Talking Dirty with the CEO (2 page)

“Damn technology,” Marisa replied. “I thought I’d actually talk to you.”

“Fine. What do you want to know?”

“The date and how’s it going?”

Christie pursed her lips. “It’s going.”

“You haven’t set any up at all, have you? God, St. John, it’s only a couple of dates. Not open-heart surgery.”

“I know.” Christie sank into the couch. “I’m getting myself in the zone.”

“Yeah, right. And how, exactly, are you doing that? Pictures of naked men? Internet porn?”

Christie toyed with her wineglass. A sneaky online game of
Zombie Force
didn’t fall into either of those categories. More like the procrastination category. But Marisa didn’t need to know that. “No, of course not. I’ve been checking out…um…stuff.”

“‘Stuff’. Uh-huh. Well, do you want help with that ‘stuff’? I’ve got a few profiles set up on some dating sites. You can use them if you want.”

She knew Marisa had a few profiles. Just like she knew the photo that went along with them.

Long, blond tumbling locks. Curves that would’ve made Marilyn Monroe jealous. Wide, crystalline blue eyes. None of which Christie had. Oh no. She didn’t have curves, she had bones. And frizzy chestnut hair. And eyes an indeterminate shade between green and gray.

But hey, that was fine. After a lifetime of having her appearance picked over by her mother, she’d gotten to the point where she just didn’t care anymore. Bones and frizz were A-okay with her. They went with the jeans and the Doc Martens boots quite nicely, thank you very much.

“Uh, thanks for the offer, Mar. But no.”

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to do this?”

“Maybe because I don’t?” And she didn’t. In fact, she hated dating. With a passion. “I don’t even know why Ben gave me this stupid assignment. Probably because I’m the only woman on the team.”

“Ahem.”

“Sorry. The only female
writer
on the team.”

“Oh, come on. He chose you because you write extremely well and you know it.”

“Yeah, but face it, I’m the world’s worst choice to write an article on dating.” Christie bit her lip, trying not to dwell on the unfairness of it and failing. “I suck at that face-to-face, man-woman stuff.” At least she did when it came to stepping outside the gaming/tech world. Not that it bothered her. Most of her friends were guys, and being friends with them was cool. She wasn’t after anything more.

Marisa huffed. “So what was Greg? Chopped liver?”

“Greg was different. Greg was—”

“Greg was barely a man. You need to get over that loser.”

Christie’s grip tightened on her wineglass. “This has got nothing to do with G—”

“Bull. It’s been a year since you two broke up and you’re still single. What’s the holdup?”

With a conscious effort, Christie eased the stranglehold on her glass. “There’s no holdup. I’m happy being by myself.”

“Yeah, and I’m Elvis Presley reincarnated. Come on, sitting around at home IM’ing your friends and playing online games does not constitute a social life. Or any life, for that matter.”

Christie pulled a face. What was so wrong with it? She liked upgrading her computers and IM’ing people. She liked playing online games. Okay, so she didn’t get out much, but she hated bars and nightclubs. Being at home watching TV or reading a good book was much more interesting than the endless round of socializing Marisa seemed to do.

“Mar,” she said, trying for patience, “this dating thing isn’t about me being single or otherwise. It’s to do with Ben’s assignment.”

“But you can’t deny it’s a great excuse to get yourself a hot man.”

“I don’t want a hot man. Or a cold man. Or any man for that matter. Like I said, I’m happy as I am.”

Marisa made an exasperated sound. “Well, okay, fine. Ignore me then.”

Christie sighed. She kicked her feet up onto the coffee table and examined the steel-capped toes of her new cherry-red Doc Martens boots. “I guess you could help me sort out the weirdos,” she offered after a moment.

There was a small silence on the other end of the phone. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll set up a few profiles on those dating sites you told me about. Hopefully I’ll get a couple of bites. Then when it’s date time, you can come along with me, check out the guy to make sure he’s not an ax murderer or something, and then come and rescue me if things go bad.”

Which they would. Because they usually did. Not bad in a weird way, just bad in a hideously awkward “I can’t think of anything to say to you” way. Talking to complete strangers had never been something she’d enjoyed. Face to face, at least. Online was entirely different.

“Be your wing-woman?” Marisa asked.

“Yeah. What do you think?” If she were completely honest with herself, having the moral support would be good. God knew she needed it.

Marisa made a soft humming sound, as if weighing the scenario. “You do know I’ve been trying to be your wing-woman ever since you and Greg broke up.”

“Er…have you?”

“Uh-huh. And don’t pretend you don’t know that.”

Christie could feel herself blushing. Yeah, okay, so she
may
have been avoiding Marisa’s setups. But that had nothing to do with Greg. Less than nothing. Yes, he’d cheated on her with a blonde go-getter who worked in an ad agency. Yes, it had hurt. But she was over it. In fact, she was glad the loser had ditched her. Because when it got to the point where your family seemed to like your boyfriend more than they liked you, then clearly it was time to be single.

Christie took a steadying sip of her wine. “Is that a yes then?”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it’s a yes.”

Five minutes later, a plan in place, Christie was in the process of mentally girding her loins in preparation for the date-finding when her phone rang again.

Reflexively she answered it. Probably Marisa with a whole raft of date wardrobe suggestions.

“Christie?”

A small, hard stone settled in the middle of her chest. Oh joy. She did love talking to her mother. Not.

“Mum. This is a surprise.” She hadn’t spoken to Helene St. John for at least a couple of months. Not since the last call about how Andrew, her brother, had made partner and what a wonderful son he was and how she was so proud. She hadn’t asked Christie a single question about how she was doing. Not one.

“Oh darling,” her mother said, her warm endearments as fake as her eyelashes, “don’t be like that. Not when I have such wonderful news.”

Hating herself for the need that opened up inside her every time she heard her mother’s voice, Christie bit down hard on her lip. “What is it? I’m kind of busy.”

“Not playing one of those silly computer games again?” Her mother gave a musical laugh. “Aren’t you a bit old for those?”

A sharp, metallic taste filled Christie’s mouth. “They’re not silly.” Same old broken record.

“Yes, well. You know my thoughts on the subject. Anyway, that’s not what I called about. Andrew and Emily have just gotten engaged!”

“How lovely,” Christie said in a mechanical voice. So her gorgeous, highly successful brother had just got engaged to the beautiful daughter of one of Auckland’s richest families. Her mother must be over the moon that at least one of her children was doing well.

“Try to sound excited, darling,” Helene chided. “In a couple of weeks we’re going to be throwing the most fabulous party for them and Andrew will be heartbroken if you don’t come.”

Andrew wouldn’t be heartbroken. A few years older than she was, he tended to view her with either mild scorn or complete indifference. Like her father. Both of them were too involved in their careers to pay much more than fleeting attention to her.

Not that she cared. She’d gotten over trying to fit into her family years ago. She had a good job, a nice apartment—at least when she bothered to tidy it—and a whole lot of cool friends. She didn’t need them.

“Thanks, Mum, but I’ve got a…” She tried to think of a decent enough excuse that wouldn’t send her mother into one of her usual pouting fits. “A work deadline. I really can’t miss it.”

There was a pause. “Oh, Christie.” Her mother sounded wounded. “Surely work isn’t
that
important? Please come. I haven’t seen you for months. You know I miss you.”

Christie’s hand tightened on her handset. A lie, her brain knew it. Her experience backed it up. Helene didn’t miss her. She’d only said that so Christie would do as she was told. So Helene could show off her “perfect” family, prove what a fantastic mother she was.

Oh yes, Christie’s brain knew those things. But her heart didn’t. Her heart refused to believe it. Her heart was a doormat that wanted Helene to be a real mother. A mother who would be proud of her only daughter.

“You don’t miss me.”

“Of course I do. And I’m hurt you’d even think otherwise.” Helene in full-on aggrieved mode. “Please, darling. Do come. For me?”

And of course her stupid heart ached. Wanting to believe her. Telling Christie that perhaps this time, on this occasion, her mother meant it.

“Mum—”

“Darling.” Helene’s voice was very soft. “We could have some together time perhaps? Just you and me?”

Lies. Such lies. Hot, angry words flooded into her head. Words that she could never say because somehow whenever she tried to speak the truth to her mother, the words always tangled themselves up and she couldn’t get them out. “M-m-mum…”

“Oh don’t stutter, dear. It’s a dreadful habit.”

Christie shut her mouth. Bit back the words, just as she always did. Hated herself for doing so, just as she always did. Hated her poor, deluded doormat heart for wanting something it was never going to get. Hated herself for giving in.

“Yes, okay,” she said, tiredly. “I’ll come to the party.”

“Wonderful.” The wounded tone vanished as if it had never been. “I’ll send the invite to you as soon as I’ve approved the mock-up. Oh,” a small pause. “I don’t suppose you patched things up with Greg, did you? We’d just love to see him again.”

Of course they would. Her family had thought the sun shone out of Greg’s proverbial. Even when Christie had told them about their breakup and his cheating, they’d been all “poor Greg,” making her feel as if she was to blame somehow.

Christie stared straight ahead, her jaw tight. “Patch things up? You do remember the whole cheating thing, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do. But men are like that. You really have to make an effort to hold on to them.” Her mother sighed. “So you’re not going to try and get him back then? He was such a wonderful man. Very much our kind of people, darling.”

“No, I’m not,” Christie said stonily. Really, the amount of wine left in the bottle wasn’t going to be enough after this conversation. She’d need the whole bloody vineyard. “I think I’d rather poke my own eyes out with matchsticks.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Christie. There’s no need for that kind of thing.” Helene sighed again, sounding long-suffering. “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything different from you. All right, come by yourself. I’m sure we can find someone nice for you.”

Oh yeah, like the last family party. Where her mother “just happened” to have invited one of the younger tax lawyers from her father’s corporate law firm to “keep Christie company.” The guy had spent a whole hour talking about himself and his boat, then asked her about her stock portfolio. And since Christie knew nothing about stocks, still less about portfolios, the conversation had gone downhill from there.

Her mother’s version of “someone nice” was Christie’s version of “someone who liked to talk about himself and nothing else for hours,” in other words.

Christie swallowed. “I have a boyfriend already, okay?”

A complete and utter lie but it was the only way to get her mother off her back.

“You do?” Genuine surprise this time. “Anyone I know?”

Oh crap. Her and her stupid mouth. “No, no one. Sorry, Mum. I’ve got to go.”

“Make sure you bring him—”

Christie hung up before her mother could finish, her hand shaking as she stabbed the disconnect button.

Great. So now not only had she agreed to go to her perfect brother’s perfect engagement party, she’d totally made up a boyfriend to bring along as well.

Good going, St. John. Perhaps you could make up an imaginary guy for an imaginary date for Ben’s article, too?

Christie picked up her wine and swallowed the rest of it, choking only slightly. The alcohol sat in her stomach, lighting up a fire, her anger beginning to burn.

No, dammit, she wasn’t going to let her mother get to her like this. The days of trying to please her, trying to get just one word of praise from her, were over.

O-V-E-R.

She wasn’t hopeless with men. She hadn’t been with Studman, had she? Oh no, she’d had a sexy conversation. Involving garters and Bloody Marys and sheepskin rugs.

Christie set her jaw and glared at her laptop, determination hardening inside her.

She was going to get her date for her article and the date would be great. No, scrub that—the date would be amazing. She’d show her mother just how damn good she was with men.

And she knew just where to go and who to ask to prove her point.

Christie logged back in to the
Zombie Force
chat room. Empty. So maybe Studman wouldn’t show, but it didn’t hurt to check. Maybe she’d get lucky. And if he wasn’t around then there would be others. Plenty of others. She’d find someone. She wasn’t totally lame.

Five minutes later, the chat room remained empty and Christie was feeling more disappointed than she cared to admit. Perhaps it was time to call it quits and find someone else. Clearly he
wasn’t
going to show.

She was on the point of logging off when a chat window popped up again.

Studman500: Hello Naughtygirl, I was wondering if you’d visit again.

A fierce dart of exhilaration arrowed through her. He was here. Now all she had to do was find a bit of courage, ask him if he wanted a date, and she was set. Easy. Yeah, right.

Naughtygirl25: Just passing through. Where did you go?

He seemed to ignore her question.

Studman500: Liar. You were checking to see if I was online, weren’t you?