PLAY

PLAY

Piper Lawson

Copyright 2016 by Piper Lawson Books

Line and copy editing by Jenny Govier

This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Chapter 1

Because you’re the Dick Whisperer

“You know when you’ve made it? When your office has a window. People have to wash your fucking window, Payton.”

“It
is
nice to have natural light,” I admitted. The hole in my sixth-floor wall looked into a men’s bathroom in the building next door, but pointing that out seemed ungrateful when most of my colleagues were squashed into cubicles.

I held up my hand, inspecting the back. “How many years of Vitamin D deficiency does it take before you’re permanently ghost-colored?”

“No idea.” Charlie, who was perched on my new desk like she owned it, leaned forward to grab my shoulders. “But that’s all behind you now! You, lovely, got the promotion all the boys wanted. You’re the youngest associate on the floor and the only one in stilettos. How does it feel?”

I took a moment to look around my new office. While Alliance Financial might seem old from the outside, the inside was fresh and bright. Interior walls were frosted glass. A clear floating bookshelf running the length of my office was too chic for my photos, stress ball, and origami animals spilling from the file boxes I’d carried from my cubicle.

A tiny thrill bubbled up at the thought that this was now my office. My bathroom-view window.

“Half
awesome
and half
why the hell did they pick me
.”

My friend lifted a slender shoulder. “That’s obvious. They picked you because you’re the Dick Whisperer.”

I blinked up at Charlie. “Excuse me?”

“You manage the assholes. You hold hands and soothe egos and turn big, snarling wolves into sweet, fluffy lambs.”

“I think I prefer ‘Service-Oriented Professional.’”

“Tough. I already ordered your business cards. You are Payton Blake, Dick Whisperer.”

Charlie—or Charlotte Elizabeth, according to her mother and her driver’s license—was from upstate New York. But the only explanation for my best friend was an affair between a Victoria’s Secret model and the Mad Hatter. Her quirky sense of humor meant she should’ve been writing black comedies instead of supporting three associates—including, as of Friday, me—at a conservative financial institution. But she’d told me the only way she’d leave Alliance was if she got cast as a Bond girl.

“But seriously,” Charlie went on, “I don’t know how you put up with them. The dicks, I mean. Don’t you ever just want to…let it out?” A penciled eyebrow arched.

“Let it out?”

“You know.” She leaned forward, her skirt shifting high on her toned legs. “Tell them to take their egos and their dumb-ass problems to someone who gives a shit?”

I didn’t have to think about it. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“So why don’t you?”

I glanced at the framed photo on my desk of me on a swing with a smiling woman who could’ve passed for my sister. The woman who meant everything to me.

“Because once you let it out, I’m not sure you can put it back in.” I sighed. “So what’s on today’s agenda?”

Charlie made a noise. “Are you asking
moi
to do something for
you
?”

“It was bound to happen eventually,” I sympathized. “Wait—does that mean you’ll stop sharing those cookies Hot Martin sneaks you from the cafeteria?”

“I’ll get back to you. Let’s see, Monday, Monday…” Charlie glanced down at her phone, making a sound like she was in pain. “Budget meeting, then operational planning. Boring, boring. Then you have an ‘M. Donovan’ for lunch.”

My forehead wrinkled. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“It was just put in your calendar today, but I can’t tell by who. The new email system’s still fucking with us.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll have time to research after operations.”

Alliance was one of the biggest banks in the country. Our division was responsible for helping small and medium companies grow. I had clients from pharmacies to musicians, and I loved the challenge of working with new people to find the right funding and advice. The ones who succeeded came back to us again and again.

The first wrinkle of the day came up near the end of operations.

“We need to increase our technology portfolio,” Carl, the director running the meeting, was saying.

My phone lit up on the table, and I slid it off the side to read the text from Charlie.

How does Avery look?

I frowned, sneaking a glance across the table. Avery Banks had been promoted to associate last year. Rumor had it he’d just missed being tapped for a Calvin Klein underwear campaign. With his sandy blond hair and ice blue eyes, I was willing to believe it. But all I knew for sure was that he treated the women like shit and the administrative staff worse.

His shirt is nice

Does he look uncomfortable?

“Our industrial clients are dropping like flies,” Carl said, jerking my attention back to the conversation. “Tech and entertainment are growing, but management’s pissed we’re losing out to firms like Thornton who know the industry.”

I glanced at the faces around the boardroom. All listened, some nodded.

Except for one.

Avery watched with disgust. “Less than two percent of our portfolio is tech, Carl. There’s no way we can land those clients. We need to do something radical. Hire someone from the outside.” He shifted in his seat.

Carl had already said no twice this month, but Avery was like a broken record. I wasn’t sure why he insisted on it, unless Avery wanted to bring in one of his college buddies.

Charlie’s words from earlier replayed in my head.

Don’t you ever just want to let it out?

Instead, I raised a finger, and Carl nodded.

“Avery, I hear what you’re saying. But, we already attracted three new tech clients in the last quarter. We’re running ads at tech conferences, and research shows those entrepreneurs are younger and more willing to switch financial institutions. I think it’s possible to bring in more files if we stay focused.”

“Thank you, Payton,” Carl said, his face relaxing. “Moving on.”

Once we were dismissed, I dodged the mostly male bodies on the way out of the conference room. A flight of stairs and a long hall separated me from my office. I’d started along the path when an unwanted person fell into step with me.

“Payton. Congratulations.”

I plastered on a smile. “Thanks, Avery.”

Avery and I had started at Alliance the same year, only he’d come from an Ivy League school and I’d snuck in the side door after community college. He wasn’t about to let it go.

“Since you’re an associate now, we’re competing for the same bonus pool. And the development award. The adjustment’s going to be hard.” Avery’s tone dripped fake sympathy but I played along.

“Why’s that?”

“I netted ten million in new accounts last year.”

I tensed. My network wasn’t as big as some of the associates, particularly ones like Avery with rich families who golfed with zillionaires every weekend.

He’s trying to psych you out
, I reminded myself.

“My focus is on repeat customers, not new ones. Which probably puts me out of the running for the dev award.”

“Don’t get too relaxed. Management just set minimum thresholds for new associates. So, even if you’re not competing for the big prize, you need to pull your weight.”

This was news to me. With bigger targets, I’d have to focus on converting more clients.

I shoved down the sudden anxiety twisting in my gut as I pulled up next to Charlie’s cubicle.

“I appreciate your concern, Avery.”

“My pleasure. And let me know if I can help.” His expression was smug. “Alliance is a team. Some associates might say things like ‘watch your back,’ but I won’t.”

No, you’ll just stab me in it.

He flashed a smile that was all teeth before shoving his hands in the pockets of his two-thousand-dollar pants and retreating to his office.

I leaned over the top of the nondescript divider. Sure enough, Charlie was listening in.

“Why is Avery walking like a goose?” I asked.

“Any man who sends his underwear for dry cleaning is taking his life into his hands.”

Morbid curiosity overtook me. “Charlie?”

She lifted a slim shoulder. “I had all his boxer briefs replaced two sizes smaller. That’s what the corporate card is for, right?”

“Won’t someone find out?”

A blank expression settled on her pretty face. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Charlie was an evil genius. Sometimes I thought the real reason she stayed here was to pull pranks. Lately, Avery seemed to be her favorite target.

I secretly envied the way she could be completely, unapologetically herself. Even if it terrified me at the same time.

“Payton.” The voice came from behind me.

“Thing 2?” Charlie mouthed.

I nodded, reluctantly turning away from my friend.

“I want to talk about the financing on Brookfield,” Armand Banks said smoothly. “Let’s go into your office.”

“Yes, Mr. Banks.” Thing 1 and Thing 2 were the most polite of the names Charlie’d devised for Avery and his uncle, Armand. Armand had been vocally opposed to my promotion because it put me in competition with his nephew. According to Charlie’s intel from above, the senior directors like me better.

I crossed the hall, moving to stand behind my desk before Armand could stare at my legs. Instead, he stared at my chest. I fought the urge to do up another button on my blue silk blouse.

“I’d be pleased to update you later today. I’ll check your schedule with Candace.” I glanced longingly at my computer, but he held up a hand and sat in the chair in front of my desk.

“This will only take a minute.”

By the time I got him out of my office, I was late for lunch. “Shit fuckity shit shit,” I breathed, tossing a notebook in my purse and heading for the door. I was so far off my game I couldn’t even come up with original swear words today.

My fingers flew over my phone, searching for anything on a
M. Donovan
as I stumbled toward the elevators.

Nothing.

I jogged down the street in my gray suede pumps, slowing to a walk in front of the window of the bistro we often took clients to.

Still nothing.

Without taking my eyes off the phone, I trotted between the open doors and—

Oof!

I blinked once. Twice.

Pain radiated from my forehead and I rubbed the spot where I’d run smack into the door. It was summer, which meant the first set of doors at Geraldo’s was always open.

Except today, when they were most definitely closed. Looking through the glass, I caught more than one pair of eyes inside trained on me in amusement, or sympathy.

Miraculously, the door opened.

“Thanks,” I breathed, turning to see who was holding it for me.

My eyes widened. The guy belonged at a college rock concert, not Boston’s hottest noon-to-one business spot. Toned shoulders stretched a forest green t-shirt that had been washed too often. His spiked hair was light brown, looking darker against pale skin.

“You looked like you needed the help.”

His voice was rough but his vowels were long and smooth. Not from Boston.

Some girls are drawn to a guy’s ass. Or something more romantic, like his eyes.

I’m all about the mouth. I like a man with a mouth that’s firm with just enough curve. I like watching it while he talks. While he smiles. And imagining what else it could be doing.

No matter what this guy was wearing? He had a five star mouth.

Staring at that mouth was the reason it took me way too long to realize he was waiting for me to say something.

“Oh. Um. Yeah.” I glanced at the door, like it was a third person in our conversation. “I didn’t see it…”

“Doors are tricky like that.”

His tone made me flush with embarrassment. “Yeah. They are.”

God, this is humiliating.

I stepped out of the way when an older man in a suit brushed past me to leave the restaurant. Without looking back at the good-looking guy holding the door, I turned, trotting across the restaurant to the safety of my table.

Thankfully I was the first one there. I collapsed into the chair in a heap, but there was no time for worrying who else had seen my show-stopping entrance. My phone came out and I resumed my furious Googling.

“Do we need to amputate?” a voice interrupted.

My head jerked up.

The guy who’d held the door stood out from the corporate crowd at Geraldo’s like Billie Joe Armstrong at the opera. Before, I’d failed to notice the piercing in his eyebrow. Now that he was leaning over the table, it was impossible to look anywhere else.