Page 12 of A Little Moore Action
“Okay,” she says with a decisive nod. “Business lunch. We can order in.” She thanks Susan for all her help before taking her bags. “Do you have an office or conference room we could commandeer?”
“Of course.” I smother my triumphant grin, which is probably wildly inappropriate for a business lunch, and turn to Susan. “Thanks for your help, Susan.”
The too-knowing older gal with her perfectly coifed silver hair turns a sly look my way. “My pleasure, Mr. Moore.” She smiles at Campbell. “You two enjoy yourbusinesslunch.”
“We will. And call me Chase, Susan.” Ignoring her amused snort, I hold out my hands to take Campbell’s bags from her.
One finely arched, auburn brow quirks up as she hands them over. “I can carry those myself, you know.”
“Yes, I know.” But I don’t give them back.
She rolls her eyes but does it with a smile. With a final nod to Susan, who looks far too pleased with herself, I lead Campbell away from the counter, happy with today’s turn of events.
That good feeling stays with me for all of five minutes.
That’s how long it takes for the wolves to descend. Or should I say cougars? But that isn’t accurate either. Moore’s hires a diverse selection of men and women. And while only a few of the men want to shake hands with the new boss,allof the women do. Or shake something, as we work our way out of the store.
“Mr. Moore!” a saleswoman calls to us from across the department. “We just received an absolutely fabulous selection of silk boxers this morning.” She runs her hands down the sides of her tight dress. “Would you like me to select a few for you?”
Unfortunately, the route to the elevator takes Campbell and me right past her. “No thank you, Ashley,” I say, squinting to read the name tag on her chest she’s thrusting at me.
“Oh.” She blinks rapidly. “Perhaps you’re more of a boxer brief man, then?” There’s a hopeful note in her voice. I can tell she wants me to play along. To laugh. Flirt.
Usually, I’d be that guy. I’d play the part that I often do just to rile my father. I’d tease a bit, smile at everyone, even wink at the older gals who’ve known me since my diaper years. But today I don’t want to be that guy.
Today, in the presence of Ms. Campbell King, a woman with the reputation of a marketing genius, I want to be the guy who impresses with his business acumen, who takes the time to listen to a publicity plan without having to fend off lingering arm touches and innuendo.
I smile tightly at a disappointed Ashley before moving past her. Unfortunately, Ashley isn’t the last to stop us on our way.
“Your staff is very… dedicated,” Campbell says, her voice dripping in Southern syrup, after I played dumb when stopped by an overly eager furniture saleswoman asking about how hard I liked my wood.
“They’re, uh, still getting used to seeing me on the floor,” I manage, relief flooding through me when I catch sight of the gold-framed elevator doors that lead to the office floors.
The corner of her mouth twitches. “Mmm-hmm.”
I insert the special keycard to operate the elevator and stand back to let Campbell through. Her brown eyes are sparkling, the light taupe-colored freckles highlighted by the small chandelier in the elevator foyer. And when I catch sight of her backside, clad in her new formfitting pencil skirt, my dick decides that her mouth shouldn’t be the only thing twitching.
Especially when Campbell starts humming “All Shook Up.”
FIVE
Bell
“Coming?”
My new Jimmy Choos trip over the low pile carpet outside his office, but I quickly right myself. The bastard smiles, like he knows what that one little word did to me. Actually, that isn’t quite fair. It’s a nice smile. A professional smile. One that turns concerned at my small stumble. I’m the one with the one-track mind, apparently.
“Ah, yes. Coming.”I wish.
Leave it until this moment for my body to finally decide to make sexual attraction a priority. I’ve been in business over eight years, and never once have I been distracted like this. I’d be able to overcome his general good looks if he wasn’t also sonice. I’ve done business with plenty of good-looking men. I’ve even done business with good-looking men who’d made it obvious they wanted more than just my business strategy.
Leslie likes to joke that I’m lacking in sexual mojo. And maybe I’d believe her if I wasn’t so thoroughly enamored of playing with my battery-operated personal massager while binge replaying Jason Momoa’s scenes inGame of Thrones. Or Stephen Amell fromArrow.
Both of whom are bad boys. Not nice guys. Like Chase, when he over-tipped the barista earlier, or made sure to find me new clothes, and then played along when Susan told embarrassing stories of him as a kid. Then there was the rest of his staff.
He was stopped multiple times on our way to the staff elevator. And true, a lot of that had been women flirting with him, a bit outrageously even. But he’d stopped every time with a kind word and a genuine interest in their lives.
I’ve always heard nice was the kiss of death. That nice boys finish last.
