Then there was the matter of her co-designer, asshat Marcus Black…
Though a consummate prankster, the man was an integral part—if not the superior cog—of knocking this one out of the park, but it didn’t mean she had to swoon over him like the rest of the female population. Just thinking of him raised her hackles—his know-it-all attitude, his cocky, better-than-you half smile, the train of blondes he paraded at the annual Retail Space Design dinner every year. This year, he would be accepting the coveted Designer of the Year award. If the award were judged on personality, she was sure he’d have lost to someone far more pedigreed.
And now she was being mean. She couldn’t help it. She’d been vying for that award since the start of her career four and a half years ago and was sure (sure!) that this year she’d nailed it. Add that to the fact she’d lost a recent tit for tat contest with the man, and she had more than a few wounds to lick.
So, Marcus wasn’t quite the asshat she’d like to continue convincing herself he was, and honestly, there were times when his half smile stirred parts of her below the skirt better left unmentioned. And that know-it-all attitude and string of sharp-barbed jokes often came with a good-natured grin, punctuated by a deep dimple in one cheek.
Her heart fluttered as she thought of him now, and she immediately chastised herself. Attractive or not, dating her co-worker was strictly off-limits. Forever. If she ever expected to be respected—to win the RSD Designer of the Year award for herself—she couldn’t think with her girl-parts. She was more brains than boobs, no matter what her ex thought of her.
Still, she’d let her imagination cross a line on occasion. Like on one particularly late night, when she and Marcus were hovering over several designs and a few containers of Kung Pao chicken. She’d watched in awe as he slid his pencil over a fresh sheet of paper, sketching the design that would be the one London preferred better than all of the others. Retail space layout wasn’t the sexiest of interior architecture, but Marcus wore it well. His capability spoke for itself, and watching that undeniably masculine hand dusted in dark hair move across the paper was like watching a painter capture a sunset with amazing accuracy. She’d leaned over him, captivated, while his aftershave tingled her senses, and his deep voice penetrated her shell. The rare moment of amicable peace between them made her wonder if she’d misjudged him initially.
“Whatever.”
She needed to believe that Marcus, with his serial dating history and captivating brand of charm, was no different than the other talented, good-looking jerks she’d dated in the past. Then she could avoid him. If she could only get her hormones on board with her very astute mind, then she’d have no problem preventing a situation like the last one she escaped.
At the thought of Emmett, her lip curled. No. She wasn’t willing to repeat the mistakes she’d made with a certain degenerate man-whore in the past. Marcus may not be as classless as Emmett, but it didn’t stop her mantra of “Never again” from dancing through her head.
At the thought, her heels dug in deeper, and she made a wide arc around the downed shutter and opened her trunk.
Crowbar in hand, she approached the door, testing the tool’s weight. She’d never broken into a building before. The only lock-breaking experience she had was when she’d busted the little silver one on her older sister’s diary. Admittedly…not the same. She took one last glance around the grounds to ensure she was alone, shoved the crowbar into the rusted U of the padlock, and gave it a sharp pull. The lock popped open and thudded onto the warped wooden porch.
“Ha!” An unexpected sense of accomplishment surged through her. “See?” She bent to retrieve the lock, tossed it into the air, and caught it in her palm. “I’m not uptight.”
Which was exactly what she’d been trying to prove to Marcus on Wednesday night when she went to the bar to celebrate the contract. He thought she had a stick up her ass, and she’d intended on proving him wrong. While she often went home to a frozen pizza, he was the one dating half the town. Maybe three-quarters. Hard to say. So, two days ago, Lily let his harmless jabs at her power suit roll off her back, had gracefully accepted his challenge to a game of pool, and even proved she could hang out in a dive bar by shedding her fitted blazer and tossing it over a torn leather stool.
When she’d first come to Cameron Designs after leaving her former job, Marcus had caught her eye. No denying the way his stubble perfectly rimmed his lips, or the tumble of dark hair begging her fingers touch me. On another plane, she could have easily fallen for his charm. He’d asked her out, after all. She’d been there a few short weeks and he sidled into her office and leaned on her desk and asked her out for dinner. Not drinks. Not coffee. “This new Italian place,” he’d said. The part of her that would have said yes before Emmett was gone, and had apparently absconded with her manners but not her sanity. She’d replied with a curt, “No.” Marcus took the rejection with surprising grace, but then the jabs started. Like a kid in school pulling her pigtails, he hadn’t let up since.
She would have been flattered if she wasn’t so determined to never date anyone ever again in the history of time and space. But then afterward, they’d settled into a comfortable rivalry. Marcus teased her at work, and joked profusely, and she ignored the fact he dated like it was a sport. Honestly, she figured he had asked her out because he asked everyone out. He was a dating machine. She…wasn’t. Her bandaged reputation couldn’t afford to be.
So in comparison, she was definitely the more rigid of the two of them. Somehow on Wednesday night, after two tequila shots followed by two or three bottles of beer—she couldn’t remember—his jabs turned into charm and she had not only been baited into this lamebrain bet, she’d insisted on it.
“I’m not as girlie as you think, you know,” she’d said, one hand wrapped around her pool stick, the other propped primly on her hip.
Marcus, who had been racking the pool balls at the other end of the table, paused to grunt at her statement before moving the eight ball to the center position and rolling the triangle into place.
That smug sound never failed to raise her ire. Chapping her ass seemed to be a talent Marcus Black had mastered. And she didn’t want him to think less of her. She wasn’t really sure what she wanted from him, but she did want to impress him. He impressed her all the time without even trying. Like right then, when he lifted the triangle off the balls and not one of them wiggled out of its spot.
She searched for the memory of one thing she’d done in her life that might make her seem less of a fuddy-duddy. The moment she thought of one, she flashed him a smile. “When I was in the eighth grade, my friend Valerie and I hiked up to Willow Mansion.”
Long believed to be a local haunt, the mansion was a hotbed of paranormal rumors and teenaged debauchery. Everyone in Fantom knew of the story behind the mansion, the likely overblown tale of the woman who fell to her death from a second story window. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But everyone thought it was, so she figured she’d use that as her badge of bravery. Proof she could hang with the tough kids.
Instead, Marcus spared her a dry glance, his hooded eyes wholly unimpressed.
Figured.
“On Halloween,” she lied, amping up her street cred. “Night.” The more she added, the lamer she sounded. She shut up while she was ahead.
Removing the triangle from the carefully arranged balls, he flipped it end over end in a smooth, annoyingly graceful motion. She bet he never fumbled anything. Meanwhile, she was sporting a coffee stain on her skirt from a mishap at Tim Horton’s that morning. Like she had in the past, she took a moment to admire his strong hands—capable of precision and artistry, but manly and rough enough to make her wonder what they’d feel like on the soft skin at the back of her neck. A fantasy that could have been reality if she’d said yes to Italian that day long ago. But it was too late to go back now. If he ever meant it at all.