“What if I called you Ginger? Would that upset you?” I ask tartly, referring to the perfectly coiffed reddish hair on top of his head. He’s good with gel, or has his own stylist. Or maybe he’s sleeping with a stylist.
He grins at my question—straight white teeth he didn’t lose any of playing ball for eight years—and laces his hands behind his head. His shirtsleeves are uncuffed and rolled to the elbows, the scruff on his face two days past clean-shaven.
“Apologies, beautiful, but you know my name. I don’t know yours.”
“You mean Mia didn’t tell you my name when she threw me to the wolves?” I have a momentary fantasy where I talk her into reassigning this puff piece to Nanci, but she won’t. Nanci mostly helps out with articles. She hasn’t honed her journalistic skills well enough to be entrusted with a column.
When ad dollars are involved, Mia’s focus is ensuring a climb in readership. Not to brag, but that’s the reason I’m in charge of the relationships section. I’m good. Not because of some magic fairy dust but because I work my ass off.
Still, it would have been nice to write a commentary about how to date a real man instead of this one. A man who knows how to properly wear a button-down shirt, for example. Like North.
“Ouch. I’m guessing you’re not a fan?”
“Of you? I barely know who you are, Mr. Fox.”
“You seem to know plenty. I can read it in the pleat between those two perfect eyebrows.” He runs those blue eyes over my face, down my blouse, and lingers at my breasts.
I lift the paper Mia left behind in front of my chest to avoid further scrutiny.
“Catarina Everhart,” I say as I read over the sheet of paper in my hand. Mia’s shorthand is atrocious but after five years of practice, I can read her hieroglyphics without any problem.
“Do you go by Cat?”
“No. I don’t. Do you go by Bare?”
“Sometimes.” He shrugs, lowers his feet to the floor, and leans over the table. He flicks the back of the paper I’m using as a shield.
“Is this what ‘dating you’ is going to be like?” I sneer.
“Close.” His lips twitch at the corner. “Add in a few slow, long, wet kisses that’ll curl your toes and a little under the shirt/over the bra action, and you’re there.”
Barrett
There it is. The reaction I was expecting. Catarina’s back snaps straight. She slams the paper onto the table and proceeds to lecture me. She’s saying I won’t ever touch her, let alone kiss her. She mentions a boyfriend and says that even if she didn’t have one there’s no way she’d allow me anywhere near her. While she’s complains, I commit to a plan to taste those lips.
Mia told me about this “boyfriend” of hers. He was described to me as a stick-in-the-mud guy who is self-consumed and aloof and doesn’t treat Catarina the way she deserves. I’m not sure if Mia has an ulterior motive to break up Catarina and the bozo she’s dating, but I’m not getting involved either way. My job is to date Catarina and be myself. That’s what I’m doing. Or well, the version of myself Mia’s paying me to be.
Catarina is fucking beautiful, by the way. And prissy. Rigid. Haughty. But beautiful. Long, dark brown hair with the right amount of weight and wave rolls over slender shoulders. Her white blouse is classy, like her. Even angry, her shaped eyebrows slammed together, all I can think about is winning her over to my side of the field. If she let me kiss those lips, she’d forget her problems. They’re the pinkest, fullest lips I’ve ever seen, and I’m an excellent kisser.
“Mr. Fox, could you do me the courtesy of looking me in the eye?”
“Sorry, Kitty Cat. I’ll try.” I shrug helplessly. “I like that lip color.”
Her mouth drops open before snapping closed. She’s decided not to like me, which is par for course where I’m concerned. Most women don’t like me, but are willing to stoop to hang out with me to get what they want. I’m used to it.
I do as she asks and look at Catarina’s eyes. They’re as beautiful as the rest of her. Coffee-brown and sparkling. Big and wide and taking in the world around her. Not innocent though. More jaded. This is a woman who’s seen a lot of what the world has to offer and has decided not to like most of it.
“...going to talk to Mia about this,” she announces as she stands.
I stand with her and she turns and pokes me in the center of my chest with one short, polished fingernail.
“Alone.”
“I’m on assignment here, too, Kitty Cat.”
“Stop calling me that. I don’t care how much money you’ll bring to this paper. I’m not pretending to date you. I can’t stand looking at you.”
With that she opens the conference room door and storms through the office. I watch her go, admiring the proud way she holds her shoulders back and the flow of her long hair behind her as she walks, and yeah, okay, the wiggle of her small, round ass in a superslim skirt.
I catch the eye of the cute blonde who was in here a moment ago. She’s still mooning. She bites her lip and gives me a little wave. I wink at her, knowing that made her whole day. I can tell by the way she blushes fiercely.
Whistling, I amble in the direction of Mia’s office in hot pursuit of Catarina Everhart.
Damn.
I love being me.