Stella in Stilettos (4 page)

Stella made a few clicks. Melvin still thumbed his nose. She gave Maggie a determined smile and shut the pigheaded computer down. After the reboot, Melvin cooperated. Voila! Maggie’s email account was accessible and ten new messages popped in.

Maggie squealed with joy. “How do you do it?”

Stella pushed her glasses higher on her nose. “You have to show him some love.”

“I’ll show him some love…with a hammer. Anyway, thank you very much, Miss Fix-it.”

Stella raised her eyebrows up and down. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

* * * *

Alex leaned out of his cubicle to take in Stella’s short, black skirt and high heels. Damn, she had great legs. They’d been calling his name all day. Truthfully, everything about her did. The lacy top hugging her small breasts was enough to make him pay attention. He scooted even farther into the aisle. That wealth of curly blonde hair that she held back with a clip was incredible. A vision of how it would look hanging loose or spread out on a pillowcase made him run a hand over his chin. What the hell was wrong with him? He was lusting after Stella Matson, of all people. She was attractive, in a nerdy sort of way. But how she looked today…

Stella crossed her legs and arched her back, and his fantasies kicked into high-gear. He imagined her lying beneath him with her breasts crushed against his chest, his head buried in that glorious mane and those long legs wrapped around him. His elbow fell off the arm of his chair, jerking him back to reality. He laughed at being obvious.

Stella stood up and headed his direction, making him divert his gaze to the floor.

She looked at Alex and then the floor. “Did you lose something?”

Yes, my brain,
he thought. “Nope. Tracking a spider.”

Stella eased back a step.

Alex grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him.”

She graced him with a small smile and walked cautiously past him.

Tracking a spider?
His skills were seriously rusted. But hey, he was out of practice. His fault. He’d taken himself out of commission once he realized he had a knack for picking the wrong women. Instead of chemistry with someone he could communicate with, he navigated toward big boobs and no depth; which actually showed his lack of depth. Lately, boobs weren’t enough. The fact he had zero interest in Belinda Pearson meant something; possibly that he was thinking with another part of his anatomy. His brain, perhaps?

His eyes swept the room for Stella. She was standing by a row of filing cabinets. No big boobs, but definitely a hot body. He half-smiled, half-glowered and blew out a breath of frustration for noticing. He’d told Steve he wasn’t there to
shop
, and he’d be wise to remember that. He swung back into his cubicle.

It was time to play around with the design program. There was a tutorial where he could practice making flyers and newspaper inserts. He clicked into the program; nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. He sat back in his chair and stared at the computer like he could intimidate it into opening the program.

Alex checked his company email, his personal email, popped into Twitter for a few minutes and tried the design program again. It still wasn’t cooperating. He cursed under his breath. If he hadn’t been a know-it-all and ditched the rest of the training, he wouldn’t be having problems.

It was time to admit defeat and seek help from the woman who was a whiz at everything. Alex popped a breath mint.

Before he could put his tail between his legs and beg for assistance, Stella’s phone rang.

The short distance between them made it easy to listen in. The soft inflection of her voice broke through his wall of irritation, so did her patience.

“It’s okay, Jim, really. I don’t mind,” Stella said.

Alex listened to her painstakingly walk Jim Roberts through the process of inserting product numbers and garment details under the photos. Jim was as thick as an oak door. Hell, a first grader could understand it the way Stella explained things. In fact, he picked up a few pointers too.

Stella started to explain again and Alex fought to stay seated. He wanted to march over, yank the phone out of her hand and hang up on Jim.

“I’ll be right over,” she said.

Jim Roberts was known throughout the fifty-two story building as one of the biggest skirt-chasers on the planet. He bragged about his conquests in the elevator, the cafeteria, the parking garage, even in the Men’s room. And Stella needed to stay as far away from that dog as possible.

Alex was out of his chair, ready to save her.

“You’re welcome, Jim. Glad I could help.”

In the short time it took Stella to put the receiver back on the hook, Alex stood beside her. “How’s it going?”

Dusty-rose lips parted in surprise. “F-fine,” she stammered.

“Could I borrow you for a second? I’m having a small problem with my computer and I could really use your genius.”

Stella’s eyes widened behind her glasses. At the same time, her elbow connected with her coffee cup, drenching a manila folder. She grabbed a stack of napkins that was tucked between her stapler and pencil holder to sop up the mess. She blinked up at him. “Sorry.”

When she stood up, the pointy tip of her shoe caught the wheel of the chair sending her face-first into his chest.

Alex straightened Stella and took a step back.

Blotchy embarrassment worked up her neck and landed in her cheeks. She looked away while mumbling “sorry” a second time.

What made him roll his eyes, he had no idea, but she caught him in the act.

Good one, Clay
. Alex silently called himself a prick; the same thing Stella was saying with her eyes.

In a flash, she zipped to his cubicle and made a few mouse clicks. Without looking at him she explained the proper way to open the program. Before he could climb out of the hole he’d dug, she left.

* * * *

Stella groaned when she looked in the bedroom mirror. Sexing things up had been a huge mistake. “No guy is going to give you a second look unless you ramp things up,” Trish had said this morning when she loaned Stella something to wear.
Ack
. Why did she listen? The ramp-it-up plan had been more like a tramp-it-up plan. She’d spent the day tugging the skirt down and pulling the clingy, look-what-I-have-here shirt away from her breasts. In no way were the clothes and shoes proper office attire. She groaned at having done something so stupid.

Off came the lacy top and skirt. Her frustration gave the garments wings. They sailed across the room to the corner. Dressing like a floozy raised a few eyebrows; the wrong ones. Maggie didn’t say a word, but the look she gave said plenty. And Jim Roberts? Egad. Those mongrel eyes followed her around the second she arrived. She saw through his request for help with the product numbers. The guy had been there for over a year; he knew his way around the design program. Making her explain things, while she wore those clothes, was probably like phone sex for him. Stella had a sudden urge to gargle.

Corrine was right
.
Things were getting interesting, not in a good way. Telling Trish that Alex made her tingle when he was near sparked the madness. Trish took the information, twisted it into more than it was and convinced her to spice things up to see what happened.

Stella exhaled. Without any concentrated effort, Alex successfully removed her brain with the help of his surgical assistant, Trish. Gah!

She was a giant fool who needed a hot bath to sort things out.

On the way to the bathroom, she glanced in the mirror again. Maybe the whacky attempt to get Alex to pay attention had been a convoluted way to remove Jace’s heel marks from her heart once and for all. Or…it was just plain stupidity.

Stella lit some lavender and vanilla aromatherapy candles, slid into a tub filled with bubbles and closed her eyes. She inhaled until her lungs were full, and gradually released the air. She repeated the process until the tightness leave her shoulders. “Ahhhh” whooshed from her chest.

The relaxation lasted until she pictured falling into Alex and him rolling his eyes.

Stella slinked out of the tub and into her ratty pink bathrobe. She twisted her wet curls in a thirsty towel, padded to the family room in bare feet and sank into an overstuffed chair. From her peripheral she spied the computer. “Not happening.” Flubbing once was enough. The gentle hum of the CPU unit continued to beckon, she flipped through the TV channels in hopes to find an NCIS re-run. Sadly, no re-runs. She channel surfed until she could no longer stay in the chair.

Comfort food. That’s what she needed.

Before she got to the kitchen, Stella stopped dead-center in front of the computer. “Forget it. He’s long gone.” She shuffled to the fridge.

Carrots. Muenster cheese. Week-old Chinese food. Nothing comforting there. The raspberry wine coolers lurking on the bottom shelf had potential.

Stella paced the narrow hallway between the kitchen and bedroom and played with the label on her drink, tearing at the corners, until she eventually ripped it from the bottle.

Somehow she found herself at the computer, leaning across the chair, typing in her user-ID and password.

She’d been thinking about Mr. Right all day, asking herself if messing up with him had been intentional or if it was just another clumsy moment.

When she entered the chat room, TorontoTim said hello but continued chatting with someone else. She watched their conversation for a minute before strolling to the bathroom to shed the towel and run a wide-tooth comb through her damp curls.

In her short absence, several new people entered the chat room. Temptation won. Stella took a deep breath, slid into the chair, and scanned the screen for comments. BornWild wanted her a/s/l.

Some abbreviations threw her for a loop, but she knew this one meant age, sex, and location. She replied, “Old/female/Ohio”.

Questions came at her faster than she could type. In the process her bad mood dissolved.

RedHairedHoney was the chat room administrator and also a top-notch chef. She was in the mood to discuss food and dazzled Stella by talking about crème anglaise and charentais granita. Stella had no idea what either of them were and was about to go in search of the answer. Before she could, Red shoved the recipe talk aside by begging her to check out the chat room’s event-calendar.

“You have to come to our annual Meet and Greet! It’s so much fun, the food is incredible, and you’re in men-heaven.”

Stella wasn’t sold on the idea of chatting with strangers let alone meeting them in person. She clicked the event link. The Meet and Greet involved an express catamaran from Ft. Myers, Florida to Key West. A six night hotel-stay at Crowne Plaza Hotel. And a slew of organized activities to give those attending a chance to get to know one another.

 Stella scoffed but deep down, interest sparked. Keeping her guard up to keep men away was a lot like living on a deserted island. Great by day. Lonely at night. A week or two of being alone was fine; almost twelve months, stifling. Maybe it was time to throw caution to the wind – the tropical kind.

She ran her tongue over her lips. The possibility of some great food made her belly growl. In fact, she’d even consider some crème anglaise, as long as it wasn’t made from sweet potatoes. But the idea of men-heaven wasn’t a deal-clincher; especially after acting like a buffoon in front of one, and telling another to take a cyber hike. “I don’t know, Red. I’ll think about it.”

Someone named MightyMike interrupted by wanting relationship advice.

RedHairedHoney blew him off by telling him to go to a marriage-counselor.

His denial was predictable. “Good one, Red. You know I’m single.”

Red sent Stella a private message. “Sorry to leave you, Blonde1. I want no part of MightyMike. I’ve talked to him before. He’s a goon. But please, give some serious thought to the Meet and Greet. Catch ya later.”

With Red out of the mix, MightyMike tried to mooch counsel from her. “Give it to me straight, Blonde1. How can I fix things with my woman?”

Duct tape?
Stella snorted a laugh and said she was no Ann Landers.

And then Mr. Right showed up.

“There you are.” A spike of excitement made her guzzle the rest of the wine cooler.

MightyMike wouldn’t give up. “You’re a woman, so you know what women want from a guy.”

Stella pushed MightyMike’s comment aside while she waited for Mr. Right to say something. He remained quiet.

She went back to Mike. “Every woman wants something different.”

“What do you want?”

A question like that required more alcohol. Or a cup of coffee and a pint of cookie dough ice cream. Since she’d already had two wine coolers, the choice was easy.

Toting a cup of coffee in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other, she planted her bottom in the chair. Mr. Right’s silence was driving her crazy. Maybe he was waiting for her to make a move, or maybe he was chatting privately with someone else.

Mike kept probing. “Well?”

Stella took a spoonful of decadence and let her tongue enjoy the taste of cookie dough before she replied. “You really want to know?”