Damaged Goods (7 page)

“I am.” We shook hands and took our seats. “I am so sorry I"m late. My son

called and needed me to walk him through something on his math homework, and I

didn"t realize the call had taken me so long.” He made a flustered gesture and shook

his head. “And then I was in such a hurry to get on the road and get here, I forgot I

hadn"t put your number in my phone.”

And with that, the man is redeemed.

“It"s okay.” I smiled. “Kids come first; I know how it goes.”

At that, he released a breath and relaxed a little. “They do, don"t they?”

“Always.” I folded my arms on the table and leaned on them. “Mine have to call

their dad for help on math homework too. It never has been my best subject.”

“My son would do fine with it if he worked at it.” He rolled his eyes. “Doesn"t

help that his mother coddles him when it comes to his schoolwork.”

Ripping on your ex before we’ve even ordered. Lose two points.

“Oh,” I said. “Well, I—”

“The thing is, the kid"s sharp as a tack,” Bill said. “If he"d put the effort in like

his brother, he"d easily be a straight-A student.”

“Maybe math just isn"t his strong point,” I said drily.

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Lauren Gallagher

“Maybe not, but it"s not as weak as he likes to think it is.” He sighed. “My ex-

wife is convinced he has a learning disability. The only disability he has is learning

to sit down and study.” He laughed. I didn"t.

Ripping on your own kid. Disqualification.

At least he didn"t spend the entire evening criticizing his offspring"s every

shortcoming, but he talked about his ex-wife more than himself. Though his profile

picture matched his appearance, he"d left “ranting about the ex-wife"s every

imperfection” out of the hobbies-and-interests section. I tried to steer the

conversation toward less incendiary subjects, but somehow she kept creeping back

into it, along with her infidelities during their marriage, her inability to cook like

his mother did, and the way her body was never the same after she had his

children.

Well, aren’t you just a prime catch, Bill?

This date couldn"t be over fast enough, and after dinner, a promise to call, and

a tactfully dodged good-night kiss, I resisted the urge to ask for his ex"s phone

number so I could have coffee and commiserate. Instead, I went home for a glass of

wine that wasn"t soured by unpleasant conversation.

Sipping my wine in the silent darkness of my empty living room, I closed my

eyes. Not every date was like this, not every guy had the kind of deal-breaking flaws

as Bill, but every one of them left me with this same empty, discouraged feeling.

This teeth-grinding “what the fuck was the point of that?” frustration. Did it ever

get better?

Michael and I had married right out of high school, and jumping into the adult

dating world in my late twenties had been a rude awakening. One that hadn"t

presented me with a hell of a lot of hope. If I could connect with someone enough to

even get a date out of it—meaning he didn"t balk at the fact that I had children—

then something happened, or didn"t happen, to make the date a dud. Every date left

me wondering why the hell I bothered anymore.

And lately, to frustrate me just a little more, every date, every good-night kiss

cooling on my lips, every empty promise to call me, every one-night stand riding off

into the sunset, had as its backbeat the rhythmic banging of a phantom headboard

against a pastel wall beneath a bland watercolor painting.

Damaged Goods

29

Chapter Five

On Friday, one of my coworkers, Janie, caught up with me on my way out of

the millionth staff meeting this week. She fell into step beside me in the hallway.

“You going out for drinks with us tonight?” she asked.

I shook my head. “Can"t. I have the kids.”

“Oh, damn,” she said. “Well, we"re all going out to lunch too. You want to go?”

I held up the thick stack of file folders in my hand and gave an apologetic look.

“I"d love to, but I have to work through lunch today.”

“Really?” She wrinkled her nose. “They loading you up that much?”

“That, and I"ve got a meeting this afternoon that"s going to cut into my time to

get all this crap done.” I shrugged. “Such is life, right?”

“Well, as long as they"re not making you stay late,” she said.

“God, don"t give them any ideas.”

She laughed. “Okay, well, let me know when you"re free one of these nights so

you can go get trashed with us.”

“Will do.”

She stopped to wait for the elevator while I kept walking.

“How much did I miss?” I asked when I got to my assistant"s desk.

Laura, my assistant, held up a delightfully thick stack of pink phone

messages. “Phone"s been ringing off the hook.”

“Great.” I flipped through the stack, skimming for anything urgent.

“Hey, I just noticed,” she said. “You actually wore your hair down for once.”

I brushed it off my shoulder. “Yeah, I was in too much of a hurry this morning

to put it up.”

“Looks nice.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “Oh, by the way, I"ve got a meeting at two with a potential

new client. His name is Mr. Hendricks. When he gets here, please let me know right

away.”

She nodded. “Will do.”

“And it"s a „don"t let anyone interrupt me unless the building"s on fire"

meeting,” I said. “So, you know the drill.”

“Hold your calls and barricade the door,” she said, laughing. “Got it.”

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Lauren Gallagher

With messages and a shitload of work in hand, I went into my office and shut

the door. I leaned against it, closing my eyes and letting out a breath. Days like

this, I needed a break like nobody"s business.

Breaks were for people with time, though, so I pushed myself off the door and

took a seat at my desk to catch up on all the e-mails, voice mails, and handwritten

phone messages that had avalanched in during the staff meeting. Yet another

reason staff meetings were, in my completely humble opinion, worthless wastes of

time.

But what the higher-ups wanted, the higher-ups got, so now I jumped in and

got caught up. I ate lunch at my desk in between making and taking calls. I

completely lost track of time and didn"t even blink when my phone rang for the

seven hundred thousandth time while I tried to finish everything else.

This time, Laura"s extension lit up the screen. I picked up the handset. “Yes,

Laura?”

“Mr. Hendricks is here for his appointment.”

Already? Absently smoothing my shorter-than-usual skirt over the garter I"d

never worn to work before, I checked the clock on my computer. Sure enough, it was

two o"clock sharp.

“Excellent. I"ll be out in a second.” I hung up the phone and put away all the

papers I"d been working on, restoring my desk to its bare, immaculate state.

On my way out of my office, I stopped with one hand on the doorknob. Deep

breath. Deep, cleansing breath.

Then I opened the door, stepped out into the busy reception area, and my

attention was immediately drawn to my waiting client.

Oblivious to the hustle and bustle all around him, he was the very picture of

relaxed and casual. Legs crossed at the knees and hips twisted just slightly. Button-

down shirt with the top button left open. Elbow on the armrest. One finger absently

tracing the side of his neatly trimmed goatee. We made eye contact from across the

room, and when he grinned, my nipples hardened.

He watched me come around to the front of Laura"s desk, his eyes making a

slow trek from my slightly low-cut blouse to my hemline, then down my legs. When

he got to my shoes, which were a good inch and a half higher than I ever wore to

work, he gave the subtlest nod of approval. Then his eyes flicked up and met mine.

“Mr. Hendricks,” I said, exchanging a knowing look with him as I extended my

hand. “Glad you could make it.”

He rose before shaking my hand. “I hope I"m not keeping you from anything,

Ms. Rhodes.” My real name sounded like pure filth coming from him.

“No, of course not.” I gestured toward my office. “Shall we?”

“After you.”

Damaged Goods

31

I started toward my office, and Sabian followed. He kept a few feet between us,

and when I looked over my shoulder, I did so just in time to catch him giving me a

conspicuous top-to-bottom glance.

In my office, he was even less discreet, tracing my figure with his gaze before

meeting my eyes again.

I grinned. He winked. I shivered.

It didn"t matter if he meant it or if it was just because I"d paid him to do it. It

had been too long since someone had looked at me that way, and damn it, I liked it.

“So, Mr. Hendricks.” I couldn"t help smirking at his false name. “What can I do

for you?”

He raised his chin just enough to emphasize our height difference. “I don"t

know, Ms. Rhodes. What
can
you do for me?”

“The customer"s always right.” I folded my arms across my chest, and he

looked down the front of my blouse in the same moment I surreptitiously pushed my

breasts up. “You tell me.”

“Hmm, well.” He reached for my waist, and my suit jacket wasn"t nearly thick

enough to keep the heat of his hand from my skin. “I was thinking the company

could use some different branding. Something with”—he watched his hand drift up

my side—“smoother lines. Maybe some curves to catch people"s eyes.”

Willing my voice to be steady, which was not easy at all, I said, “I think that

could be arranged.”

“Do you?”

I gulped. “Just tell me how you want it, and I"ll do it.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that.” He trailed a finger down my side, over my

hip, across my thigh. “And I don"t want anything complicated. Simple, nothing too

busy. I like things…” Leaning in close, stopping with our lips nearly touching, he

whispered, “Tight.”

I sucked in a breath, and Sabian laughed, letting his lip just graze mine before

he pulled back. He walked around me. I stayed still, but my senses homed in on his

every move, following him past the edges of my peripheral vision until he stopped

behind me. I closed my eyes, listening, sensing, trying to guess where he"d touch

me—
if
he"d touch me.

Fingertips landed softly on my shoulders, and I jumped, pushing against his

hands.

“This okay?” The playful lilt in his question told me he knew exactly how okay

this was.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“Good.” He gathered my hair and drew it back into a handheld ponytail. Hand

over hand, he stroked my hair, not pulling enough to hurt, but tugging just enough

to let me know he could make it hurt if he wanted to.

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Lauren Gallagher

After a moment, he laid my hair over one shoulder. Then he held my hips and

pulled me against him, and when he spoke, his lips brushed my neck.

“What do you think, Ms. Rhodes?” His soft goatee and softer breath tickled my

skin. “Do you have what I"m looking for?”

I turned my head, bringing him back into my peripheral vision. “I guess you

should find out, shouldn"t you?”

“I guess I should.” He cupped my jaw in one hand and craned his neck enough

to kiss me.

Then he let me go. He walked around my desk and sank into my chair. The

chair offered a halfhearted creak as Sabian got comfortable. Putting one ankle on

his opposite knee, he beckoned to me. I came around the desk and faced him.

Leaning his elbow on one armrest, he thumbed his goatee. “Let"s see what

you"ve got, then.” With his other hand, he gestured at me. “Take off your coat.”

I shrugged it off. Sabian was in my chair, which was where I usually hung it,

so just this once, my neurotic anti-clutter mind would have to deal with my jacket

draped over the top of the file cabinet.

“I"d have you unbutton your blouse,” he said. “But it looks like you"ve already

gotten a head start.”

I looked down. I"d deliberately left the first couple of buttons open, keeping it

within the realms of office-appropriate while still giving someone like him, a few

inches taller than me, a good view.

Looking at him again, I said, “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Oh, you didn"t disappoint.” He traced his lower lip with the tip of his finger,

and if I hadn"t already been turned on beyond reason, that asymmetrical grin would

have done the job. “You didn"t disappoint at all.” The same finger gestured at my

blouse before returning to his lip. “Unbutton the next two.”

Once I"d done so, he nodded with approval.

“I like it just like that. So I can see some, but not all.” His lips curved into that

devilish grin that was rapidly becoming familiar. “Leaves my imagination to fill in

the rest.”

“You"ve seen the rest,” I said.

“Not with that bra, I haven"t. Red lace looks good on you, by the way.” He put

his foot down and sat back, folding his hands over his belt buckle. “Come a little

closer.”

I did, stopping when our knees nearly touched. He gestured at my foot and