The Superfox (7 page)

“So you don't like your job?”

She relaxed and realized they were holding hands. She hadn't even noticed who had reached for whom. “It's a job. I don't expect to like it. Luckily, I like my team. I like my boss. I like my corner office. But I can't help feeling like there should be...”

“More?”

“Exactly. How'd you end up here?”

Mark smirked and traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “You know how I ended up here. Dr. Horne stole me. I thought I wanted to be a big-shot celeb photographer, but the reality of glamour is that it's all just glamour. I'd rather take photos of tires and cell phones in my own studio than get yelled at by a coked up starlet because her salad has the wrong pecorino. And I have more time for hobbies.”

“Like building a house.”

He pulled her hand close and nipped playfully at her pinky. “Don't make fun. Running around an office all day, never producing anything but pixels, you have to understand how satisfying it is to make something real. Something useful. Other guys my age are buying big-ass houses and spending all weekend making their fenced yards greener. I'm building a small house that will eventually provide all its own food and water and cost absolutely nothing to run. Find me one other person as self-satisfied as I am and I'll eat them.”

Lissa sighed. “I'm actually kind of jealous. I have this long list of things I want to do, but I somehow never do them. I guess that's the dark side of project management: it's never done. You never get to type THE END or delete a document. There's always another bug. And my phone pings all night like a starving kitten that needs to be fed.”

“So stop feeding it.”

“Pfft. And kill a kitten?”

He moved her hand to his chest and looked off toward the window. “You can change your life any time you want to. It's ridiculously easy. You just have to make the choice, even if it's scary. What do you actually want to do?”

Lissa took a deep breath and suddenly felt very young and silly. “I don't know. I want to make something, too. Do something creative. I always thought I might write a book. Or, I don't know, take a painting class. But I get home and I'm just too exhausted and end up zoning out with a bowl of soup and The Walking Dead.”

“So don't go home. Go somewhere else. Comfort is the enemy.”

Lissa laughed and leaned sideways, her head on his arm. “You make it sound so easy.”

“That's the big secret. It
is
easy.”

“You only say that because you did it and it worked. Hindsight.”

His laughter rumbled against her, comfortable and comforting. “Exactly. I did it, and you can, too. Just don't leave this office. It wouldn't be any fun, going all day here without seeing you.”

They went silent for a moment, and Lissa had to still the trembling in her chest. She hadn't really bothered to think past the night, past the snowstorm, back to a world where people wore all of their clothes and nodded politely in the hall and went home before sunset. Arriving in the morning, hoping to see him in the parking lot or catch him in the break room—it gave her the same sort of flutters she'd had in high school when she was crushing on a guy. That will-he, won't-we, the passing smiles, the little notes, maybe a lunch hour spent outside on the benches by the lake once it warmed up. That was as far as she could think, but it painted a pretty picture that she didn't want to give up.

“Oh, I think I'll stick around. Although I was thinking of applying for that job in marketing. Writing copy and doing some graphic design.”

“Isn't that entry level?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I figure I could leave my work here every night. Nothing blows up because someone forgot to finish a sentence about cereal.”

“You should do it, then.”

Warmth bloomed in Lissa's chest. “Maybe I will.”

Mark sat up and pulled her into his lap, stroking her tangled hair back. “So what would your dream life be?”

Leaning back against his chest, Lissa sighed. “Something like what I have now, but with more adventures. I read all the books and comics and watch the movies, but it's pretty boring on my side of the screen.”

“No husband, house, labradoodle, 2.5 children?”

“Two-point-five children would be really messy. And so would a labradoodle. And I don't like cleaning. But...” How to say it without sounding totally desperate? “Everybody wants to find someone who makes them feel on fire, right?”

Mark laced his fingers through hers. “That's what they say.”

“You ever gotten close?”

He shrugged behind her. “Dated one girl for a couple of years, but it turned into work. A relationship might be work, but a person shouldn't be. She ended up marrying a buddy of mine. Turned into a total bridezilla. Ate Tokyo.”

“You're lucky you escaped that. I've never understood why some women get so upset over flowers and canapes. I'd rather get married on the beach.”

“Same here.” He said it so simply, but thrills shivered through her as Mark set his cheek against her hair. “You ever come close?”

“Not so much. I told you—I intimidate most nice boys. But I don't like bullies or blowhards. It's a fine line. All the books and movies have convinced me that only a superhero will do. And there are no superheroes.”

“I could go find a radioactive spider, if you think that would help.”

Lissa didn't know how to fill the awkward silence as he waited for her response, so she nuzzled up against him and said, “You could always just build a fancy robot suit. Radioactivity can be very dangerous.”

“My middle name is Dangerous.”

She looked up, her lips so close to his. “Mark Dangerous Ranger.”

“Just kidding. It's Edward.”

“Mine's Diana.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

And he kissed her, sweet and simple as that, as if they'd done it a thousand times. No tongue, no crashing, just warm lips and an arm cradling her shoulders. When Mark pulled away, his smile just about melted her down to her toes.

“Well, if it's worth anything, Melissa Diana Wonder Woman Martin, I think you're pretty super.”

***

After that, they snuggled on the futon for about twenty minutes in companionable, easy silence before Lissa realized she hadn't peed in hours and was about to explode. She stood to put her jeans on, and Mark held out her Catwoman shirt with a sweet smile. It was like teens getting dressed after losing their virginity together, and Lissa blushed and turned her back to him before shrugging out of the robe and ducking into her shirt. Mark looked like he wanted to say something more, something serious, but he must've noticed her dancing back and forth a little.

The ladies' room was so bright, cold, and clinical after the cocoon-like warmth of the art department, but she felt a thousand times better, afterward. And she couldn't wait to get back to Mark, maybe watch a new movie or laugh over an old one they both loved. If only she could see his book case and movie cabinet, she would've truly known if they had the long-term compatibility she hoped for. You could take the girl out of the geeky panties, but you couldn't take the geek out of the girl, and if he had The Notebook somewhere, a serious talk would be in their future.

Lissa had never felt so well-loved and filled with hope as she walked the hallway from the bathroom back to the Art Department. There weren't any chocolates to guide her way this time, but she didn't need them. She'd swallowed the red pill, and it had already taken effect, and there was no way she could ever see Mark, a camera, or, yes, even a chair again without a fluttery shudder in her belly. Heaven knows she'd probably get aroused the next time she read a comic book or saw a gold tassel. Her only regret was that she didn't have any more clean panties and had to go commando in her jeans.

Before she reached the cracked door to his office, she could hear Mark's voice. He sounded altogether more cool and professional than he did when he talked to her, when every word seemed to imply something secret. Must've been business—a client, maybe. She didn't want to interrupt, so she hovered in the hall.

“Yeah, man. It's done. Nailed it. Just like I said. Guess that's one thing good about the snowstorm, right?” He paused and paced. “It's all good. Trapped in an empty building, it's not like there's anything else to do. Took me long enough, I know. But I couldn't finish her off with everyone around, for obvious reasons.” He paused, and she heard a camera click. “Yeah, right here. Let me do some editing, and you'll have images by Monday. She's going to look goddamn beautiful. Should have no trouble with the sale. Yeah, got it. Later.”

He hung up, and it took everything Lissa had not to slide down the wall into a puddle of heartbreak on the floor. How could he? How could he discuss her like that with someone else? Sure, it had been a little insane, feeling that connection with a stranger and being trapped alone in an empty building and doing things that she'd never done before or even allowed herself to fantasize about—but she thought what they had felt was real. It killed her, the way he said it, so breezy and dispassionate and businesslike... as if she were just a thing, just a notch in the bedpost.

Seriously, “nailed it”?

Lissa shook her head. He hadn't “nailed” her.

She had done just as much nailing as he had.

And he'd promised her she could have the SD card, that no one else would ever see. And now, not only did someone else know, not only was it part of some previous deal or bet, but he was going to edit the goddamn images before selling them? To what—airbrush out her curves and turn her into some Wonder Woman Barbie doll?

She's burn the entire fucking building down before she'd let that happen.

Lissa was just about to slam the door open and tear his ass in half when the phone rang again.

“Ranger here.” He paused and paced. “Seriously, Dennihy, Monday's the earliest. Take it or leave it.”

He hung up, and she heard the phone clatter against his desk as if he'd tossed it.

Lissa was so angry that her head was hot, her hands in fists and aching for a punching bag. Of all the people in the entire fucking world, it had to be Dennihy. The slimeball who'd tried to get into her pants and then tried to get her fired when she rejected him in no uncertain terms. The dickwad whose desk had been the final resting place of her crumbs, in whose office she coughed like crazy whenever she got sick and had once rubbed fingers all over his phone and keyboard right before she went home with a stomach virus.

There wasn't a drop of Thor in Mark Ranger. He was all Loki, and only the ugly, cruel, avaricious, evil parts. Did he even know the depths to which he'd hurt her? That he'd taken advantage of her hope, her openness? That he'd lured her into playing a game that she was doomed to lose? They were so compatible, from careers to hobbies to ability to quote all the best superhero movies. He was, up until five minutes ago, the most perfect man she'd ever met outside of books.

And he was just a big, fake asshole.

A supervillain.

Lissa spun on her bare heel and was just about to quick-walk to her office and deploy a lovely little Trojan her team had given her for Christmas into the Art Department server when Mark's door opened and nearly hit her in the butt.

“There you are. Thor cordially offers to make you a grilled cheese—”

She was already walking away, furious, her eyes stinging. How dare he pretend like nothing was wrong, like everything was just fine and he was both adorable and thoughtful?

“Melissa? What's wrong?”

She shook her head and moved it up to a jog, hating with every uncomfortable, denim-rubbing step that she had to be reminded that he'd destroyed all her panties.

When she heard him hurrying behind her, she sped up, darted into her office, slammed the door, and locked it.

“Lissa?”

“Go the fuck away, you raging bag of dicks!”

“Did I do something wrong? Can I come in and talk?”

His voice was muffled through the thick wood. She sat at her chair, pulled out her keyboard, and waited for her desktop to wake up.

“No. Go away so I can ruin your life.”

“Can I ask why?”

Lissa had tried and failed to type her password. Three times. Her hands were shaking, and she could barely see through tear-blurred eyes. She looked up at the door.

“
Nailed it. Nothing else to do. That's the good thing about a snowstorm
. Sound familiar?”

Silence.

“I said does it sound familiar, motherfucker?” she shouted.

Silence. And then a weird zip and click, and her door opened. Lissa jumped to her feet.

“What the unholy fuck, Ranger? Fucking me over isn't enough? You have to break into my office, too? Your ledger is officially red. Nothing but red.”

Mark held up a credit card. “If you call swiping a plastic card under the lock breaking in, then I guess I'm back in Loki mode.” He put the card back in a black wallet and shoved it into his kilt pocket before stalking to her desk and wrapping his fingers around the edge.

“So you were listening in?”

“To you promising to sell Dennihy my porno on Monday? Um, yeah.”

If she hadn't been watching his face carefully at exactly that moment, she might've missed the truly extraordinary riot of expressions that crossed his features. Surprise, horror, and rage, swiftly followed by understanding and his impish grin.

“Did anyone ever tell you that spying was dangerous?”

Scowling, Lissa pretended to shoot her cuffs, then extended a middle finger right at his chest. “Boom,” she muttered. “I can't believe you had that conversation, like, ten minutes after 'nailing it'. I mean, do you even... I really thought...” She hung her head and ground a fist into the desk. “It doesn't matter what I thought. Go away. I'm going to tell Dr. Horne and get you fired. And buy a little Loki action figure and roast it over an open fire.”

“Whatever you think you just heard, you're wrong. And I can prove it.”

She looked up, 99% hate and 1% hope. “You can prove you didn't just talk to David Fuckface Dennihy about banging me? I mean, did you guys have a bet going or something?”

He held out his hand. “We had a business arrangement.” Even though her mouth dropped open in horror, his warm smile didn't waver. “And it wasn't about you. Lissa, give me one chance to change your mind.”