That Mistletoe Moment (20 page)

“So, Rachel, what is it you do?”

Crap. Maybe this was a first date. Next, he'd ask what her favorite movie was.

Gabe wrapped a small taco up tightly and took a bite. No sour cream squirting out the end. No salsa dribbling down his chin. Very impressive.

“I'm an assistant editor at
Verve
magazine. We're up on the thirty-eighth floor.” She washed down a bite of pepper with a swig of soda. “And you? When you're not telling stories in elevators, what do you do?”

“I work at a company that develops software. I was visiting with a friend up on forty-six.” He shoveled in a huge bite, ending that line of conversation.

Rachel's stomach dropped, just a little. He didn't work in the building. She'd probably never see him again. Which was fine. She sawed into the enchilada, cheese spilling out the end. She had to focus on her work. She needed one last great story pulled together before the end of the year if she wanted to nail down that promotion.

“What type of software?” she asked.

He swallowed. “We develop algorithms that aid in communications.”

“Like, for phone companies?” Did she even care? She was never going to see this man again. She didn't need to pretend to be interested in his job.

“Something like that.” Leaning back, Gabe crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with a searching look. “So, Rachel Sanders, any boyfriends?”

“Uh, not currently.” Her voice tilted up on the last word, making the statement sound more like a question.

“When was the last relationship you were in? Why did it end?” He swept his eyes up and down her body. There was no heat behind his gaze this time. Just assessment.

Rachel straightened her spine. What the hell? He sounded like her grandmother. Even for awkward first-date questions, those were pretty damn bold. They were definitely more like third-date queries.

She gave him a sweet smile. “Well, in order, none of your business, and really none of your business.”

He pinched his lips together. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just don't believe in beating around the bush.”

“You'd rather chuck a grenade into the bush instead?” Rachel mimicked his posture, crossing her arms over her chest. “Those are pretty hot-button questions.”

Gabe flicked his eyes to her chest and back to her face. Yes, crossing her arms over her chest did give her some instant cleavage beneath her V-neck sweater. And yes, she knew that would happen when she did it. So sue her.

“I'm a busy man, Rachel Sanders. If you dumped your last boyfriend because he ate a PB&J and you hate peanut butter, I think that's something better known right up front.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. In the bright light, Rachel could see flecks of hazel in his blue eyes. “Not liking peanut butter is a serious character flaw in my book, and I'd want to cut my losses early if that were the case.”

She tried to keep her expression stern. “What if he was eating that peanut butter sandwich in bed, getting crumbs all over my new Egyptian cotton sheets? I can't have crumbs in my bed, no matter how good the sandwich. Surely you can understand.”

“As long as it's not a general dislike of peanut butter that kicked a man out of your bed.” He picked up another taco. “I'll allow for some time and place restrictions.”

“That's big of you.” A trickle of hot sauce ran down his thumb. Rachel's eyes tracked its path. Finishing the taco, Gabe held her gaze and stuck the tip of that finger in his mouth, sucked the sauce off.

Heat flared in her core and spread through her body, like she'd been the one licking hot sauce. When he smiled, she knew her blush had given her away.

With the thumb that had just been in his mouth, he traced a circle on the top of her wrist. “Like I said, I'll allow for it. But if you don't want peanut butter in your bed, I think you're missing out on some fun.”

Did she think she was hot before? She knew her fair skin was as red now as if she'd just eaten a ghost pepper. His damp thumb continued to rub circles into her skin, her pulse leaping to his touch. If he could make her tingle just by rubbing her wrist—

“Rachel!”

Rachel snapped out of her trance and looked around the cafeteria. Her boss waved, and wended her way through the tables to reach them.

“Rachel.” Janice looked at Gabe and her eyes lit up. “Is this Trevor? Do we finally get to meet the fiancé?”

Oh shit. As discreetly as possible, she tugged her hand free from Gabe's. He raised an eyebrow, and she looked away, not wanting to see the accusation in his gaze. She'd told him she didn't have a boyfriend, and now he thought she was engaged.

“Hi, Janice.” She forced a bright smile. When in doubt, bluff. “No, this is Gabe Harris. Trevor is still out of town. Gabe, this is my boss, Janice Richland.”

“Oh.” Janice looked between Rachel and Gabe, the lines on her forehead deepening. “And who's Gabe? Just a friend of yours?”

Was there an emphasis on
friend?
Rachel wasn't sure, but the pit that opened up in her stomach told her this could be bad. Gabe already thought she was a liar. That little flirtation was over. But if he told her boss that she'd been coming on to him, and her boss thought that she was cheating on her fake fiancé, she could kiss her promotion good-bye. Along with the respect of all her coworkers. A magazine that prided itself on family values and doling out sound relationship advice wouldn't consider a cheater for the associate editor position, not when there were several other qualified applicants to choose from.

She darted her eyes around the cafeteria, hoping to find inspiration in the tinsel-wrapped pillars and holiday displays.

“No, not just a friend of Rachel's,” Gabe said. Rachel's heart sank to her toes. He was going to out her that she picked up random men in the elevator. Everything she'd been working for since college was going to slip through her fingers. Editor positions were few and far between in St. Louis. No other national publications of the same scale were based here. She'd have to move if she wanted to stay in the magazine business. Or look for a job that didn't use her English degree. She'd never realize her dream of becoming the youngest associate editor in
Verve
history.

Gabe rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Rachel, do you want to tell your boss just who I am? Or should I?”

CHAPTER 3

P
ink flooded her face and continued down to the alluring shadows hiding beneath her V-neck sweater. Gabe dragged his gaze back up. She did have some beautiful curves, but it wouldn't do to ogle Rachel in front of her boss.

The boss. She was still waiting for an answer. And Rachel looked like she might throw up at any second. She looked so miserable that messing with her stopped being fun. He took pity.

Standing, he held out a hand to Janice. “I'm a good friend of Trevor's.” He moved behind Rachel and rested a palm on her shoulder, squeezing. “I just moved to town and Trevor volunteered to show me around, help me find a place to live, all that. But since he's not here . . .” He let the woman draw her own conclusions.

“Isn't that sweet of Trevor? Asking Rachel to fill in for him.” The tight pinch to Janice's lips relaxed, and she smiled down at Rachel. Gabe thought it was actually sweet of Rachel. If anything he was saying was true. Not the mythical Trevor who'd just fobbed a friend off on his fiancée.

Fiancé. That was a new twist on Build-A-Boyfriend. What would possess a woman to invent a fiancé? Rachel seemed normal enough, but pretending to be engaged took the pathetic factor of their clients up to a whole new level. He examined her from head to toe. She looked fine. Really, she was quite pretty. That wasn't her problem. Yet he knew for a fact she was using his service.

“You should read some of the texts Trevor sends her,” Janice continued. “So thoughtful. And the flowers he sent when he had to miss her birthday last month traveling for his job? Beautiful.”

“That's my boy,” he said. Well, that
was
his idea. An extra service, and fee, for clients who wanted flowers delivered on special occasions. Warmth flooded his chest. His company was putting out an impressive product. “He's great with the texting.”

Janice waved a finger at Gabe. “But tell your friend that work isn't everything. He needs to stop traveling so much and settle down so he can spend more time with Rachel. Do you know he's been too busy to even take her ring shopping?”

Gabe looked down at her bare third finger. Or meant to. The path to that finger took him past the mouthwatering view of her cleavage. Standing behind her gave him a great angle. It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity. “That is something I will definitely get on my friend about. Don't you worry.”

Finally finding her voice, Rachel said, “I'll be back up to work in a minute. I'm just finishing up lunch.”

Janice waved her concern aside. “No problem. It was nice meeting you, Gabe.”

“You too.” The woman walked away, and Gabe had no more excuses to stand behind Rachel. With one final look at the pale swells nestled in a blue silk bra, he circled back to his chair. “Well, well, well. Very interesting.”

She leaned forward. “Gabe, I'm sorry. I know I said I don't have a boyfriend—”

“Because you don't. You have a made-up fiancé.” Could that be a new business venture? He couldn't imagine many people wanting to take Build-A-Boyfriend that far. “I wasn't expecting that.”

“Wait. What?” She shook her head. “How do you know my fiancé isn't real? And why aren't you mad?”

Hmm.
Would a normal guy be angry in this situation? Probably just wary. And he'd ask questions. “I knew you couldn't be in a relationship, or at least, not a happy one, not with the way you reacted to me.” He ignored her narrowed eyes. Facts were facts. “And it's not up to me to judge you on why you're lying to your boss. Seems harmless enough.” He tilted his head. “So, do you have a second phone you text yourself from, or do you have a friend do it?”

“I don't text myself.” She tugged at the hem of her sweater. “That's ridiculous. I just . . . pay someone else to do it for me.” There went that blush again. She was like a glowworm, lighting up whenever she was embarrassed or lied. She'd make a terrible spy. “Lots of people do it. This company has plenty of clients, not just me.”

“Company?” He, on the other hand, was rather impressed with his talent at deception. The way he was leading her on, he could be the next James Bond.

Rachel sighed, and pushed a sugar packet around the table with her finger. “It's called Build-A-Boyfriend, although they make up girlfriends, too.”

Gabe bit his tongue. The “girlfriends” made up less than 10 percent of their business. He couldn't dress it up. Women were just more desperate to appear wanted than men.

“I pay a monthly service fee and they send me texts from ‘Trevor' ”—she made air quotes around the name—“and some voice mails. Even a flower delivery when I ask, with a handwritten card. It's really quite a good service.”

“I'm sure it is,” Gabe said. It had to be if he was going to go public. Maybe this hadn't been such a stupid idea of Ben's, getting to know their customers. They were still pathetic, no doubt. Even Rachel must be in some way. She just hid it well. But the customer feedback he got could be invaluable to improving Build-A-Boyfriend.

Glancing at her watch, Rachel gathered the trash onto their tray.

“Why did you sign up for it?” Gabe asked.

She stood. “I have to get back to work.”

He rose with her, and picked up her phone. He called his own number, waited for the faint ringtone from his pants pocket, and disconnected. “There.” He handed her the phone. “Now you can get more texts to add to your inventory.” He waggled his eyebrows. “And I'm for free, baby.”

She rolled her eyes. But she didn't object to his having her phone number. Of course, he already had it programmed in his phone, but she didn't know that. Now, when he contacted her, he wouldn't seem like a creepy stalker.

And he would contact her. Gabe hadn't figured her out yet, and he needed definite proof that she was just another loser if he was going to get free labor from his managers for the next three months.

With a hand on her lower back, he guided her through the tables and toward the elevator. Rachel seemed like a desirable woman, but he knew the truth would be hidden deep inside her. She must have some fatal problem that drove men away.

A lock of reddish hair slipped from its pins and drifted down to coil around her neck. He tightened his fingers on her back. Her issue must be big to have men ignoring her obvious attractions.

She turned soft brown eyes up to him. “Are you going back up to your friend's office?”

“No.” A large group of people filed into the elevator. Taking an elevator ride with Rachel when he had to behave before witnesses just didn't hold the same appeal as their ride down. Placing a hand on the doors to keep them open, he shepherded her in.

She turned back to face him. “Well, thanks again. For everything.”

Keeping up appearances before her boss was much more important to her than the lunch he'd bought, he knew. “Glad I could help.” And damn if he wasn't. “I'll be in touch.”

The doors slid closed, cutting her off from view.

Gabe pressed the Up button and waited for the next elevator. Someone walked up next to him.

“Was that her?” Ben asked. “Did you already find her? We picked that client because she works in the same building, but that was fast, even for you.”

“I ran into her purely by accident.” The elevator doors slid open, and Gabe stepped back to let people off. “Rachel stepped onto my elevator.”

“Rachel.” Ben followed him into the cab and hit the button for their floor. “I thought you'd refer to her as client 2375F. That's how you see them, after all. As numbers.”

Gabe ground his back teeth together, and glared at the bicycle messenger who was listening to their conversation. Gabe was getting tired of his friend's harping on about that. Like Ben was above profit. Like he didn't enjoy his new sports car as much as Gabe did his. When did wanting to be successful become a bad thing in America?

“So, is she a ‘pathetic loser' like you think all the rest of them are?” Ben trailed Gabe off the elevator and toward his office.

“I had one conversation with her.” Gabe loosened his tie and strode to the floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the back wall of his office. The Arch rose a couple of blocks away, and the St. Louis skyline made a pretty picture. A picture that told Gabe he'd finally made it. His years of holding down two jobs while going to school, of watching his single mother break her back waiting tables and taking side jobs to pay the bills, those days were over.

But he knew he was always just one bad business decision away from it all going to hell.

“One conversation wasn't enough for you to see that she was a normal woman?” Ben's brow wrinkled. “Was she a bitch?”

Gabe laid a palm on the cool glass of the window. “No, she was perfectly pleasant.” Except for those claws she'd dug into his side. He smiled. He'd deserved those.

“Did she eat with her mouth open? Have BO?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Gabe dropped into his chair. “No, nothing like that.”

Ben crossed his arms over his faded
Star Wars
T-shirt. “And yet you still refuse to admit that you were wrong about our clients. That they're nice, normal women.” The creases in his forehead deepened. “Is it that hard for you to see the good in people?”

Gabe tried to suck in a deep breath, but his chest was too tight. Little by little, time had chipped away at his and Ben's friendship. It used to be the two of them against the world. All-nighters spent planning their business, bouncing ideas off each other over beers. When had Ben started looking at him with a hint of distaste?

Gabe clenched his fist against his thigh. “I see people just fine. Some women can hide their crazy better than others. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“I have stacks of work on my desk, too.” Ben pushed to his feet. “But work's not everything.”

“Part of this work includes texting client 2375F. Since I've met her now, I can't do her voice mails. Jerry will have to remain on point with those.” Gabe slid his phone from his pocket. His engineers had set it up so he could text from “Trevor's” number on it, as well as his own. He tapped his fingers along the top of the phone. Ben's disapproval sat in his gut as heavy as last year's fruitcake, and his bet didn't seem so fun anymore.

“Unless you want to concede . . . ?” Gabe lifted an eyebrow, trying to appear nonchalant. It would be better if this bet were over. He could put all his energy back into work. No distractions. No more peeking down Rachel's sweater. No more inappropriate elevator rides.

Gabe grunted. Her cleavage hadn't been that great anyway.

And if he believed that, reindeer could fly.

“No, I'm not conceding.” Ben paused at the door. “I haven't given up on you yet.”

And with that absurd statement, he coasted out, pulling the door to Gabe's office shut behind him.

Gabe stared at it. Missing his friend. He saw Ben every day, but he missed him all the same.

Spinning around in his chair, he looked out at the skyline. This view might have cost him more than his blood, sweat, and tears. Their rise to the top had changed his friend. Ben had become soft, distracted.

For Gabe, the view had always focused him. Shown him what hard work and some risk-taking could get a man. Inspired him to work harder so he could have an office with a view of the Manhattan skyline, too. And he'd get it. After going public, a branch office on the East Coast would be the next logical step.

Opening up the messaging function on his phone, he logged in as Trevor. And stared at the little blinking cursor.

And stared.

What the hell should he write?
Hope you're having a nice day, sweetie
. Gabe frowned and hit Delete. After meeting Rachel, such an everyday comment seemed tedious. Damn it, this was what computers were for. Coming up with this bilge automatically. What would Rachel's boyfriend—
fiancé,
he corrected himself—write to her? His company's past emails to her were too damn boring for his tastes.

A smile tugged at his lips. Leaning back in his chair, he tossed his feet up on a small filing cabinet and crossed one ankle over the other.

He knew what a man would text his fiancée. Especially if she was a woman like Rachel. If “Trevor” was away from her for days at a time, there was only one thing a man would think about.

This bet might be more fun than he'd anticipated.

Just as long as he didn't get his company sued for sexual harassment.