She shuddered, feeling as if she needed to bathe in disinfectant after his perusal, but straightened to her full height, reminding him she had an inch or two on him. “I suggest you move or you’ll be talking in soprano for your next audition.”
“You’re kind of cute when you get mad, Beaumonde.”
As if acting on its own accord, her fist reared back and landed an uppercut square into Pete’s stomach. He doubled over with an oof. She put her hand on his shoulder and bent next to his ear as he gasped for air. “You’re lucky I’m wearing a skirt because otherwise your nuts would be in your throat right now. You say another disgusting thing about me or any other woman in this office, and I’ll report you for sexual harassment.”
She shoved past him and leveled a look at Steven, who raised his palms in surrender. “I really am sorry.”
She simply shook her head and left the two of them in the break room. By the time she made it to the other end of the building, the nausea still hadn’t abated. Pete was a dick, but what he’d said had rung a bell of truth inside her. Wasn’t what she’d been doing these past two weeks exactly what he’d said? She was trying to mold herself into something that would please the guys who only wanted to ogle some girl’s boobs on television.
She sagged in her desk chair, letting her head fall back. Was this the kind of thing she was signing up for? She wanted the on-air position more than anything, and knew her approach had needed some refining, but pretending to be something she wasn’t suddenly felt way too similar to her failed pageant days. Smile a little brighter, Charli. Flutter your lashes. Speak softly to the judges. Watch how your sister does it.
Without thinking too much about it, she followed her first instinct. She picked up her office phone and dialed Grant’s number.
After two rings, she almost chickened out, but then heard the click.
“Hey there, freckles,” he said, his voice like warm ocean water over her skin, soothing her. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you until you were done for the day. Everything okay?”
“I guess. Am I interrupting you?” she asked, feeling silly calling him in the middle of the day.
“You’re never an interruption.” She heard a squeak, as if he was leaning back in his desk chair. Even though she’d never seen the office he used in town, she could picture him there—tilted back, boot hitched over his knee. “How’s your day going?”
She looked behind her to make sure no one was standing near her cubicle and lowered her voice. “I punched a guy in the stomach already. How’s yours?”
Grant coughed. “You what?”
Somehow Grant managed to pronounce the h in what, his accent getting thicker when caught off guard. The simple little quirk managed to make the knot in her belly loosen a bit. “The guy I’m competing with for the job called me a hot piece of ass and then wouldn’t get out of my way.”
The chair squeaked again. “That motherfucker. I’m on the way over.”
“No,” she said, then realized she’d spoken too loudly. She took a breath. “I’m not calling you for help. I handled it. I just…I don’t know. I’m starting to think morphing myself into something I’m not is the coward’s way of getting this promotion.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I see. And what do you think you’re morphing yourself into, Charli?”
She twirled a lock of hair around her finger over and over again, a childhood habit that seemed to reappear when she was stressed. “I don’t know. The sweet, pretty girl who acts submissive and yielding around guys. I’m becoming that girl my mother always wanted me to be.”
Grant sniffed. “Darlin’, you haven’t changed into anything. You are sweet and you are pretty. Those things were there from the start even if you or your mother didn’t realize it. As for the submissive part, the fact that you punched that guy today shows that you’re still all tomboy. None of the training we’ve done has taken any of that from you.”
She stared at her screen saver, contemplating his words. “So all this time, you’ve known training wasn’t working?”
“I didn’t want to train any of that out of you, freckles. We’re only working on polishing what’s already there for your audition. Your feistiness is what makes you so fucking sexy. Makes the fact that you submit to me and no one else so damn hot.”
“Oh,” she said, her blood beginning to pump a little harder, and not from anger this time.
“Honestly, I’ve got to tell you, the fact that you punched that asshole has got me hard as rock right now.”
She bit her lip, holding back a smile. “Is that right?”
“Damn straight.”
She leaned forward in her chair, shielding her face with her hair in case anyone walked by. “Maybe you should take care of that.”
“Ah, naughty thing, you like the idea of me stroking myself to thoughts of you,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “Maybe I’ll do just that. If you were close enough, I’d order you to come over here and climb onto my lap.”
She crossed her legs beneath her desk, trying to fend off the dampness gathering there. “Too bad I already had lunch.”
“Mmm.” She could picture him spreading those muscular thighs of his and unzipping his pants, sliding his hand along his shaft. “That is a damn shame, freckles. My fist is a poor substitute for that sexy body of yours.”
A thick file folder landed on her desk with a loud smack. She jumped, so engrossed in the conversation, she hadn’t even heard anyone approach. “Hold on a sec.”