The Commanding Officer Read online

  “Maseru?!!!” Buzzcut hollered. “How could you possibly know that?”

  I turned my head and found myself face-to-face with his crotch. Stick your dick in my face, why don’t you? Rude! I ran my eyes up, over his flat abs, to his mocking grin. He looked tall from down here. Buzzcut towered so close I might as well have been blowing him.

  “Doesn’t everyone know that?” I asked, as matter of factly as possible.

  “Okay, so that’s how you want to play,” Buzzcut said, slapping his chest and pressing further into my space. “Game on, Golden Nugget!” He was pushing his junk at my face. What a pig!

  I stood up. “Game on, Buzzcut. Shove over.” I pressed my palm against his shirt. His chest was cut, without an ounce of fat. Buzzcut backed away slightly, smiling.

  Our game scores approached one thousand, which was the finish line. The topic switched to American Presidents—my specialty. It all came down to one question—a triple pointer. Whichever team got it correct would win. I downed the rest of my Mint Julep.

  What was Rutherford B. Hayes’s middle name?

  Bam! I typed “Benjamin” as quickly as my fingers could fly, and hit enter. Buzzcut’s answer appeared just below mine. He’d typed “Birchard.” I was faster, but he was correct. Damn Mint Juleps. His team won.

  Buzzcut crowed in victory. So obnoxious. He turned, slipped his hands under my arms, and effortlessly lifted me in the air. I should have been indignant, but a smile broke out across my face. Kevin used to lift me up, back when we were first dating. Buzzcut bounced me about, and I squealed with delight, feeling like a little kid. When Buzzcut eased me back down, I slid against his hard body, or was he pulling me against him? Didn’t matter. I grabbed his cheeks with my hands and planted a kiss on his lips. With my eyes closed, it was almost like I was kissing Kevin.

  “Whoa,” Buzzcut said as he placed me down. “I thought you hated me.”

  I ran my palm down his bod—my hand enjoyed the ride. Nice chest, hottie. “I do,” I said, gazing up at those confident blue eyes. Thankfully, I kept my next thought internal—but I still want you to fuck me.

  Uh-oh. The look on Buzzcut’s face—did my eyes give away my thoughts? The bad boy leered down at me hungrily.

  “I have to leave,” I gushed, pushed away, and hurried out of the bar. The heavy door fell shut behind me, and the noise and excitement of Carmody’s were gone. Outside, it was peaceful. Outside, there were no hot guys mashing up against me. The evening had grown into night. I liked the darkness of night. In the dark, I could cry over Kevin and no one could see.

  I watched the fireworks going off in Devereau Park, across the river.

  “Hey.” Oh, great. Buzzcut had followed me. I didn’t turn around, didn’t need him to see me crying. “You forgot this.” He dropped my gym bag next to me.

  “Thanks,” I said without turning around. He didn’t leave. Cripes, take a hint. “What do you want, a reward?”

  “You are a feisty bitch, aren’t you?” Buzzcut said. His hands cupped my shoulders, and his thumbs dug confidently into my delts. Dammit. Since I was wearing a tank top, his palms were on my bare skin. The tension evaporated from my shoulders. Aah.

  “Wait,” I said. “Did you call me a bitch?”

  “No,” Buzzcut replied. “I called you a feisty bitch.” Whatever. His hands felt good. “Nice fireworks,” he said. “Do they do this every night?”

  “On Fridays, in the summer,” I sighed. His touch was magical. “You’re good with your hands.”

  “Think so?” Buzzcut replied. He moved forward and slid his magical hand onto my tummy. Right on my tummy, skin to skin—up under my shirt. The nerve! “Want to get sweaty?” he whispered.

  “Yeah, like I’m going to take you, a stranger, the five blocks to my apartment.” My hands stayed on the rails, and I reveled in the delight of his hand stroking my bare tummy—so intimate, and almost innocent, but not really. The fireworks erupted in the distance, and evening strollers ambled by. Buzzcut was so close. I could feel the fronts of his strong thighs against my rear.

  “Five blocks to your apartment? Hell no. Mine’s only a block away.” Buzzcut’s finger had been toying with my belly button, but then his hand snaked south. My eyes popped open as his fingers slid inside the elastic of my basketball shorts, and inside my panties. I pushed my hips back, my retreat impeded by his unyielding thighs. Was he crazy? There were people all around. Sure, his fingers knew exactly what they were doing, and he was touching all the right places, but still.

  I turned my head and said, “Are you…?”

  Mid-sentence, Buzzcut’s lips descended on mine, and his tongue claimed my mouth. His hands ran over and in me, and I wrapped my arm back around his head, pulling him closer. I writhed to his touche. We swayed while the fireworks soared and popped, casting white and red shadows.

  When Buzzcut pulled away, coming up for air, I cooed in his ear.

  “Take me to your apartment,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The next morning I stumbled about his dark apartment, bumping into unpacked boxes and walking unsteadily. My basketball shorts were in the kitchen, and my sports-bra was on the balcony. Oh, God, I remembered being naked on the balcony, and…doing things. Woof! No more Mint Juleps for me, ever. I pulled my clothes on, all except for my panties, which Buzzcut seemed to have stolen, and headed out the door carrying my gym bag.

  It was seven in the morning on a Saturday, and people were up and about. Even though it wasn’t like I was wearing an evening dress in the early morning, I felt like everyone was aware I was doing a walk of shame.

  Buzzcut had been amazing in bed—no complaints there. Nevertheless, I felt worse than I did the night before. Everyone says to climb right back on the horse to take your mind off your departed lover, but that was bad advice. All I could think of as I skulked out of the Granary Building—the fanciest apartment building on the waterfront—was how I never had to skulk off after Kevin and I had a night of torrid sex. Of course, Kevin and I hadn’t had a night of torrid, legs pointed at the ceiling, arrhythmia inducing, forgetting-your-name sex in ages. Actually, Kevin and I never had a night of sex like that. But still, I never had to skulk.

  Who was waiting outside my apartment building but Donna, two paper cups of coffee in hand. “Hey, girl,” Donna said with a smile. “Weren’t you wearing that outfit last night?”

  “Shut up,” I said. I opened the door to my building and held it for Donna. “Give me one of those,” I said as we waited for the elevator.

  “Sooo, who’s the lucky fella?” Donna asked. “It was a fella, right?”

  “Yes!” I blushed. “Buzzcut, from the gym.”

  “I knew it! Sooo, how was he?”

  “He was a douche. A complete ass. Utterly presumptuous, and as far from relationship material as a man can be.”

  Once inside the elevator, Donna said, “Annnnd, how was he?” Damn her.

  “He was amazing!” I squealed. “Just awesome. I thought I’d never be able to walk again.”

  “Good for you!” Donna said. “Did you get his number?” I bit my lip and shook my head no. My face burned red. “Oh, you are such a slut,” Donna said with a grin.

  “I know!” I cried. “Isn’t it great? But…I can’t be doing this. I’m a responsible person. I run my own department. What would people think?”

  “That you’re human.”

  “Exactly. I can’t have that.”

  “Well, at least you’ll be relaxed when you meet your new boss on Monday.” Donna held my bag as I unlocked my apartment door. “Jump in the shower and change your clothes. We’re going shopping, and we’re going to get you some new power-outfits for the office.” Donna plopped herself onto the couch. “And don’t forget to change your underwear, slut,” she said.

  I blushed madly and replied, “I’m not wearing any.”

  “Oh,” Donna gushed, “you ARE my hero.”

  Shopping always made me feel better, and Saturday was no exception.
I’d put on a little weight since I’d met Kevin, and he’d been a bit of a tightwad. It was nice to cut loose at the department store, end up with clothes that fit perfectly, and not have to worry about what Kevin would say. It was my money, anyway.

  Saturday flew by, but Sunday dragged. I was alone all day Sunday, and alone time was not good for me. I kept thinking how stupid I’d been Friday night, and how Buzzcut could have been a serial killer. Buzzcut! I didn’t even know his name. I was definitely a slut.

  The only positive thing was I never had to see Buzzcut again.

  When Monday morning finally rolled around, I was glad to have work to distract me. I got up at five in the morning, which was extra early for me, and I spent hours getting ready. It’s important to make a good first impression.

  I had a new pencil skirt, purchased Saturday, and heels of just the right height—tall enough to show I was fashionable and in command, but not so tall that I looked like I was trying too hard. My silk blouse fit perfectly, although it stretched at the top button a bit. I spent an hour curling my hair, which had spent the whole weekend in a pony tail. Before I left my apartment, I checked myself out in the mirror. Oh, yeah, I looked like a powerhouse business woman.

  On my walk to work, I turned more than a few heads, which was good for my ego. Even the desk-man at my office building raised an eyebrow. I guess I had a certain spring in my step, and I hadn’t dressed this fashionably in a long while.

  When I opened the glass door to MacKenzie and Phelps, I realized I was probably the last one to arrive. And I wasn’t the only one seeking to make a good impression on the new boss. My entire department, which consisted of women, was dressed to the nines. You’d think we all worked at Elle, instead of at a product branding—i.e., image-making—company.

  “Is he here yet?” I asked my assistant.

  “No,” Emily said. “Not yet. We all hope he’s not mean. Mister Fenton had been so nice to work for.” Technically, as independent contractors, they all worked for me, and I worked for the new boss, but I didn’t correct Emily.

  At nine on the dot a heightened murmur came from the contractor bullpen. When I looked up from my desk, you would have thought Brad Pitt had popped in. From the tracks of their gazes, I could tell the eye-magnet was heading to my office. Wanting to look busy, I buried my head in my work.

  There was a knock on the glass door to my office, which stood open. “Victor Andrews here to see you,” Emily said.

  “Thank you, Emily, I replied.

  I looked up from my desk, and…holy shit! There stood Buzzcut, all suited up and GQ-y. My breath caught in my throat.

  “Nancy Tengler, I presume,” he said. “I’m your new boss, Victor Andrews.” He didn’t even acknowledge that we’d already met. There was a chance he didn’t recognize me without my hair in a pony tail, but I supposed it more likely he was being discrete because Emily was within earshot. Still, he had a twinkle in his eye. His attraction to me was still clear. Good.

  If he wasn’t going to acknowledge we’d already met, then neither would I. Standing up, I strode over to him and extended my hand. “Nancy,” I said, introducing myself. “Pleased to meet you, for the very first time, Buzz…I mean, Mister Andrews.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Same here. Corporate should have had us conference before today, but no matter. We deal with things as they arise on my ship. Call me Victor, please.” He was acting as if he’d never met me!

  My face burned with shame as he shook my hand, and Victor smiled. Of all the rotten luck! Why did I go and have a one-night stand with my future boss? What must he think of me? Had he expected me to be there in the morning? Was he angry that I snuck out? If he was, he wasn’t showing it. Victor Andrews was one cool character. And boy, did he clean up nice. He didn’t look at all like the cocky bar-crawler he’d been on Friday.

  “I’ll need your entire team gathered for a nine-thirty meeting,” Victor said. “Time enough for us to catch up later.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  What did he mean by that? Catch up? Was that code? Did he expect to take me back to his apartment again? Is that how he expected to catch up? Sure, I’d just go back to the Granary Building and peel off my clothes for him. Why wouldn’t I? He was hot, and in command, and I was his easy lay. The nerve! He might be covering up his bad boy persona with an expensive suit, but all his cocky confidence was still there. What an ass.

  At nine-twenty-five I exited my office to head to the contractor bullpen—where my employees worked. Victor was already there.

  I felt the heat rise up my neck as I watched Victor, his hand on Carla’s shoulder, studying something on Carla’s computer screen. “You did this, Carla?” he asked. She nodded, like a stupid little puppy. “That’s some fine work.” Look at her just lapping up his attention! It didn’t bother me on an emotional level, but Carla was my employee. Victor supervised me, and I supervised all the contractors in the bullpen. Plus, she was flirting with him, and Victor was eating it up.

  I should say something to him.

  “Tengler,” Victor said without looking up.

  “Please,” I said. “Nancy.”

  Victor stood up and fixed my gaze with his clear blue eyes. His voice was cold. “Tengler, if you’re not five minutes early to my meetings, you’re late.” He patted Carla on the back and told her once more what a fine job she’d done.

  “Thank you Victor,” Carla said.

  I couldn’t believe it. He’d dressed me down right in front of all my employees. In one short sentence, he’d completely undermined me. Totally unacceptable.

  There was no doubt about it. Victor wasn’t happy that I’d left before he woke up.

  Well too frigging bad. This was like the separation of church and state—inviolable. He couldn’t bring what happened Friday night into the workplace. Neither of us even knew we were destined to be coworkers.

  “Ladies,” Victor started. Oh, look at them, hanging on his every word. They acted like he was a rock star. And they all got so quiet and attentive for him, right away. I usually had to clear my throat several times, or bang on a cabinet to get their full attention. Not so with Victor. For him, they leapt up like prairie dogs. Great.

  “Ladies, I understand you’re all a talented bunch,” Victor said, clasping his strong hands and rubbing them together. “When I interviewed with corporate, they assured me that everyone under Tengler was a top talent.” He raised an eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that true, Tengler?” I nodded.

  “And it’s good that you’re so talented,” Victor continued, “because we have a crisis on our hands.”

  June was sitting closest to Victor, and she leaned forward like it was the Sermon on the Mount. Victor must have noticed, or sensed it. He sat down on the corner of June’s desk, and he patted her hand.

  First Carla, now June—Victor Andrews was quite the hands-on boss. All in the first hour of the workday, no less. Well, his little tricks wouldn’t work with me. I knew better.

  “What’s the crisis, Victor?” June whispered.

  “Shirt Watches,” Victor said. “I know, you’ve never heard of them. I’m sure Tengler hasn’t either. But they’re coming, and our client wants to be first in people’s minds when people think ‘Shirt Watches.’” Victor turned to me and said, “Shirt Watches, Tengler, are watches built right into the shirt. They’ve gotten the technology so small, and so flexible, that they can put it on fabric. The first thing…”

  Victor droned on, but I was so hopping mad that I barely listened. Shirt Watches, Tengler, are… He deliberately made it sound like I was the only person in the room who needed Shirt Watches explained to them.

  This was why I never did one-night stands. Bad things happen. Okay, I couldn’t have envisioned this, but still, bad things happen and this was bad.

  We had forty-eight hours to come up with the sketches of a complete branding plan: logos, slogans, internet ads, strategies, and print campaign plans. All of them had to be directed toward one goal—making our clie
nt seem like the only manufacturer of Shirt Watches.

  Forty-eight hours? Impossible!

  After Victor finished his spiel, he started to walk away.

  “Victor,” I said. “May I have a word with you? In my office, that is.”

  “Make it snappy, Tengler. I have important things to do.” Once we were in my office, I shut the door.

  “Victor, we work for the same company. Despite our history, I can’t have you undermining my authority with my employees.”

  His eyes flashed, and I felt a bit of a flutter in my stomach. Had I been too direct? Was he about to get angry? I’d seen him in action in the gym. I didn’t want to see him angry.

  “Yes, we work for the same company, but you need a thicker skin. We’ve both risen up from the trenches. But listen to me, and listen to me carefully. We have no history. You hear me? We have no history.”

  Oh, so that was how he wanted to play it. Fine. I was wrong for leaving before he woke up, and I actually felt bad for that. If he wanted to pretend we hadn’t had a great time Friday night, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that bothered me.

  “Okay,” I said, “we have no history.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  By nine o’clock in the evening, I was really regretting wearing those heels. No one had gone home—not me, not Victor, and not anyone in the contractor bullpen. We were all hell-bent on getting together a full branding package for our client. Most of the girls had kicked off their shoes after five o’clock, but not me. I had to maintain my air of command.

  The ideas crossing my desk ran from horrible to not-bad. Nothing really leapt up at me yet. Shirt Watches—what a tough product. They were totally impractical. It was all about being trendy. That was our focus. Everyone had a clock on their cellphone these days. Were watches even relevant any more?

  At ten o’clock, I decided to send everyone home. The ideas coming in for my approval were getting staler and staler anyway. I rose up from my desk and placed one hand on it while I tried to arch my foot within my shoe. Oh, they ached so much.