Sweet Jealousy

Chapter One

Addison Maxwell sat in her boss’s office and told herself not to jump to conclusions. Just because she’d been called in to talk to Beverly didn’t mean something was wrong. In fact, the meeting could have to do with a million different things. Maybe she was getting a promotion.

She shifted on the hardback chair in front of Beverly’s desk and smoothed down the front of her sweater, all the while hoping against hope she wasn’t in any kind of trouble. She’d only been working on the gadget and technology column at Intuition (“The website for women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go after it!”) for a few weeks, but it had taken her forever to land the job. All the interviews she’d gone on over the past six months had ended up being dead ends– the economy, added to the fact that journalism was dead and blah blah blah.

The door to the office opened and closed behind her. Addison turned in her chair and pasted a smile on her face, ready to put an end to the torture and find out exactly what it was that Beverly wanted. But it wasn’t Beverly who walked through the door. It was a man. A hot man. A hot, tall man.

“Hello,” the man said. He smiled, showing perfect white teeth. He wore an expensively cut black suit, a crisp silver shirt, and a matching silver tie. His face was tan, but contained no sign of the orange tint that came from using too much tanning cream, leading Addison to believe that his dark, rugged complexion was all natural. His eyes were a deep blue, and so dark that for a second, Addison felt like she was falling into them.

She forced herself to look away, and instead dropped her eyes down to his shoulders -- his
broad
shoulders -- and his hands, which looked equally big and strong.

He held one of those hands out and said, “Addison, right?”

“Right.” His fingers wrapped around hers, and an electric current zinged up her arm. “Who are you?” she blurted, then immediately blushed and pulled her hand away.

He was probably someone from corporate. She couldn’t go around talking to him like that!

And then she was struck with a horrible thought. Maybe they’d sent him here to fire her. Maybe it was standard procedure that they called in the big guns when someone needed to be terminated. Or maybe he was some kind of high-level security guard who’d come to order her to pack up her things so he could escort her out of the building. She’d never heard of security guards wearing expensive-looking suits, but this was New York City. They did things differently here.

“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing harder. “That was rude.”

“No, I’m sorry,” the man said easily. He sat down at Beverly’s desk. “It was rude of me not to introduce myself. I’m Nathan Sweet. I’m your new boss.”

“My new boss?” Addison repeated dumbly.

“Yes,” he said. He grinned at her again, and Addison felt her heart speed up.

Jesus! This was her boss? How was she ever going to get any work done?

“But what happened to Beverly?” she asked. Addison hadn’t been close to Beverly – you could only get to know someone so well in a few weeks, after all – but suddenly Addison missed her. Beverly was safe. She was like a kindly old grandmother, with salt and pepper hair and a big belly and fabulous flowing peasant blouses.

“Beverly was let go a few hours ago,” Nathan said, his tone turning serious and regretful. “The website hasn’t been performing as well as we’ve all wished, so I’ve been sent here to … shake things up, shall we say.”

“Oh.” Shake things up, her ass. She’d watched enough of these kinds of scenes on TV to know that “shake things up” really meant everyone was getting the boot. And they’d sent this… this
suit
in here to take care of it.

Damn it! She really needed this job, too. She’d just moved to New York City from Georgia. She’d spent two years after college living at home, working at a small newspaper in Savannah. When it had gone belly-up six months ago, she’d thought it was a sign that she should pursue her dream of living and working in New York.

So she’d spent the last six months sending out resume after resume, and when she’d finally landed this job, she’d thought it had been too good to be true. A job writing about tech and gadgets, which she loved, and being able to move to New York City and away from her doubting parents, who didn’t understand why she didn’t just get married and stay in the South. And now, apparently, it was all going to be taken away from her.

She’d just signed the lease on her tiny studio apartment in Manhattan a few days ago.

Now what was she going to do? Run back to Savannah with her tail between her legs?

Her parents would just love that. She could picture them throwing some kind of welcome home barbeque for her, and inviting all the people from their church.

“As I’m sure you’ve figured out by now, we’re going to be revamping the site.”

Nathan opened up a file folder that was sitting on Beverly’s desk, and for the first time, Addison noticed that all of Beverly’s things – the pictures of her grandchildren, her brightly-colored container of hard candies – were missing. “Now, I see you’ve been working on the tech and gadgets section?” Nathan was scanning the paper in front of him.

“Yes,” she said, and looked down at her hands. She’d never been fired before.

“Well,” he said, “that section is actually one that consistently gets the least amount of hits.”

“I know,” she said, sitting up straight. “But with all due respect, Mr. Sweet, I’ve really started trying to – ”

“Please,” he said, holding his hand up. “Call me Nathan.”

“Nathan,” she started again. But now her thoughts were all jumbled up. He was just so damn intimidating, sitting behind that desk, looking like he owned the place.

Which, she guessed, in a way he did. “I’m sorry for the poor performance, but if you could just – ”

“We’re not blaming you.”

“You’re not?”

“No.” He leaned back in his chair. “But we are going to be cutting the tech section of our website.”

“Oh. Of course.” Her heart clenched, and tears poked at the back of her eyes.

“However,” Nathan said, “we’d like to move you to another department.”

“You would?” Her heart loosened. Yes, she loved writing about tech, and she loved getting new phones and video game systems and music players sent to her for free so that she could review them. But a job was a job, and if that meant she had to write about something else, then so be it. Hell, she’d work in the mail room if she had to.

Anything so she could stay in the city.

“Yes.” Nathan Sweet sat back, his blue eyes looking her up and down. “How would you feel about being our sex columnist?”

Addison almost choked. “Your sex columnist?” she repeated.

“Yes.” A smile pulled at the corner of his full lips, like he knew she was uncomfortable talking about this. The thought of him thinking she could write about sex sent a rush of heat down between her legs, and she shifted on her chair and tried to calm herself down.

“Well,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “I thank you for the opportunity.

But I’ve never really written about sex before.” She wondered what he’d think if he knew that not only had she never really
written
about sex before, but when it came to sex she wasn’t exactly… um, the most knowledgeable.

She wasn’t a virgin or anything – she was twenty-four after all – but sex had always been, for her, something you did just to get it over with. It wasn’t that it wasn’t enjoyable -- it just wasn’t as amazing as everyone was always trying to make it out to be.

“That’s okay,” Nathan said, waving his hand like any idiot could write about sex.

“It doesn’t have to be anything amazing. It just has to be something women can sink their teeth into. You know, something sexy.”

“Oh, okay,” Addison said, and smiled. “No problem.”

***

“You’re going to be a
what?”
Addison’s friend Tia regarded her over the glass of wine she was drinking, her eyebrows raised and her tone incredulous. “A
sex
columnist?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Addison said. She sighed and leaned back on her futon. It was later that night, and the girls were in Addison’s apartment, winding down with a glass of wine. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“Well,” Tia said, “let’s face it. Carrie Bradshaw you’re not.” Tia never pulled any punches, which was one of the things Addison loved most about her. The two worked together at Intuition, and it had been Tia who had told Addison about the small studio apartment that was for rent in her building. Tia was refreshingly different from Addison’s friends in the South. In the South, girls went out of their way to be polite and never say anything wrong. Tia didn’t give a shit about being polite. Or about much of anything, for that matter.

“I don’t want to be Carrie Bradshaw,” Addison said. “I just need to make sure I do a good job.”

“Well, you’re going to have to start with your wardrobe,” Tia said. “You know, if you want them to take you seriously.”

“What’s wrong with my wardrobe?” Addison looked down at her simple black pants and short-sleeved black sweater. It was professional, sensible, and stylish.

“Nothing, if you’re a tech geek.” Tia reached over and poured some more wine into her glass. “But a lot if you’re a sex columnist.”

“But no one’s going to see me,” Addison said. “And Nathan even said that– ”

“Oooh,” Tia said, cutting her off. “Nattthhhaan. You call him Nathan?”

“He told me to!”

“He’s so hot,” Tia said, rolling over on Addison’s futon and almost spilling her wine in the process. “Those shoulders, mmmm.”

“Did you have a meeting with him, too?”

“No.” Tia shook her head. “But I’ve seen pictures of him.”

“Really? Where?”

“All over the place. The dude is famous.”

“He is?”

Tia sat up, her long dark hair pooling around her shoulders. “Yeah. You’ve heard of the Sweet family, haven’t you? Nathan’s dad, Arthur Sweet? He’s like a media legend. He owns almost every magazine and TV station in New York.”

“Nathan is one of
those
Sweets?” Addison closed her eyes. Great. As if she wasn’t feeling enough pressure.

She felt herself blushing as she thought of his huge hands, his amazing blue eyes, and the rush of heat that had pounded through her body when he told her he thought she could write about sex.

“Anyway,” Addison said, shaking her head and trying to clear her thoughts. “It doesn’t matter who his family is or how hot he looks. What matters is that I do a good job. I’m supposed to write a column for him and bring it in tomorrow.”

“You’re right.” Tia set her glass down on the table and looked at her. “What’s important is keeping your job. And I’m telling you, in order to do that, you have to look the part. Come on.”

Forty-five minutes later, the girls stood in Tia’s apartment, a mess of skirts, shirts, belts, shoes, and accessories strewn about her tiny bedroom.

“There’s no way I can wear any of this stuff,” Addison said. Tia had her own style, a style that was going to look ridiculous on Addison. Not to mention Tia had curves for miles. Addison was slimmer than Tia, but her body was more straight up and down.

“Yes, you can,” Tia said. She was over in the corner, packing stuff into a suitcase for Addison to take down to her apartment.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” Addison moaned as she dropped onto the bed. “I don’t know how to write about sex.”

“Just make it up,” Tia told her. “Start with something easy. Like how to undress for a guy.”

“I can’t write about that!”

“Why not? Just go home, have some more wine, and watch some stripper videos on youtube.”

“You think?”

“Addison, guys are simple. They think anything’s sexy as long as it involves skin.”

Addison took another sip of wine. She hoped Tia was right.

Chapter Two

Addison took Tia’s advice, and wrote up an article about how to undress for a man. She watched some videos on youtube, but she’d found them to be over the top and ridiculous. So she’d toned it down a little, making her tips something any normal woman could do, not just those that were strippers. She also wrote down a few other ideas for future columns. That way, if Nathan didn’t like what she’d done, she’d have a fallback plan.

The next morning, she dressed carefully in the clothes she’d borrowed from Tia.

A tight button-up white blouse, a short black skirt with a slight ruffle at the bottom, and a pair of shiny black high heels. She used the straightening iron on her hair, lined her eyes with a smoky plum shadow, and slicked some gloss on her lips.

“Woooo wooo,” her landlord, Mr. Gold, said when she walked through the lobby.

“Where are you off to looking like that?”

Mr. Gold was in his early forties, with big beefy hands and a loud voice. He owned the building, and had a small apartment on the ground floor. He was always hanging around the rental office, not seeming to do much of anything except chat with his tenants. Addison didn’t think he had another job, yet he was always complaining about how much work he had to do.