That Wild Player, page 8
Well, thank the stars for true love.
“This is all academic. I’m not dating CJ,” I say, my tone entirely too nonchalant. I refuse to act like I care. Because I don’t.
No. I don’t. Really.
I’m not even the tiniest bit disappointed that CJ isn’t a long-term guy.
“I can start screening your dates ahead of time, and it should be fine,” Sammi says with a nod. “There’s no way I’m letting you be with a guy who wants free milk. He better be prepared to buy the cow.”
“Uh, thanks…I think.”
“It’s okay. You’re a sexy cow.” Sammi grins, then purses her mouth. “Mooooooooo.” Leaning toward me, she moves her lips as though seeking a kiss.
It makes me laugh, and as I pull back to avoid Sammi’s bovine affections, all the tension from the weekend drains away. A lot of girls don’t really hang out or maintain their friendships after they get involved with men. I’m grateful my friends always make time to be together, because I would never trade this for anything—not even the perfect life I’ve envisioned.
Chapter Fifteen
Michelle
On Monday, I go to the office fifteen minutes early, then, before the workday starts, I forward all our end-user documentation and manuals to CJ. I doubt he needs help, but I don’t want Alexandra to think I’m not doing my part. I even add a personalized message:
Dear CJ,
The links below are the guides and videos for using the app, including how to download and install it. If you haven’t done so yet, please install the app, create your user ID and password, and start using it. If what you’re having trouble with isn’t covered in one of the manuals, hit reply to this message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
Thanks!
Michelle Malone
HR Coordinator, Sweet Darlings, Inc.
There. That should do it. Not only is it polite and professional, but it also keeps him at a proper distance.
I spend the rest of the morning preparing memos for some new training programs we’re proposing for the finance and internal audit groups. Both divisions’ heads sent their top five requests, but we probably won’t accept them all. Finance and internal audit can be greedy about their budgets, but they’re not getting more than the app dev teams.
On my way to the break room, I spot Cora Darling and her cousin Linda. They’re both in finance, so it’s not often that I see them here on the ninth floor. Maybe they came down to ask about the new training programs.
Cora smiles at me. Just like her supermodel sister, she has amazing bone structure, along with the most gorgeous black hair and amber eyes I’ve ever seen. If I were a man, I’d be mesmerized.
“Hi, Michelle.”
“Hey, Cora. Linda. What’s going on?”
“Had to turn in some requests to IT. And we just had to do it in person. The new server admin is hot.” Linda fans herself, then giggles as she gets a new text. She isn’t quite as gorgeous as Cora, but she’s pretty darn close. I’ve never seen a bad-looking Darling.
“Funny Monday?” I ask.
“It’s this family friend we know.”
“More like a family stud man.” Cora giggles.
“Oh?” I stir extra sugar into my coffee, craving something sweet. The chocolate CJ sent is gone, and the standard convenience-store fare staring at me from the vending machine somehow doesn’t appeal anymore.
Cora lowers her voice until it’s just a whisper. “CJ Carmichaels. I heard he’s doing some kind of campaign for us.” She fans herself. “Sooo hot.”
“And great in bed,” Linda adds with a wink. “Totally wild.”
“Oooh yeah.” Cora nods.
I stare at both, unsure if I’m getting this right. “Did you two…um…do him?” I guess maybe it’s not a big deal. After all, they’re consenting adults. But they’re also, like…first cousins. Wouldn’t that be awkward? Or maybe it doesn’t matter if you’re as hot and worldly as Cora and Linda.
Cora chortles. “Of course we did. But not the way you think.”
“Oh?” What does she know about what I was thinking?
“Separately,” Linda says.
“Only because you’re jealous of this body.” Cora runs a hand along her side.
Linda rolls her eyes.
I do too, even though it’s a contrived reaction. A hot, ugly fist clenches my belly as I imagine Jan’s cousins with CJ, and I hate it that I have any feelings about the matter at all. Who cares if they had sex with him? Or that maybe they’re going to have sex with him again now that he’s back in town? Hell, maybe they’ll be having sex all week long. It’s none of my business.
Except for the damned phone sex, which made me think that we were something. But then, maybe it’s nothing to CJ…like eating popcorn.
“So… Gonna pick up where you left off?” I ask, my tone entirely too casual.
Cora shrugs. “I tried, but he seemed a little distracted.”
“Probably preoccupied with the campaign,” Linda says. “Alexandra can be so demanding. I’m sure CJ feels like if he doesn’t come through with the perfect angle, she’s going to can him.”
Cora scoffs. “Like he needs the money.”
“Doesn’t it bother you, though?” I ask, unable to help myself.
“Doesn’t what bother me?” Linda asks.
“That he won’t commit. I mean, he slept with both of you, right? And…you know…”
Linda clucks her tongue. “Sweetie, he’s like”—she taps her lower lip for a moment—“a Ferrari. Fun to test-drive, but way too much trouble to own. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.” Cora nods. “High-performance, but not at all ownable.”
“Why not? You can afford a Ferrari.” The Darlings are loaded. Like loaded.
“It’s not the money,” Cora says.
Linda lets out a sigh. “Unfortunately, CJ’s not a car, and he’s not for sale.”
Cora checks her watch. “We gotta go. By the way, you’re coming gown shopping this weekend, right?”
“Absolutely.” There’s no way I’m missing out on my best friend’s wedding prep. Sammi and I are the co-maids of honor. Jan didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feeling, so both of us are doing it.
Coffee cradled in my hands, I go back to my desk and sip the hot liquid. The words “not at all ownable” circle in my head, while my body’s focused on “high-performance.” The kiss alone got me really hot and bothered, and if he’s that potent with just his mouth, how “high-performance” will the rest of his body be?
Hey, maybe he can pop your OrGin cherry, says an internal voice that sounds suspiciously like Sammi.
No, no, no. I can’t go there with a guy who has zero interest in commitment or anything long-term. I am not in the market to test-drive high-performance men…I mean cars. I only want someone who I can see in my garage long-term…like, lifetime long-term.
Speaking of which… How come I didn’t get a single ping from all those dating sites I joined? Did I somehow mess up the notification settings? No, I couldn’t have. I didn’t even go to the settings section of the sites. Is it because potential dates can feel my anxiety and desperation through their broadband?
But I’m not that bad…am I?
Five minutes till lunch. I glance around, then quickly go to one of the sites for messages from interested guys…
Why is my photo grayed out?
Status: Inactive.
What?
This makes no sense at all! I didn’t change my status. I check the other sites and apps I’m registered with. Every single one is set to Inactive.
What the hell?
There’s only one person who could do this. Sammi. Maybe she decided I need to hook with up CJ or something. But as much as I love her, she needs to not mess with my life.
–Michelle: Hey, what did you do?
–Sammi: What?
–Michelle: Why did you set all my dating profiles to inactive? Did you find me someone?
–Sammi: Didn’t touch your profiles. I want you to find somebody and get laid. Like, for real. Because your previous efforts don’t count. No orgasm = did not happen.
I ignore her last two sentences.
–Sammi: I want you to lose your OrGinity.
Ack!
–Michelle: OrGinity is not a word. And I’ve had plenty of orgasms.
–Sammi: Can’t date a vibrator.
I thunk my head against my desk…then steer the topic back to the problem at hand.
–Michelle: If you didn’t do it, who did?
–Sammi: Did anybody compromise your profile in any other way? Change your email address or something?
Huh. Never crossed my mind. So I check.
–Michelle: No. Everything’s the same, including my password, except for the status.
Three beats of silence, then I get a text.
–Sammi: Okay. What’s really going on between you and Matt’s best man?”
–Michelle: Nothing.
–Sammi: You sent that too fast.
–Michelle: Did not. It doesn’t take that long to type “nothing.” And I already told you everything there is to know.
I can just feel her typing away, so I dump my phone in my purse, then place an arm on my desk and bury my face in my elbow.
My office phone rings. I debate letting it go to voice mail, but it might be Ophelia or something. “Michelle Malone speaking.”
“Okay, here’s what I think,” comes Sammi’s voice. “I—”
“Why are you calling?”
“Because I know you, and you just hid your phone in your purse. Anyway, I bet it’s CJ. Has to be. No one else has the skill and motivation. And the man’s gotta be a one-track-minder. You don’t succeed in Silicon Valley unless you are.”
“So he’s a stalker.” A persistent, hot-as-hell, kisses-like-a-dream, high-performance stalker.
“Stalker is such an ugly word. If he’s this interested, maybe you can test the waters a bit. He might change for you. Who knows?”
“Ferraris don’t change.”
“What?”
“What’s all this stalker and Ferraris talk?” comes a familiar voice.
I almost drop the receiver. “Gotta go,” I mutter, then hang up. I swivel around and face CJ.
He really should start looking less hot. It’s been long enough. Familiarity should be breeding all kinds of contempt. But apparently aphorisms don’t apply to this man.
Or maybe not enough time has passed. Give it a few more days, and his broad shoulders will start to look narrow and sad, the brilliant smile on his face will dim and no longer induce belly-flips. And I might even notice a fleck of dust on that freshly laundered shirt that smells unfairly hot, even though laundry detergent has never turned me on before.
“You,” I say. “You’re the stalker.”
“Me?” He places a hand over his chest in entirely too innocent a manner. “Never.”
I cross my arms. “Do you swear you had nothing to do with my dating profiles going inactive?”
He looks up at the ceiling and squints. “Mmm…no. That would be lying.”
“There you go. A stalker.”
“I beg to differ. It’s called fending off losers and saving you time.”
“I can’t believe this.”
“Well, better get your believer fixed. Since I’ve known you, you’ve been out with Mr. Seaweed Mouth and Johnny Two-Names. Don’t really think I’m wrong in calling them losers.”
I have no comeback for that. CJ is so right, it hurts. “Hacking into my account is a serious violation of privacy. Probably some kind of criminal offense.”
“Wanna cuff me?” He grins, pushing his wrists in my direction.
I suck in a breath. The smile’s so damn suggestive, I can’t help but think of him cuffed to my bed, and it isn’t even one of those four-poster beds. “No!”
“Right. That’d be another HR policy violation.”
“What?”
“Everyone here seems to think you love rules and sticking to them.”
“It isn’t about rules. It’s about helping people.”
“Then help a guy out by having lunch with me.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Do you need me to show you how to use a fork and a knife, too?”
He laughs. “No. But I need help with the campaign.”
“I sent you an email.”
“I need some input on what I’m doing. I’m going to create a series of photos in a special album for the ad.”
“You should really talk to David.”
“He’s busy. Besides, Alexandra said I should contact you. You’re my liaison, remember?”
Don’t I ever. And bringing up Alexandra is low…albeit effective. I glance at my phone. Why isn’t it ringing? I could take the call, then gracefully lie to CJ that I can’t have lunch with him because something came up…
“Michelle. We all have to eat.”
His green eyes are slightly narrowed, and his voice is extra firm. He’s not going away until he gets what he wants.
I sigh. “Fine.” I inwardly wince at how ungracious that sounds. I pride myself on my professionalism. I didn’t have to be petty.
Grabbing my purse, I put my computer to sleep and follow CJ out. He takes me to his Ferrari, and the sight of the car brings back the conversation I had with Cora and Linda earlier.
Not at all ownable, my brain whispers.
High-performance, my body crows.
Shut up. Both of you.
“You okay?” CJ peers at me.
I give him the smile I used to flash eager college boys with no chance. “Just a little internal disagreement.”
No chance, my ass. High-performance, high-performance, high-performance—
Ignoring the voice in my head, I study the car because it’s either that or stare at CJ’s profile, and I refuse to stare. The interior is super luxurious. It even smells luxurious, in that “this is totally too expensive for you” way.
But making note of the posh interior doesn’t mean I’m oblivious to the man next to me. He’s…impossible to ignore. Like a box of decadent Euro chocolate you hid in your drawer so you don’t end up devouring the whole kilogram at once.
CJ takes me to Jolly Robin, a local burger joint popular with people from my office because it’s quick and reasonably priced. He apparently has a reservation; even though it’s crowded, the hostess immediately shows us to a booth in the back. He orders a double cheeseburger with extra fries and Diet Coke, and I get my usual grilled chicken Caesar salad with ice-cold lemonade. I don’t overindulge during the week, especially at lunch. I need to save up my calories for weekends or special evenings out—like this evening when I have Mexican Monday with the girls. Yoga helps me keep in shape, but as Mom has said repeatedly, a moment on the lips… The laws of thermodynamics spare no one. Actually, she says that every time she puts on new clothes…or thinks I’ve been lax.
The fries smell amazing. CJ is munching on them like the golden tuber sticks are the givers of life, and it’s unfair he can look as great as he does while putting away those pound-packers. My mouth waters as I stare at them, ketchup-laden, disappearing between his lips. Still, I shove more salad into my mouth with metronomic regularity. I have dates. Well, I will have dates this weekend once I change my dating profile statuses back to Active, and then I’ll need the saved calories to indulge. I’m not going to say no to a fancy dinner out.
“Want a fry?” he says. “No problem if you want to filch a couple.”
“No, thank you,” I say primly.
“Open-ended offer. Any time you change your mind.”
Damn it. He speaks those words of temptation with an expression full of good intentions. And my fingers itch to grab one.
Stay strong.
“So how did you get roped into doing the marketing campaign?” I ask. “It isn’t your thing, is it? You don’t need the money.”
“No. But I owe Alexandra one, so I figured why not.” He shrugs. “When I first started out, I didn’t know anybody, and I was struggling with funding. She provided the seed capital and mentored me. Helped me get going.”
I narrow my eyes. “So you would never quit, no matter what.”
“Not quite true. I would totally quit if I had to work with people I didn’t like. Why do you think I started my own company?”
“To give your friends jobs?”
“To work with smart people who make me happy to get up in the morning.”
Ugh. Now I feel like a bitch for having said that. The world would be a better place if everyone got to spend a big chunk of their week with people they enjoy. Besides, I joined Sweet Darlings for the same reason. Generally speaking, I like my colleagues, and it’s a huge bonus to work in the same building as my friends. And because I’m feeling bad about my cheap shot, I say, “Tell me about your previous venture,” all the while girding my loins. Men can get super tedious when you ask them to talk about their successes. Especially when it happens to be tremendous, like CJ’s.
But he doesn’t launch into some long-winded story about his brilliance. He focuses more on the vision that he had. How he wanted to give people a little peace of mind in the midst of the hectic chaos called modern life.
“With the technology we have available, there’s no reason for anybody to freak out if they lock their door or can’t shut off their oven until they get home. And if you have the right system, both those things are possible even if you’re away. It’s brilliant, and I wanted to bring the cost down so everyone could afford it.”
He explains more about the process of making it mainstream, but what I don’t hear is a bunch of “I”s in his talk. It’s always “we” or “my team.” Some small part of me admires his down-to-earth quality. And the fact that he isn’t the type to hoard all the credit for himself.
High-performance. Yum.
And not at all ownable, remember?
“So. What do you need help with?” I ask when CJ’s almost done with his burger.
“A lot of things. I have a bunch of photos, but I need to figure out the best way to organize them, then name the new album.”
