Feel the Heat: A Contemporary Romance Anthology (77 page)

“
Y
ou couldn’t have
worn something a little more…professional?” Teddy, my coworker, asked with a sneer. He was trying to stray away from sexual harassment with that last word. His gaze caught on my breasts, which were completely covered, as we waited outside the conference room.

“You know how you are wearing a suit, and that screams professional?” I asked as though I were speaking to a child. “Well, the same rule applies to women. Hence
my
suit. The lady equivalent of yours. It’s a tough concept to grasp, I know.”

“You look like a guy.”

“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong. In fact, my suit hugs my curves. Although…” I bit my lip and made a show of analyzing his clothing. “I guess yours also hugs your curves. Your gut is pretty well displayed…”

“If we lose this account, it’ll be your fault.”

“I don’t think a little cleavage is going to help us out, but thanks for the early finger point. I always like to know where I stand in the scheme of things.”

I barely heard him mutter, “Bitch.”

The door opened and my boss’s head poked out. “They’re ready for us.”

I checked my notes and straightened my suit. Wishing my head weren’t pounding, I took one last look at the sunshine streaming in through the distant window before following the biggest blowhard alive into the conference room.

Chairs lined both sides of the room leading up to the front, where a screen descended from the ceiling. The first horrible slide was already pulled up, and a video camera in the middle of the aisle was ready to catch the train wreck in progress.

“Don’t fuck up,” Teddy said as he peeled off to the side.

He was such a sweetie. I didn’t know how I would ever work without him.

After a deep breath, I made my way around the camera and came to stand next to the slide, facing everyone with a beaming smile.

The smile froze over.

And then fractured.

Sitting in the front row, watching me patiently, was none other than Brad’s friend, the guy with the trendy frosted hair and equally trendy scraggly beard. He looked about Brad’s age, probably late twenties or edging on thirty.

What the holy fuck?

Yesterday he’d been under an umbrella in a pair of swim trunks. I’d thought of him as the douche with the nice body.

Today…holy hell.

Crisp blue eyes were above full lips playing peekaboo out of his facial hair. The man was a looker. The tailored Armani suit he was wearing displayed shoulders so big I wondered why he didn’t have planets orbiting him.

He was the freaking COO—chief operating officer! And I’d met him yesterday by unprofessionally hopping onto his towel and then super unprofessionally getting a piggyback from his friend.

On my way to get alcohol.

Right before my big day.

Another thought struck me.

Oh no. What if Brad had talked to him about last night? I’d launched myself at the guy. Full-on pummeled him with sloppy, drunk kisses. I’d also bad-mouthed the presentation I was about to give, and my coworkers! That sort of behavior definitely wouldn’t scream professional. He’d hold it against me.
I
would, at any rate.

“Hello,” I said through a suddenly dry mouth. My voice sounded like crackling leaves. “My name is Delilah.”

The friend gave a slight smile of encouragement followed by a tilt of his head, begging me to get moving already. Two friends, two embarrassing days. Things weren’t going well for me in Hawaii.

* * *

A
half-hour
, a sweating problem, and a lot of confused faces later, I finished answering the last question pertaining to the horrible presentation I’d made. Luckily for my reputation, I did actually know all the answers. But there was one unasked question that I could all but hear ringing through Brad’s friend’s polite dismissal:
Why wouldn’t you give us all the important information in the presentation, rather than make us ask for it?

It was a great question. And the answer was simple— the idiots I worked with subscribed to the “less is more” philosophy. They didn’t want to bore people with the details. It spoke volumes of their interest level in their work. After all, why would anyone else care if they didn’t?

Were the donuts on Wednesday mornings really worth all this grief?

Horribly drained and still hungover, I slinked to the side of the room where my boss waited.

“Good work,” he whispered as the next presenter was summoned. “Do you have your schedule?”

I fished a piece of paper out of my computer bag and looked it over. “I have it. Looks like I’m packed solid.”

“Good, good. I’ll check in with you later. Booze cruise is at four.”

“Got it.” I scurried out the door and immediately slouched and palmed my head. The weekend was chockablock full of seminars that seemed both helpful and interesting, and, knowing I wouldn’t have a social life, I had loaded myself up. Most of them were optional, of course. My team’s only real function was the presentation I’d just made.

Before today I hadn’t wanted to waste the chance to soak in valuable information I could then take to my next job. Or even use to elevate myself to a higher position.

Before today I also hadn’t been struggling with the weight of attempted alcohol poisoning. The state of my head changed things a little.

I paused in the cavernous space of the meeting hall lobby. To my right was a banana on the refreshment table, followed by an hour-long seminar. To my left was an escalator that would let me escape to my bed and a needed nap.

Blowing out a breath, I went right. I would survive, scowling the whole way. No point in wasting the day in bed.

Unless that bed is occupied by the fantastic body of a man named Brad—

I stubbed my toe on the carpet and took a jarring step forward to catch myself.

Where the hell had that rogue thought come from? Jesus.
Get a grip, woman!

Even if that guy was cool with a chick who fell off barstools and spread rumors about her herpes status, I was supposed to be on a man hiatus. After the crazy with my ex, I needed time to reflect. To chill out. To get my shit together and relearn all the good stuff about myself. My ego demanded it!

Muttering “thanks” to the snack table attendee, I slunk off to the correct conference room, keeping my head down as I walked through the door. The tech industry, especially my niche, was filled with men. Many of those men were nerds who didn’t know how to talk to women. Or still thought we had cooties. Those were harmless.

Some of those men, however, thought women should be tucked away in the kitchen with no voice. Those men hated that we were invading their empire, and they tended to lash out in a passive-aggressive sort of way. It was often soul crushing. And while choosing another, more female-friendly niche was the easier way to go…screw them. I’d rise to the top as a means to punching each of them in the balls.

Somehow.

But since it was hard to figure out which was which without dialogue, I usually tried to stick to the shadows until I had my bearings. Of course, it was hard to stick to the shadows when the room was mostly full and everyone was watching me try to find a seat.

Clutching my banana and computer bag, I peeked up from under my fringe of bangs to scout out the situation. Rows one and two were full except for one seat, but that had been left bare on purpose. The man next to it was spilling over with his notes and food and…

Moving on, row after row was taken. Eyes along each row watched me as I worked my way back. Staring. Not helping.

Please don’t make me have to leave because there isn’t enough room…

“Here. Delilah.” My knees went a little gooey as Brad stood up near the back. He gestured me over. “We can make space back here.”

Some women might’ve been torn between the embarrassment of confronting the man they’d acted like a boob in front of and braving the packed room on their own.

I wasn’t one of those women. I made a boob of myself constantly in my personal life. Professional embarrassment was a whole different ballgame. I was willing to accept his save, no problem.

Gratefully, I reached his row and found it in chaos. It had been full. Brad was making room for me.

“Clive, go up to that space in front. Make that guy move,” Brad was saying, motioning Clive out of the seat next to him.

Clive closed down his computer and pulled it into his chest as he stood. A moment later he was threading his way out of the packed quarters. He gave me a nod and a boyish smile as he wandered up to the front. Once there, his bearing changed completely. His shoulders straightened along with his back, and his expression closed down into a stern mask. He pointed at the open seat, almost hostile. Without a word, he then forced his way to it.

“Delilah, c’mon. Here’s a seat.” Brad motioned me in again, still standing. “Plenty of room.”

The guys down the row were still scooting over, as if the queen had arrived and she needed room for all her robes.

With a sheepish smile I scooted behind Brad and let go of my computer as he took it. He placed it on the tabletop and then hastened to pull out my chair for me.

Being a gentleman was the guy’s superpower. I was a little in awe.

“Thanks,” I said with a heated face. I sat down gratefully.

“Nothing to it. It’s a packed house. Did you just come from your presentation, or were you late in getting up?”

My face flushed as I opened the laptop. “Presentation, yes.” I cleared my throat. “Sorry about last night. I should know better than to drink tequila among strangers.”

“I should be thanking you. If it weren’t for you, I would probably have my legs broken.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I ran into Frank after I dropped you off. He made a show of checking his phone. Had you called him, I’m pretty sure he would’ve produced that hammer I was afraid of, and then beaten me with it. Thank God I kept my promise to him.”

A laugh forced its way out. “Kept it to him, huh?”

Brad stared down at his computer. He didn’t answer, but a small smile wrestled with his lips.

Clive was settling in, having made the man move. “Apparently I need to get more aggressive with these guys,” I muttered.

Brad glanced at me before following my gaze. He looked back down, unconcerned. “Probably. When I saw you yesterday, you were a ball breaker. Whether you were ordering a drink or chasing men away, you were in charge of your surroundings. No one could keep their eyes off you. Only the idiots approached, and they all got shot down. In life, you are intimidating. Here, you give off the body language of
lesser.
”

I blinked as something uncomfortable lodged in my stomach. He spoke as though he’d noticed me before we met yesterday. But also…he was so right. So very right. I did present myself as lesser with all these guys. Deep down I knew it. And hated it. But damn,
they
were intimidating.

Not seeing my expression, Brad went on, “Business is war, and a male-dominated industry has a lot of dick swinging and ball busting. To stick out, you need to hold your own. You need to embody the confidence I see in you. Own yourself, own the job you do, and eventually they’ll respect you. Some may never like you, but that doesn’t matter. Business isn’t about making friends. That’s why they say business isn’t personal.” He flashed me a gorgeous smile. “Just rule the roost in business as you do in life, and you won’t have any problems.”

I bit my lip and looked away. He didn’t know me very well. I didn’t rule the roost in life; I crashed into it, created havoc, and then stumbled away cursing.

Speaking of. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me your friend was the COO for Resslen? I about crapped myself when I saw him!”

“There she is.” Brad smiled down at his laptop. “That’s the girl I was talking about.”

A man entered the room with harried strides, a computer tucked under his arm, followed by another man with a gut and a bored expression. The harried man looked around with frantic eyes, hunting for a place to sit. The man with a bored expression set up on the podium, unhurried.

“I’m not a mind reader,” Brad said, oblivious to the scene. “How could I know you would be presenting to him?”

I gave him a level look. “
Really?
There is only one huge company holding the equivalent of open auditions at this convention. You didn’t know?”

The smile tickled his lips again.

“That’s what I thought.” I sniffed and opened a Word doc so I could take notes.

“Is there place back here?” the harried man asked as he neared our row. He pointed to the end.

“No room, man. Sorry,” the guy on the end said. Brad didn’t even look up. His superpowers only extended to women, it looked like.

Warm fuzzies assaulted me.

I smoothed my hair. I’d taken time to actually style it that morning, and lint-roll my suit, so I looked okay. Quite the change from the night before. At least I’d had a chance to rectify that little situation.

“If you can’t find a seat, you have to move on,” the man at the podium said, looking at the newcomer. “They’ve got rules regarding the capacity of these rooms.”