No strings attached (11 page)

“Well, we didn’t. And we won’t. Because that is not going to happen again.”

Eric’s expression went from cocky to crestfallen. “You mean we both get one turn at bat and game’s over?”

“Look, Mr. Sports Metaphor.” Chloe gestured with her flute, not the least bit fooled by his poor-pitiful-me act. “You’re here because of my reputation.”

“Which I told you would be safe in my hands.” He moved one of said hands to the center of her back, drawing tiny circles between her shoulder blades.

Chloe shivered. His touch was like a hot plate. Coils of heat radiated in ever expanding loops until she was sure she would melt into the lobby’s deep-purple carpet. “I think I’d be a lot safer if your hands kept their distance.”

“I think you’d be a lot safer if you mingled.” He leaned down closer to add, “Standing back here with me is not the best way to avoid attention. You have people curious.”

“Curious about what?” she asked, though she was hardly unaware of the pairs of eyes checking her out.

“Oh, you know.” He drew a finger the length of her spine, from her nape to the cleft of her buttocks. “What it is you find fascinating enough to allow me to monopolize your time.”

She was afraid, at the moment, that if anyone asked, she’d have to admit it was his finger. And, unfortunately, he was right that she needed to mingle. Even more unfortunately, she wasn’t sure she could do so
and hide the lingering remnants of what she was feeling.

Heat still infused her face. The lace of her bra scraped the sensitive skin of her breasts. Her panties were uncomfortably damp, which meant that anytime she moved her legs she remembered.

She’d give anything to wash Eric and this entire day from her mind. Better yet, blow off this unholy alliance.

But giving up now would only leave her exactly where she’d started. One more one-nighter to add to her fast-and-furious reputation. Except this would be her second date with Eric, wouldn’t it? If what they were doing could even be called dating, which it wasn’t. And not just mindlessly fooling around, which it was.

“What are we doing, Eric?”

Her question snagged his attention as she’d hoped. He studied her face while she brought her drink to her mouth and took a sip. She had to admit his navy jacket did wonderful things to his bright blue eyes, which in turn, focused solely on her as they were, did wonderful things to her senses. All of her senses.

She could still feel the brush of his knuckles through her panties, hear the catch in his breath the moment he’d brought her to climax. She could still see the swell of the erection she had tasted only yesterday.

His finger began a slow reverse trail up her spine. “What are we doing as in why are we standing here instead of mingling?”

She shook her head, still holding the flute, running the rim back and forth over the seam of her lips.

Eric twisted his mouth into a thoughtful grimace. “What are we doing here as in why didn’t we stay in
your office where we could be writhing naked by now?”

“Would we be?” She considered him carefully, frowning slightly, letting her tongue dip into the bubbles of the champagne. “Writhing naked if we were still in my office?”

“Look at me like that again and I’ll be writhing here where I stand.” He toasted her with the flute he held, bringing his own drink to his mouth.

“How am I looking at you?”

Eric pulled in a deep breath, his eyes flashing brightly as Chloe continued to play with her drink, looking up ingenuously from under her lashes.

“Ah, Chloe. I wish I had time to explain exactly what you do to me with those eyes, even when you’re doing it on purpose. Like you are now.” Having called her bluff, he winked.

Well, poo.
“How did you know—”

“There you are, Chloe,” sang out a voice Chloe could have gone the rest of the day without hearing. “I have been looking for you everywhere. The reporter from
Go Teen
wants to talk to you about gRAFFITI gIRL for their fall preview issue. I gave them my outlook, of course, but I don’t yet know the specifics on the colors.”

For a very good reason, Chloe thought. Then she took a deep breath, gave Eric a smile that said
This is what I was talking about.
Finally, she turned toward the approaching, or would that be descending, Annabel Lee.

Chloe hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Eric that Poe had martial arts written all over her. Two or three inches taller than Chloe, the Asian-American woman was all fire and flash.

Her skin was fine ivory, her black hair a study in slashes and sharp angles framing a face both sultry and mysterious. She was a beautiful woman, Chloe had to admit. But Poe’s career drive was like fingernails down the chalkboard of Chloe’s own aggressive nature.

The two did not blend into a seamless team.

“Poe, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Eric Haydon. Eric, this is one of gIRL-gEAR’s buyers, Annabel Lee.”

Poe eyed Eric. Eric eyed Poe. Chloe could only watch and wonder why she’d bothered to get out of bed this morning.

After shaking Eric’s hand, Poe crossed her arms over her chest and raised a confident brow. “I don’t think I’ve seen you with Chloe before, Eric. But it is hard to keep track. Lucky girl has so many friends.”

Chloe’s temper rolled to the tip of her tongue, but Eric put the brakes on her first bad words of the day with nothing but the smile he delivered straight to her. A smile that said
Leave this to me.

A smile Chloe felt in the core of her heart.

“Says a lot about her, don’t you think?” Eric asked, a protective emotion flashing through his eyes as he moved his gaze from Chloe to Poe. “But since I’ve known her longer than even I can remember, I’d say I’m the lucky one.”

Had another man ever lied for her—not to her, but for her—so beautifully? If Eric wasn’t careful, Chloe might start to believe his spin herself.

She patted him on the shoulder and gave Poe a sweet smile. “Eric’s not safe to release out into the general public. I have to keep him locked away.”

Poe tapped a long pale finger on her bare forearm,
her arms still crossed and pressing her breasts toward the low-cut keyhole neckline in her dragon-red sheath. “I’m quite certain I haven’t met a slave before. Shouldn’t you be wearing a black rubber suit and licking her feet?”

At that, Eric gave a healthy laugh. “Ah, Miss Lee. I can see you are every bit the firecracker Chloe led me to believe.”

“I take that as a compliment. From both of you.” She turned her head, glanced to her right. “Chloe, the reporter is near the front door talking to Kinsey.”

Chloe glanced over, searching out her partner’s long blond hair. Kinsey Gray, no doubt, was chewing off the reporter’s ear with her always uncanny predictions for the next fashion season.

“Thanks, Poe. I’ll work my way over there.” Chloe started to turn away, but she couldn’t stop one last dig from falling off the end of her tongue. “You’re welcome to come along and hear what Sydney and I have planned.”

“I appreciate the offer, but the information will come across my desk soon enough.” Poe lifted her chin, her interest caught by something beyond Eric’s shoulder. “Besides, I have something I need to discuss with Sydney. You two enjoy the rest of the afternoon.”

The other woman spun gracefully away, and Chloe leaned to peer around Eric’s body to see what had Poe on the prowl.

“Oh, puh-leez.”

Eric followed the direction of Chloe’s gaze, blowing out a loud snort once he, too, saw who had snagged Poe’s attention. “Should we warn him?”

“Who, Anton? I doubt that he’s so torn up after
dumping Lauren that he can’t take care of himself.” Besides, Chloe thought, keeping her observations to herself, Sydney was on hand to look out for Lauren’s interests.

“C’mon, Chloe. You can’t tell me the man isn’t suffering. He looks like shit on a stick.”

“Yeah. He puts on a good act.” And that was another thing. If what Lauren had with Anton wasn’t true love…Chloe glanced around the room, finding Lauren at the end of the bar in conversation with Macy Webb and Leo Redding…and Nolan Ford. Interesting.

“Act? What’re you talking about?” Eric kept his gaze trained across the room as he leaned in low. “The man doesn’t even have a clue that Sydney and Poe are talking to him. He doesn’t know anything but Lauren.”

“Hmmph.” Chloe did wonder. “That would make him capable of human emotion.”

“Men can be, you know.”

“Sure,” she said with a snort. “Lust, pride, anger, greed, envy, gluttony and sloth.”

“Right. I saw the movie
Seven.
And I also saw 9½
Weeks.
”

Chloe continued to cut her gaze between Anton and Lauren until Eric moved to block her line of sight, forcing her to look up.

“So?” was all she could say. They didn’t have to talk about this here and now, did they?

“So, I’m just wondering how much of what you project is an act. And how much is the real Chloe Zuniga. Life isn’t like the movies, you know.”

“That coming from a man who thinks in sports metaphors? Don’t point a finger at me, sugar, unless you can face the three pointing back at you.”

Eric looked as if he had much more to say, more that came from a place he wasn’t ready to reveal or revisit. A place responsible for the ticket-stub wallpaper in his office at Haydon’s. And the need to immerse himself in what for most was a pastime, but for Eric was all-encompassing, from career to home furnishings.

But then his cocky attitude chased the vulnerable glint from his eyes. “Instead of pointing fingers or standing here arguing about whether Lauren or Anton is putting on the better act, why don’t we work on your spin since, last I knew, that was the reason I was here.”

Yes. That had been the original reason, hadn’t it? So when had she come to terms with Eric’s insistence that their relationship had changed? And that she wanted him here with her now for reasons not so easily defined?

“Fine,” she said, returning her empty flute to the tray of a passing server and resisting the urge to grab a refill or two or three. She was in deep trouble as it was. She didn’t need to compound her sins by washing away her worries with wine.

She needed to keep a clear head in order to convince herself she was not falling in love.

N
OT SURPRISING TO
C
HLOE
or any of the partners, Macy Webb was the last to arrive at the loft she used to share with Lauren for the partners’ meeting on Thursday night of that same week. The agenda: to discuss the upcoming gIRL-gEAR gIRL competition.

Having snagged Leo Redding, one of the sexiest single men in the city, Macy had every rhyme and reason to be late to work, to meetings, even to her own funeral.

Chloe, sitting cross-legged in the center of the sofa, didn’t even pretend to suppress her envy. “Glad you could drag your butt out of bed to join us.”

Macy plopped down in the yellow-and-red-plaid chair, where she still looked at home and still looked like she was about sixteen years old.

She blew Chloe a kiss, even while shrugging an apology at Sydney. “Leo’s stuck at a deposition. And you have no idea how many connections Metro makes between here and the condo.”

Returning from the kitchen, Lauren walked in on the conversation, carrying a tray loaded down with six glasses, a bucket of ice and a dozen cans of diet soda. She set the load down on the low table she’d added since Macy had moved out. “You could’ve taken a cab. Or called me to come pick you up.”

“You coming to pick me up would’ve taken twice
as long this time of night. And I’m not going to spend money on a cab when for only a buck—” Macy held up one index finger “—I can get a ride
and
a show.”

“Eww.” Melanie grimaced as she leaned from the sofa’s corner cushion to reach for a soda, the headset of her cell phone attached to one ear. “That is exactly why I hate the bus. I always feel like I’m risking life and limb.”

“Mel, you are such a wuss. And a techie wuss, which is even worse.” And she was—a totally girly-girl with more technical knowledge than half the guys Chloe knew. But Chloe loved her for it.

“Watch out who you’re calling a wuss, girlfriend, or you might come into the office one morning and find your computer’s been hit with a virus.” Melanie screwed her face into a visage of pure evil. “A really nasty bug. An ugly ol’ worm.”

“You gross out over riding the bus, but get all orgasmic over worms and bugs?” Chloe shook her head. “You scare me, Mel.”

“You should be scared. Very scared.” Melanie stuck out her tongue.

Chloe did the same, but went one better and blew a loud raspberry.

“Oh, very nice.” Sydney, walking by, ended up in the direct line of the spray. She reached over and wiped the back of her hand and wrist on Chloe’s shoulder.

“She’s got to let loose somewhere, Syd.” Adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose, Melanie drew her knees to her chest and sank back into the corner. “All this business of cleaning up her act is turning Chloe into a crank.”

“What do you mean, turning her into? When has
she not been a crank?” Macy asked, joining Chloe in another round of childish tongue play.

Chloe finally gave it up and huffed. “If I’m a crank, it’s because I’m being forced to deny my nature.”

“I saw you with Eric during Sunday’s open house.” Kinsey picked up a soda from the table and sat down on the floor. “You’re definitely in denial, but it’s not about your nature. Your nature was doing its best to indulge.”

“I was going to mention that, Chloe.” Sydney grabbed a soda of her own and moved to stand behind Macy’s chair, where she’d left her briefcase earlier. “I suppose you have a good reason for this new attachment you have to Eric?”

“Hey, hey. One at a time, if you don’t mind. Even a crank can take only so much abuse.” Chloe chugged her soda straight from the can, no glass, no ice. She’d kill for a shot of bourbon. “Eric is a friend who’s doing his friendly best to make sure my reputation for indiscriminate dating doesn’t get any worse. That’s it.”

“How do you figure dating such a womanizer is going to do your reputation any good?” asked Lauren, who’d managed to squeeze into the plaid chair beside Macy.

“It’s a temporary exclusivity. He’s acting as my escort to prove I can stick with one man, thereby giving me an air of respectability.” She kept the three nonsexual favors part and the two unplanned sexual encounters to herself. Spouting her own canned spin was bad enough.

“You may be exclusive, but I wouldn’t be so sure about Eric,” Kinsey said. “I saw him the other night at the Daiquiri Factory.”

“On a date?” Chloe couldn’t believe how hard it was to ask that question with a level voice and a straight face. Or how it set off a burn in her stomach.

Kinsey shrugged. “I don’t know that it was a date. He was with a big group. But the women on either side of him? Neither one could keep her hands to herself.”

Chloe shrugged and silently swore that next time she saw Eric she’d kill him, then set him straight. “Like I said. This is temporary. And he’s acting.”

“If he’s having trouble keeping it zipped, this arrangement is going to blow up in your face.” Sydney circled the chair, now full of Macy and Lauren, and moved to the free end of the sofa. “But I do appreciate that you’re making the effort.”

“You know, Chloe. I could rig up a WebCam at Haydon’s if you wanted to keep an eye on Eric while he’s working.” Melanie twisted her mouth as she thought. “Of course, I’d have to think up some story to tell him.”

“Thanks, Mel, but a WebCam wouldn’t do me any good anyway, unless you wired it into his pants.” Chloe’s comment elicited a round of groans and giggles. “And that would be a case of too much information, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, speaking of too much information.” Sydney turned her gaze on Macy. “Could you and Leo please confine your bathroom antics to bathrooms other than the ones at the office?”

Macy’s blush barely registered beneath her just-back-from-a-hedonistic-Acapulco-weekend tan. She did manage to cringe. “Leo swore he locked the door.”

Sydney’s shapely blond brow lifted. “Obviously any man with a tush that cute cannot be trusted.”

Macy’s blush deepened. “I’ll tell him you sent your compliments.”

“Oh, fine.” Chloe could only shake her head. “Macy does the bathroom boink and earns compliments. I get Eric to act as my escort and I get nothing but grief.”

“Okay, Chloe. Eric has a great ass, too.” Melanie’s critique sent the girls into another round of whoops and whistles.

Chloe buried her face in the arms she’d crossed over her updrawn knees. Hopeless. Totally hopeless. All this talk of boinking and butts was not the way to keep a straight face. Not when thoughts of Eric’s naked body and the many ways she could enjoy his offerings were never far from her mind.

“Ooh!” Melanie leaned over, lifted a lock of hair away from Chloe’s face. “Chloe’s blushing.”

“This is not blushing,” Chloe said, straightening up in her seat. “This is the color of my blood pressure skyrocketing under stress.”

“What stress?” Kinsey asked.

“The stress of trying to be who I’m not,” she grumbled. Hadn’t she been doing just that for most of her life? When was she ever going to get to be who she was without worrying that her behavior might offend or displease?

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Kinsey waved one hand, her many silver rings flashing. “It’s just a redirection of your focus and energies.”

Chloe glared. “I swear, Kinsey, you’d better not go all cosmic on me.”

“Anyone going cosmic, or
anywhere,
for that mat
ter, just forget about it. We have work to do.” Having dug six bound portfolios from her briefcase, Sydney passed one to each of the women and kept one for herself. She perched on the edge of a sofa cushion, surrounded by the group.

“These are the six scholarship finalists. Each of you will find the profile of the contestant you selected from the first round of entrants you judged. You’ll also find profiles of entrants the rest of us chose. The awards ceremony is next Saturday night, which gives us over a week before deciding who will be our first gIRL-gEAR gIRL.”

“We’re not judging just on these profiles, right?” Macy asked, flipping through the pages. “We do get to see the final round of designs, and meet the girls on Saturday.”

Sydney nodded. “Also, the finalists have all been contacted and have sent in videotapes. I’ll have a television set up in the conference room by tomorrow.”

“Cool. We can use these portfolios like program guides for taking notes,” Macy added.

“Exactly. The portfolios have been put together to help you get to know each of the girls. They include the original questionnaire the girls filled out, the basics, really, on who they are, where they come from, etcetera,” Sydney clarified.

“You’ll also find their essay explaining why they’ve chosen fashion as their field of study, as well as the pictures and descriptions of their submissions in the school wear, casual wear and business-wear categories. The formal wear they’ll model live at the ceremony.”

Lauren nudged an elbow into Macy’s side. “Macy,
if you’d come to the office once in a while you could keep up with what’s going on.”

Macy pouted. “Hey, I have e-mail.”

“Then read it, because this was all spelled out months ago when we established the scholarship competition.”

“Go easy on her, Syd,” Lauren said. “Months ago her mind wasn’t mush from being in love. Now every brain cell is hopelessly devoted to Leo.”

At Lauren’s comment, Chloe began humming the chorus of “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” the Olivia Newton-John version from the movie
Grease.
Melanie joined in with the words, and Lauren followed, both scrambling to their feet and swaying back and forth, hands together beneath their chins as if in prayer.

Macy added her voice to Chloe’s hum, a sort of doo-doo-doo mouth instrument that Kinsey echoed another octave higher. Sydney could only sit and wait for her once again unruly crew to finish their ode to men.

Chloe decided it was time Sydney loosened up. Pulling her to her feet, Chloe linked their hands together, swung their arms to and fro, finally drawing Sydney into a circular dance around the room.

And then, as the impromptu girl group reached the end of the song, Sydney joined in, her voice clear and strong and full.

Melanie stopped singing long enough to gasp, “Sydney! Why haven’t you ever told us you could sing?”

Sydney shrugged one shoulder and barely finished the end of “Hopelessly Devoted” before launching into the middle of “You’re the One That I Want” by
shaking her finger and belting out, “You better shape up.”

Lauren and Melanie again joined voices to provide backup, echoing the words, “I need a man,” and Kinsey adding a lot of what sounded like high energy doowop.

Chloe, by now, had stopped dancing and had perched on the arm of the sofa. She watched the antics of her friends with a smile on her face. What did she have to worry about?

She had friends who loved her, friends she loved in return. And she’d get through this temporary crisis of career and of self with their help. What more could a girl ask for?

Even as she fortified herself with the strength of her friendships, she looked over to catch the strangest look on Macy’s face. It was almost as if she were pulled between staying and having fun with her friends, and wanting to rush home to Leo.

A month ago Chloe’s cynical side would’ve reached across the room and given Macy a shaking. But right now, what Chloe felt for Macy was kinship.

Because the person Chloe wanted to see more than anyone else in the world was halfway across town, serving up chips and salsa and cold draft beer.

A
WEEK HAD PASSED
since the partner’s meeting, and almost two full weeks had crawled by since Chloe had last heard from Eric. Rather, since she’d last
seen
Eric Sunday afternoon a week ago at the gIRL-gEAR open house.

She
had
heard from him. He’d called. Twice at the office. Three times at home. Never for any particular
reason. Only, as he’d told her, to say hello, to check up on her, to see how she was doing.

The sort of things friends called friends to find out.

Chloe wasn’t used to having a man call just to talk. Men called. And men talked. But rarely did the conversation end before they’d ask about getting together, then ask about the bee that had flown up her butt. Because lately she hadn’t been particularly kind when saying no.

She sighed, realizing how long it had been since she’d even cared about going out with anyone, and wondering why Eric never called to do more than talk. And why that should bother her in the first place, when all she wanted from him was the friendship he was giving.

Most of all she wondered why she was wasting time letting her mind wander, and procrastinating when she’d promised herself she wouldn’t leave the office today until she’d answered the letter on her desk.

She’d printed out the e-mail submitted through the Web site to gRAFFITI gIRL’s feedback forum. Each week she did her level best to answer every letter she received, often combining similar queries and offering one cover-all-bases answer. It was the only way to keep up with the volume of mail requesting makeup and accessory advice.

Lately, the number one topic was the prom. And Chloe had to stop herself from popping off and telling the girls that dolling up to impress a boy was such a waste of time. But she managed to keep her mouth shut and remember that a lot of the dolling up was done to impress—and out-doll—other girls.

Whatever. It was all so pathetically shallow, anyway. Especially when Chloe considered the letter she
could quote verbatim sitting on her desk, the letter whose author would not be going to any prom. The letter that was less of a search for skin-care advice and more of a cry for help.

Chloe wasn’t sure she had it in her to answer.

Her office phone, colored like a cherry lollipop, chose that minute to ring. The distraction was welcome, even more so when she picked up and heard Eric Haydon’s voice on the line.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“You caught me needing a break.” She needed time and a clear head to answer the letter.

“Kinda late for a break, isn’t it? I figured you’d be about ready to head home.”