’t doing anything inappropriate!” I blurt, even as my eyes dart wildly around, scanning the corridor for a potted plant to hide behind or a window to leap from. “I mean…” I clear my throat, pulling myself together. “Did you need me?”

  Liam looks at me a little oddly. “I have some sales numbers I’d like to go over with you,” he says. “Come into my office for a moment?”

  “I can’t, actually,” I say, relieved to have an excuse that’s actually true. “I’m about to head out to Long Island to meet with Verity.”

  “Ah.” Liam nods briskly. “Good thinking. I’ve been meaning to connect with her in person, too, as a matter of fact. I’ll join you.”

  “I—no!” Danger, Will Robinson. “I mean, um, I couldn’t ask you to do that.” I insist quickly. “A trip to Long Island on a Friday afternoon in August? The traffic will be terrible.”

  Liam shrugs, apparently unconcerned. “That’ll give us plenty of time to talk about those figures.”