That Man 1 Page 3

  “Why won’t Gloria buy time on the network?” I asked. I so wanted Gloria’s Secret to be one of our advertisers. I’d given Jaime my business; it was only fair Gloria gave me hers.

  “You know Gloria. It has to be a good fit.”

  Like my cock? I mused. I dared not say this, knowing how fiercely possessive Jaime was of Gloria. He couldn’t even take a joke.

  Jaime took a swig of his beer. “She’s only interested in the female 18-49 demographic.”

  Anchoring an elbow on the table, I ran my hand though my hair in defeat. It wasn’t happening. Hardly any women watched SIN-TV. After another gulp of the foamy beer, I abruptly changed the subject—kind of. It was still about Gloria.

  “How did you know that Gloria was different from the other babes you’d been with?”

  Jaime shot me a perplexed what-the-fuck look. “I just knew. When I met her, I swear my heart got a hard-on.”

  “Was she your type?”

  “Hardly. I usually went for petite brunettes.”

  Gloria was a blond Amazon. A towering, golden goddess.

  “What made her different?”

  “The challenge. She was hard to get.”

  Newly engaged Jennifer was impossible to get. “Doesn’t being married cramp your lifestyle?”

  “Being married is my lifestyle. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I look forward to going to sleep with Gloria and waking up to her. I love every minute I spend with her and the twins. They’re the loves of my life.”

  A smile lit up Jaime’s face. It always did when it came to Gloria and the twins.

  “Doesn’t the sex get old?”

  “Not with Gloria. It only gets better.”

  “How did you know you loved her?” Kill me now. I was beginning to sound girly.

  “On a plane ride. Extreme turbulence. I knew if we went down, I wanted to go down with her. I couldn’t live without her.”

  Jaime had almost twice lost Gloria. Nine months ago, she nearly died giving birth to their beautiful twins. Before that, they’d both almost lost their lives when this crazy Russian creep threatened them at gunpoint at a gala. I happened to have been there last year. It was total life and death insanity.

  Jaime furrowed his brows. “Blake, why are you asking me all these questions?”

  I took another gulp of my beer. “Just curious.”

  “Bullshit. You’ve met someone.”

  I felt my cheeks heat and guzzled the rest of the beer.

  “Come on, man. Out with it. Who is she?”

  “Just some girl I met last night.” With a shrug, I tried to sound nonchalant while Jennifer’s face filled every crevice of my brain. My cock tensed just thinking about her. Her lips on my mine. Those fiery green eyes. That cute little ass, pert breasts, and those long legs that seemed to stem from her rib cage. I had bopped by her office a dozen times today under the pretense of seeing how she was doing. The truth: I just wanted to see her. She must have thought I didn’t trust her or was a micro-managing stalker. I wasn’t about to tell Jaime that she was my new hire. That I was her boss.

  “What’s she like?”

  “She seems nice.” Shit. Nice wasn’t part of my vocabulary. I didn’t do nice. I didn’t like nice.

  “Nice?” Jaime burst into a fit of laughter and almost choked on his beer. “That’s so not like you.”

  Jaime was well aware of my reputation for hooking-up with starlets and models. They were a dime a dozen in Los Angeles. Kirstens, Kristies, Krystals, Kieras. I couldn’t keep them straight. Most of them, looking to make it in the business, didn’t mind my modus operandi:

  Find.

  Feel.

  Fuck.

  And forget.

  Especially about a relationship. But I couldn’t forget Jennifer. She wouldn’t let me. I was going to see that pretty face every day for as long as she worked for me.

  “Did you at least get her number?” asked Jaime, catapulting me out my mental ramblings.

  Yeah, I have her number.” I twisted my lips. “There’s one little problem. She’s engaged.”

  “Does she have a ring?”

  “Not yet.”

  Jaime polished off his beer. “Then she’s fair game. And since you’re buying, we’re having another round.”

  “What’s my next step?” I asked as the playful waitress took our order.

  “It’s no different than business or a game of racquetball.” Jaime slid his index finger across his neck like a knife. “Eliminate the competition.”

  Chapter 6

  Jennifer

  “You’re late.” Bradley’s voice was gruff. A punctual person, he had a no tolerance policy for tardiness.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, scrambling into the chair across from him. “There was a lot of traffic on the freeway.” I didn’t tell him about my finger-jamming incident.

  The restaurant Bradley had chosen was a Thai one located in Toluca Lake close to his Burbank office. There had been no fast or easy way to get there from my new Culver City office, especially during rush hour. All throughout the stressful bumper-to-bumper drive, my finger throbbed, and I regretted I hadn’t canceled our date. The only thing good about my achy finger was that it made me think of my new boss, Blake. He had been surprisingly sweet and caring. So different from the arrogant asshole he came off as during my job interview. Maybe working for him wouldn’t be as bad as I thought. But it was definitely going to be a challenge because he was so demanding. And so damn handsome. Okay, devastating.

  While Bradley studied the menu, I took in my surroundings. The restaurant was small, uncrowded, and dimly lit. It reeked of garlic. Bradley liked eating here because it was vegan. He’d recently become one, convinced this lifestyle would prevent deadly heart disease and gingivitis. As long as I’d known him, he’d been a hypochondriac, and being a dentist, he was very germ-phobic. The latter was the main reason he abstained from oral sex and always wore a condom.

  “How was your day?” I began after ordering an iced green tea from the Asian waitress who stopped by our table. Still stressed out, I really craved something alcoholic (thank goodness, vegan wine existed), but the restaurant didn’t have a liquor license. It was just as well since I wanted to be clearheaded for my first work assignment. Bradley ordered his usual—a high protein soy milk shake with wheatgrass. He was not a drinker.

  Without wasting a second, Bradley launched into his day. An endless minute to minute monologue about his patients and their problems—from the elderly man who accidentally threw his dentures into the garbage disposal to the woman who cracked her front tooth on her boyfriend’s penis ring.

  I half-heartedly listened, nodding and intermittently responding with one-word comments, like “wow,” “interesting,” and “eew.” My mind was preoccupied with my work assignment and pleasing my new boss, Blake. The image of his face filled my head. God, he was good-looking with his crooked dimpled smile, smoldering eyes, strong stubbled jaw, and that head full of dark, almost black hair. So different from Bradley, who was clean-shaven with an average build, collegiate style, neatly groomed brownish hair (on the receding side) and a wide, toothy smile. He had the biggest, whitest, straightest teeth I’d ever seen. They seriously belonged in a tooth museum.

  The return of the waitress interrupted our one-way conversation. Bradley ordered curried tofu and a side of garlic eggplant. Still a little nauseated from my finger-jamming incident, I wasn’t very hungry and ordered a small organic vegetable salad. The Serenity Salad. I felt anything but serene.

  “So how was your first day at work?” Finally, he had asked something about me.

  “It was fine. I have a big project, so I can’t stay out too late.” Bradley had no clue that I’d accepted a job with SIN-TV after Conquest Broadcasting’s children’s channel was sold. I was afraid to tell him. Afraid he would judge me. And think I was some kind of slut. Afraid he would leave me.

  “How’s your boss?”

  “He’s nice enough.” And sexy as hell.<
br />
  The waitress returned with our orders. Bradley dug into his curried tofu while I picked at my salad. It was difficult to hold my fork. My finger, now uncovered, still throbbed, making it impossible to get Blake out of my thoughts.

  “And how was your celebration dinner last night?” he asked after shoving a forkful of the saucy bean curd into his mouth.

  “It was great,” I mumbled, that kiss jumping into my brain and wracking havoc on my body. “Wish you’d been there.”

  Unfortunately, Bradley had been unable to attend due to a last minute emergency with one of his patients. One thing about my fiancé . . . he was committed and passionate about his work.

  “Sorry I missed it. And sorry I couldn’t have given you this in front of all your friends.” He slipped his hand into the breast pocket of his navy blazer and held out a small silver box in his palm. It was labeled Zales. My heartbeat sped up.

  He snapped open the lid, and my eyes widened. Inside was a diamond ring. My engagement ring.

  “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I stuttered, utterly disappointed. The square diamond was small and dull. Bradley came from money, not billionaires, but nonetheless money. I’d shown him pictures of rings I liked, none of them extravagant, but not one was like this one. The prospect of being engaged to him and becoming Mrs. Bradley Wick was suddenly more real than it had ever been. He took my shaky left hand in his and slipped the ring onto my ring finger. It fit perfectly.

  “Thank you.” Thank you? Wasn’t I supposed to gasp? Or get goose bumps? Maybe even swoon?

  “It’s official now.” He smiled broadly, revealing that perfect set of pearly white teeth and then leaned across the table to plant a kiss on my lips I was neither prepared for nor wanted. My eyes stayed open. As his lips pressed against mine, the kiss of another man dominated my thoughts and my senses. I’d kissed another last night. A mysterious stranger. And I’d more than liked it. As Bradley’s tight-lipped kiss infused me with the taste of curry and garlic, I longed for those other lips. Those hot, hungry champagne-laced lips and that velvety tongue that had tangoed with mine. Bradley smelled of antiseptic; that man had smelled of sex. My breath hitched in my throat. What was wrong with me? I was engaged to the man who I’d known throughout college, but I longed for another. A man I didn’t know. A faceless man whose lips I craved.

  With guilt stabbing at my heart, I pulled away from Bradley. He went back to his tofu dish, scraping his plate clean, while I barely made a dent in my salad. I just didn’t have an appetite.

  The waitress came by one more time to clear our plates. I told her I’d take the rest of my salad home. Bradley hated waste. When she asked if we wanted dessert, I quickly passed before my fiancé could say a word.

  “I should get going. I’ve got a lot of work to do. And I want to make a favorable impression on my boss.”

  Bradley nodded in approval. “Totally understand.” Yes, a good work ethic was important to Bradley. That’s one of the things about me that had attracted him to me in the first place. I was a conscientious student who always completed my assignments on time and went beyond necessary to get an outstanding grade. We were both anal like that, although Bradley’s anal qualities went beyond mine, almost to an extreme. He was a creature of habit and precision—which manifested itself when the check came.

  He carefully scrutinized it and then pulled out his trusty pocket calculator from his slacks pocket to compute the 17% tip. Nothing more. Nothing less. He then whipped out his impeccably neat wallet and took out his credit card. He placed it precisely in the center of the bill holder and handed it to the waitress when she returned to our table.

  “Do you really like the ring?” Bradley prodded after the waitress slipped away.

  I nodded, faking a small smile.

  He flashed his pearly whites. “I know the stone is a little small, but right now I want to put as much money as I can into my practice.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, hiding my disappointment.

  The truth: Brad was thrifty—to the point of almost being a cheapskate. I think it was connected to his parents, who despite their wealth, lived very modestly, and to his anal behavior. He never valeted his car, parking it blocks away to save money, and liked to shop at bargain outlets. The 99 Cents Only Store was one of his favorites. And apparently so was Zales, and not Tiffany.

  I glanced down at the ring. As dull a diamond as it was, it glimmered in the candlelight. Yet, I didn’t feel a glint of excitement. Not even the tiniest. The candle burnt out and I wondered—had my love for Bradley burnt out? Up until now, I was in denial. And now, we were officially engaged.

  Chapter 7

  Jennifer

  During the workweek, Bradley and I had agreed not to spend the night. He liked to go to sleep early to be bright-eyed for his early morning patients while I was somewhat of a night owl. My late-night activities, which ran the gamut from watching TV or reading a book on my Kindle to raiding the refrigerator, kept him up. Moreover, he firmly believed we should wait until we got married to live together.

  So, after dinner, Bradley and I each went our own way. He stood with me outside the restaurant while I waited for the valet to bring me my car. Bradley had parked his several blocks a way to save money. When my little red Kia arrived, he pecked my cheek and told me he loved me. “Love you back,” I said as I scooted into the driver’s seat. Driving off, I turned on my radio. Alicia Keyes was singing, “This Girl is on Fire.” My heart clenched in my chest. This girl wasn’t.

  The house I shared with Libby was a small two-bedroom Spanish cottage in a modest neighborhood known as Beverly Hills Adjacent. It was the last house on the street, situated between an empty foreclosure and a deserted parking lot. Wearily, I pulled into the driveway.

  I had the house to myself. Libby was working late conducting focus groups. Usually when she had groups at night, she didn’t get home until ten. I wasted no time changing into my comfy-cozy SpongeBob pajamas and curling up on the couch with a cup of chamomile tea and the stack of ratings. Shoving my glasses onto my head, which I needed for distance only, I pored over the numbers.

  My mind, however, kept wandering, and the numbers before me became a blur. I couldn’t get that kiss out of my head. Those lips consuming mine. That tongue. Entwined with mine, swirling and twirling.

  A sick feeling fell over me. I took another sip of my tea. It was just a fluky thing. A silly dare. A silly game. It should mean nothing to me. But it had undeniably aroused feelings and sensations in me I’d never felt before. My heartbeat quickened, and tingles danced between my legs as I kept thinking about it. I closed my eyes and pretended I was kissing that man again, rolling my tongue with the imaginary yet very real one in my head.

  The familiar ring of my cell phone hurled me out of my fantasy. I reached into my shoulder bag parked on the couch next to me. My heart jumped when I saw who was calling on the screen. My boss! Blake Burns. Was he calling to check up on me? To test me?

  “Hello,” I said nervously. The way the word came out sounded almost like a question.

  “Hi.” His voice was relaxed and sultry. It gave me goose bumps. I didn’t know what to say next. Fortunately, he spared me from responding.

  “I was just calling to find out how you’re doing. When I thought about it, I thought maybe I’d overloaded you on your first day at the job.”

  “No, everything’s fine,” I stammered. “I’m used to reviewing numbers. I did a lot of that at USC.”

  “Good. I’ll look forward to your analysis tomorrow. By the way, I’d prefer an oral presentation.”

  The way he breathily drew out the word “oral” made my whole body tremble. The phone shook in my hand.

  “Not a problem.” My voice shook too.

  “Then let me not keep you from your work. Good night, Jennifer.”

  Click. The phone went dead before I could bid him the same. I immediately returned to the stack of papers and studied the numbers. A pattern was emerging
. Men 18+ were in full force in prime time and piqued in the early morning hours. And then, there was almost a total fall off. The great majority of men watching SIN-TV in the daytime were over the age of sixty-five. The morning lineup fell short in the key advertiser demographic—adults 18-49.

  The sound of the front door opening diverted my attention. I looked up. It was Libby with her large canvas messenger bag hooked over her shoulder and a huge stack of folders in her hand. Despite such a long day, she looked vibrant. Ready to party.

  “Hi,” I said, in awe of her stamina. “How did your groups go?”

  “They were really interesting,” she replied, throwing her bag and folders onto the coffee table and then flopping down on an oversized armchair catty-corner to me, her muscular legs dangling over the arm.

  “How so?”

  “I was testing a pilot called Her Space about astronauts’ wives with women for the CBC drama department. Almost everyone complained it wasn’t sexy enough.”

  My ears perked up. “What did they expect?”

  “Something more erotic. A few women even used the words ‘erotic romance.’”

  My mind was racing. “Is there a huge audience of women in the morning?”

  Libby nodded. “Yeah. Daytime TV is all about women.” She swung her legs off the arm of the chair and stood up. “I’m going to the kitchen. I need a glass of wine. Do you want one?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Enough with the tea. As my roommate drifted out of the living room, my brain percolated with ideas.

  Libby returned quickly with two wine glasses filled almost to the brim. She handed one to me and sunk back into the armchair.

  “To your new job,” she toasted. We clinked our goblets together and put our lips to the rims in unison. I took my first sip of the too-familiar, cheap white wine. Good old Trader Joe’s Two-Buck Chuck.

  I swallowed and felt the chilled liquid course through my bloodstream. “Lib, have you ever done any focus groups for SIN-TV?”