“Don’t go there with Reed. Just don’t.”
—TheOtherMonica
Darcy hated herself for the prickle of attraction she felt toward Reed since she knew what kind of guy he was. Okay, so the attraction was more like being struck with defibrillator pads. But still, the guy was cocky beyond belief.
Cocky and pushy and utterly gorgeous.
He had the kind of charisma that an awkward turtle like her would never embody. A confidence and comfort in his own skin that she would kill for.
Ever since their meeting, she’d been distracted by the fact that they would be working together. The weekend had ticked past slower than usual, and she’d found herself unable to concentrate. Even her favorite comfort read hadn’t been able to get her in the zone. Then she’d awoken to an email on Monday morning requesting she meet him that evening at a potential venue for their fundraiser. Some place with a difficult to pronounce name. Some place that was exactly not what she’d wanted.
Now she was being forced to spend another evening with him. A dinner, no less.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Remi poked her head into Darcy’s bedroom. “Are you wearing…a color?”
“Very funny, Rem.” She smoothed her hands down the front of the deep indigo blouse.
“Clearly I’m mistaken.” Remi leaned against the doorframe. Her long legs were encased in a pair of lilac leggings and pink legwarmers. “It must be some new shade of black I don’t know about yet.”
“We can’t all dress like a My Little Pony.”
“It’s the parents-and-kids class today. The little ones get pissed if I don’t wear pink.” A dainty hand patted the edge of her plump ballerina bun. “Where are you off to? That doesn’t look like your usual attire for a night on the couch. Have you got a date already?”
“No.” The word shot out of her like a missile. Dinner with Reed was strictly business. “It’s, uh…a work thing.”
She hadn’t been able to bring herself to tell the girls about Reed. Her poker face was shitty at the best of times, let alone when talking about someone who’d made a surprise appearance in the form of an unusually sexy dream. Highly unusually sexy. To make matters worse, Annie had sent a screenshot of one of his latest reviews to her yesterday with a string of laughing-crying emojis. Needless to say, that had sealed Darcy’s decision to keep her new colleague’s identity a secret.
“I’m looking at a potential venue for the fundraiser. I can’t turn up in my old jeans and T-shirt, you know.” God, could she sound any more nervous? Clearly a career in acting wasn’t in her future. Hopefully she could keep it together in front of Reed.
“Right.” Remi nodded, a curious twinkle in her eye.
“Do you think I look…” Her eyes flicked to the mirror. “Appropriately dressed?”
The blouse was old, but it hadn’t been worn. Darcy had originally purchased it for her honeymoon, thinking it looked like something a wife should wear. She realized now that was a stupid concept, and she shouldn’t have been planning to change herself simply because she’d gotten married. So she’d ripped the tags off and now it was just a blouse.
The silky fabric was sheer on the arms, enough that a faint glimpse of her tattoos could be seen through it. A single gold button dotted each cuff.
“For a work function? Sure. It’s gorgeous.” Remi’s gaze drifted down to Darcy’s feet, but she didn’t say anything.
Dark jeans and black, lace-up combat boots probably weren’t the best accompaniment to a silk blouse. But high heels were Darcy’s sworn enemy. At five feet nine inches, she didn’t need them anyway.
“I don’t want to wear heels, so don’t even suggest it.”
Remi’s eyes lit up as she raised a finger to signal Darcy should wait a moment. If she were a cartoon, a big lightbulb would have appeared above her head. A few seconds later, she returned with a pair of pointy-toed black flats, the edges decorated with gold studs.
“What about these?” She held them out as if offering a sacred gift. “I thought they might be a nice compromise…and they’re Valentino.”
“I’m going to assume that’s a good thing.” Darcy reached down and unlaced her boots.
“They’re very work appropriate.” Remi bit back a smile.
“Good, because that’s what I’m doing tonight.” She concentrated on peeling off her stripy socks so Remi wouldn’t see the warmth in her cheeks. “Work.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
Slipping the shoes on, she stood and checked out her reflection. “You know what? I kind of like them.”
Remi shook her head. “Only you could sound so surprised that an eight-hundred-dollar pair of shoes looks good.”
“Eight hundred dollars?” She froze on the spot. “Why the hell would you spend so much money on something that goes on your feet?”
“I’m a ballerina, Darcy. My feet are important.” She grinned. “Besides, they were a gift from my ex. I can’t blame the shoes because they were purchased by an evil wanker. That would be unfair.”
“Yes, we must consider the feelings of the shoes at all times.” She rolled her eyes.
Joking aside, Darcy could see why Remi had kept them. They managed to look dainty and tough at the same time. They also made her legs look longer, leaner. And they were sexy without looking as though they tried.
Not that you’re trying to look sexy for tonight. You’re trying to look professional, remember? Confident. In control.
“Maybe you could wear a necklace,” Remi suggested. “I have one that—”
“That’s my limit for girlie stuff.” Darcy grinned. “But thanks for letting me wear a chunk of your rent on my feet.”
“Try not to scuff them. Please.”
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect to be doing anything strenuous tonight.”
“Why would you?” Remi said with a grin. “It’s just work, right?”
“Right.”
Forty-five minutes later, Darcy stepped out of a cab at the address that Reed had emailed her. The borrowed shoes were already starting to pinch her feet and Darcy cursed herself for not sticking with her boots. Who cared what Reed thought of the way she looked anyway?
Anticipation fluttered low in her belly, her insides tickled by the gossamer wings of anxious butterflies. It was different to how she’d felt on her last date a few months ago. Different, good. Different, scary.
Repeat after me: this is not a date.
“You scrub up well.” Reed came up beside her out of nowhere. Like a ninja, but better dressed.
“Don’t sound so surprised.” Darcy flicked her gaze over his ink-black suit and tried not to let any appreciation show.
But it was tough to ignore the zing of excitement that shot through her, stirring up the butterflies once more. She liked him in black. It made him look dangerous. Beautiful dangerous.
“I’m not surprised at all.” He gestured to the heavy wooden doors. “Shall we?”
As they walked, Darcy almost expected his hand to find the small of her back in that awful, clichéd way often seen in movies. Her skin anticipated the touch. But it never came. He did, however, hold the door for her.
“Can I help you?” A woman in a sleek, gray dress stood with her hands clasped in front of her.
“Uh…” Darcy faltered, feeling instantly out of place next to the chic marble-and-brushed-silver decor. She looked to Reed for a cue. “I believe we have a reservation.”
“Mr. McMahon,” the woman said as a knowing smile spread across her lips. “You must be here for the tasting.”
“Yes. This is my companion, Darcy Greer. We’ll be doing the tasting together.”
As they followed the woman through the restaurant, Darcy fought back a smile. “Your companion?”
“Would you have preferred client?” He was close behind her as they wove through the tables covered in white linen. “But you’re not paying me. Associate then?”
“Why do we need to label it?”
“Ah, commitment issues. You’re a woman after my own heart.”
“I don’t have commitment issues. I think that’s what psychologists call ‘projecting.’”
She turned to retort further, but the pointed toe of her shoe clipped a wayward chair and she stumbled. Reed’s hand shot out and steadied her, his grip sure and strong. Confident. His touch burned through the thin silk of her top.
“One foot in front of the other,” he said. “Haven’t you made it around to the biomechanics section of the library yet? You must be too busy reading books on manners and etiquette.”
Flames licked at the inside of her cheeks. She’d give anything to have a book on hand now. A nice hefty hardback she could whack over his head.
“Actually, I’ve been spending most of my time in the hand-to-hand-combat section. So don’t try me.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “Or I’ll put you in a sleeper hold.”
Reed cleared his throat. Was it her imagination or was it covering up a laugh?
“Our event coordinator will be over shortly to run you through our function menu.” The maître d’ stopped in front of an empty booth. “The chef has selected the most popular options for you to taste, but we can certainly bring out more if you’d like. And if there’s anything else I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
The comment was obviously directed at Reed. The woman spoke with a clipped, professional tone, but her tongue darted out to moisten her lips in a way that said she’d very much like to be of service to him.
“Do you ever get sick of women fawning over you?” Darcy asked once the woman was out of earshot. She slid into the booth.
“No.” He appeared totally unapologetic. “Why would I get sick of it?”
“I don’t know. Don’t men live for the thrill of the chase?”
“Some men do.” He popped the button of his suit jacket as he sat. “I find women who need to be chased are usually more trouble than suits my needs.”
“You mean they don’t want to be chewed up and spat out?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Most of the women who encounter my ‘chewing’ leave without any complaints.”
Darcy picked up the drinks menu and pretended to study the options. It was clear she should shut her mouth around Reed. The man had a comeback for everything. And the more they bantered, the more she was tempted to inflict bodily harm.
Besides, if they were going to be working together, she should try to be professional. Even if it was proving difficult.
* * *
It wasn’t that Reed tried to make himself sound like an asshole. But winding up Darcy was fast becoming his new favorite sport. Anything to make her purse those pouty lips and narrow her electric-blue eyes at him.
The women he dated were smooth. Confident in their ability to seduce. They were all soft tones and suggestive eyes. Fluttering lashes.
Darcy was as smooth as a cactus.
But despite her thorny disposition, she’d dressed up tonight by ditching the semi-Goth tones for something softer. Her tattoos played peekaboo with the fabric of her top.
“Why did you pick this venue?” she asked, cutting into his thoughts. “I thought we’d agreed nothing too flashy.”
“It’s classy.”
“It’s over the top.” She reached for the bottle of sparkling water and inspected the gold label with a smirk before pouring them both a glass. How considerate—the girl had manners even when she disliked her dinner guest. “It’s not the sort of environment that I can see our members feeling comfortable in.”
“That’s because your members aren’t necessarily going to be on the guest list. And they aren’t the ones who’ll be donating money. Not the kind of money you need anyway.”
“Okay.” She stretched the word out like toffee. “But I was thinking the fundraiser could be a community-engagement thing as well. We could advertise some of the programs we’d start up with the funding, get their feedback—”
“No.”
She sucked in a breath. “You say no a lot.”
“This is a fundraiser.” He sipped his water. “The key to a successful event is simplicity. If you crowd the agenda with too many things, people will become confused. And confused people don’t part with their money.” And besides, he wanted to avoid setting foot in that library again unless absolutely necessary.
“Okay, fine. So we’re inviting people who expect to be wined and dined in some fancy-pants restaurant.” Her hand fluttered in the air.
“Yes. There’s a function room on the other side of the foyer that will be perfect. We’ll do a short sit-down portion, nothing too formal but still elegant. Then we’ll follow it up with a cocktail portion while we run a silent auction.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “You might even be able to wear a dress.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Figures you’d give me style advice. Looks like you spent more time on your hair this morning than I did.”
Darcy’s dark-chocolate hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He was tempted to point out that most preschoolers probably spent more time on their hair than she did, but he held back. The fact was Darcy didn’t need any bells and whistles to look hot as hell. An image of tugging on that thick ribbon of hair played across his mind.
“Are you calling me high maintenance?” he asked, shrugging off the dirty little flicker in his imagination.
“I could call you a lot of things, Reed. High maintenance is low on the list.”
He wanted to ask her what she would call him, but he knew better than to court a woman’s derision. Especially when they were supposed to be working together. He really should rein in his teasing.
Before the silence could stretch on too long, the first round of tasting plates arrived. Darcy’s brows rose as she picked up a small hors d’oeuvre with cheese, blackberry, and fresh dill on a skewer and popped it into her mouth. She twirled the empty stick.
“Do people really eat like this?” she asked, shaking her head. “God, no wonder all these rich women are so skinny. Give me a cheeseburger any day of the week.”
“You don’t pull any punches, do you?” Reed asked with a smirk, taking an hors d’oeuvre for himself. Truth be told, he’d have preferred a cheeseburger too.
“I don’t care for BS.” She reached for another item from the tasting plate and instead of taking a delicate bite like most people would have, she shoved the whole thing into her mouth. “That’s just how I roll.”
She was guarded, that was for damn sure, and it only served to stir his curiosity. Most women he dined with were all too happy to talk about themselves—he assumed because they’d all suffered through many a bad date where that wasn’t the case. But Darcy played her cards close to her chest.
“You’re a bundle of contradictions,” he said. The corner of his lips lifted. “You like manners and etiquette, but you hate BS. I’ve always thought those two went hand in hand.”
“It’s possible to be honest and nice.” She smirked. “You should try it sometime.”
“No, I don’t think I will.”
“There’s that word again.” She scrunched up her nose. “I really hate being told no.”
Too bad. There’s plenty more where that came from.
“Doesn’t everyone?” he asked.
“I guess so.” She inclined her head. “Or maybe I hear it too much and it makes me want to do the opposite.”
Ah, that was something real. A hint of rebellion under the surface, just like the tattoos peeking through her top. Her right arm was covered entirely—a full sleeve. He hadn’t expected that. The design featured some books, birds, and flowers. Some words too, but he couldn’t read them through the sheer fabric covering her arms.
“Who told you not to get the tats, then?”
“My mother.” Her eyes met his, hard and direct. “She said she didn’t go through indescribable pain to bring me into the world only for me to graffiti my body. Apparently, if I treat myself like public property, others will too.”
To her credit, she didn’t flinch as she said the words. Old wounds, he suspected. He had a few of those himself.
“Harsh.”
She lifted a delicate shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Sticks and stones. What about you, any ink?”
“No ink. But I got drunk at a frat party once and had my belly button pierced.”
“Really?” Her eyes lit up.
“No.”
The smile fell from her lips and she turned her attention back to the tasting plate. “Boring.”
He stifled a laugh. “Gullible.”
Darkness flickered over her face, uninhibited. She was easy to read—too easy. That quality would hurt her if it hadn’t already.
“What can I say?” Her fingers hovered over the tasting plate as she decided on another bite-size appetizer. “It’s been a while since I had to deal with such an accomplished bullshit artist. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a bit rusty.”
“I’m more than happy to help you sharpen your skills, Darcy. Bullshit is my specialty.” A chuckle forced its way up his throat when she folded her arms across her chest indignantly. If looks could kill… “Did you expect me to be insulted? Sorry, I’m not that easily rattled.”
“I’d like to rattle you right now,” she muttered, picking up the drink menu.
“I wish you would. We could go back to my place once we’re done.”
Ignoring him, Darcy signaled to the waiter. “I’m going to need some alcohol. Now.”