“Odd process.”
“Odd manners,” I say with a bitter smile. “Didn’t your mother teach you to knock?”
He smirks as he looks me over, tossing a few papers onto my desk that I don’t look at. “My mother didn’t teach me much of anything. My father, however, taught me how to get work done without junking up my office.”
He presses his fists against the top of my desk as he leans over it, staring down at me like the cocky man he is.
Don’t punch him with his own fist!
I say nothing.
I bite my tongue.
And I listen to “Roundtable Rival” like it’s going to save my life. Well, since it’s helping to keep the angry tears at bay, I guess it’s merely saving my dignity.
He stopped asking about my music a long time ago, as long as I don’t play it too loudly.
“What did you come to my office for, Mr. Harper? In case you haven’t heard, I’m on quite the impossible deadline. I don’t have much time for idle chitchat or very weird stare-downs.”
Gah, that mouth. Why does he get to have a mouth so sinfully perfect? There should be a law that men like him don’t get so many good things.
His tongue wets his lips, and I stare, mesmerized, caught in a trap. Why am I staring? No, hell no. This is not an issue, remember? I’m not attracted to Anderson Harper.
Why in the hell did my brother have to tell me he was abstaining? Doesn’t he know that you always want what you can’t have?
“Sabotage” starts playing when I pick it, filling in the silence Anderson is leaving to linger, and he arches an eyebrow as I look away from his lips and him.
“I brought you some ideas to tinker with. See if that’ll help you with this impossible deadline,” he says, pointing to the papers he brought in.
He’s come up with ideas—plural?!—in less than an hour?!
“You can bring me a quick pitch tomorrow and it’ll save you the trouble of spending too much time on something that won’t work.”
A quick pitch tomorrow?!
“I need at least two days to come up with a ‘quick pitch,’ Mr. Harper,” I say through the fakest smile I can muster.
“Two days then,” he agrees, though I can see the humor in his eyes, as though he loves the fact I’m apparently not as ridiculously fast as he is.
Heh. There’s totally a dirty joke in there I could use against him.
I flip the papers over and total creative genius porn is suddenly in front of me. Not that I can tell him that.
These are…amazing. Why in the hell didn’t I think of this?
“As much as I’d like to skip to the easy part, Mr. Harper, I feel these ideas lack anything our clients would appreciate,” I tell him, mostly to be the condescending ass he was. And partially because it’s also true.
But there’s one idea that does spark an entirely different idea in my own head.
Which I definitely won’t share with him.
“If you say so. Just trying to help you out,” the amused jerk says.
I look up just as he’s walking toward my door, and my eyes drop to his ass. It’s a nice ass. His slacks were definitely tailored specifically for him.
Inwardly groaning, I change the song.
I swear I hear a hint of male laughter when my office speaker starts playing “Highway to Hell.”
CHAPTER 2
LYDIA
I fell for the bullshit fairytale and not one bit of it was true. Growing up, my parents always told me that if I worked hard and treated people the way I wanted to be treated, everything would fall into place, and I’d have this wonderful life. Just go to college, get a degree, find my dream job, and marry my prince charming. Oh, what a glorious life.
Well, where the hell are my singing birds that help with housework? Right now, I’d take a bunch of pickaxe carrying dwarfs in funny hats bringing me diamonds. Maybe Doc. What kind of doctor was he, anyway, and how did he end up working in a mine instead of practicing medicine? I’m getting off subject.
I’ve always tried to be the good girl. I got straight A’s in school, avoided drugs and alcohol. All I got for my effort was an asshole who cheated on me and a degree that didn’t keep me from getting tossed out on my ass when my company downsized. It wasn’t like I was living the high life as a fitness trainer, but I liked my job. I liked the people and I lived near Henley, one of my best friends.
Now, I’ve moved hundreds of miles away to live with a woman I met one time at a wedding. At least I have my other bestie, Kasha, near. When she heard I was losing my apartment—oh, did I forget to mention that? Apparently, when you lose your job and can’t pay rent, out on your ass you go. Anyway, Kasha’s husband suggested I move in with his sister.