K. Bromberg: Hard Beat

“Dude, her portfolio is really incredible. Top notch.”

“Uh-huh… Remind me of that when you bitch at me for losing the story because I’m so busy holding her goddamn hand so she doesn’t get us killed. I didn’t come here to put my jacket over puddles to make sure some fresh-out-of-college punk doesn’t get mud on her high heels.”

“Shit, and I packed my Louboutins too.”

The voice at my back has me whirling around, mouth lax, mind trying to catch up and put the pieces together. A sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach when I see BJ standing with her shoulder against the doorjamb: Arms folded, she’s wearing a tank top with faded blue jeans, an arrogant smirk on those expressive lips of hers, and shoes that are most definitely not of the stiletto variety.

I blame the jet lag for the momentary lapse as the situation hits me full force. Rafe’s voice is in my ear babbling, and my one-night fling stands before me, but now she’s so much more than just that.

How did I not see this coming from a mile away?

“Seriously, Rafe?” They’re the only words I can form as I stare at BJ… well Beaux, I assume. My body reacts viscerally to both the sight and memory of what she feels like, but common sense tells me I’ve been played on so many fucking ends of the field that I might as well sit on the bench and throw in the goddamn towel.

“Ah. She must be there. She’s easy on the eyes, huh?” he asks, trying to use her beauty as a way to soften the blow as I walk back toward the window, not wanting to deal with her just yet.

“No. She’s not hot,” I tell him, damn well knowing she can hear me. She’s far from fucking hot. She’s drop dead gorgeous. Elegant. Sexy. All of the goddamn above.

Pissed off, I hang up on Rafe without another word. My mind reels, I’m questioning my judgment, and I find the world outside the hotel so much easier to focus on than our personalities clashing in here.

“I’m not hot?” The amusement laced with condescension in her tone causes me to roll my shoulders in discomfort, hating being played by her. “Glad to see Rafe makes sure looks are part of the job requirements.”

“No, you’re not hot,” I repeat as I turn and walk toward the conference room door that she’s blocking. “And if that’s what he’s looking at you for, that means your pictures are for shit. So…” I shrug. “Guess you can go back to freelance because you’re not going to be partnered with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” As her glare meets mine, she crosses her arms over her chest in an innocent move that pushes her tits up, so of course I’m reminded of last night. Fool me once and all that. I’m not making this mistake again.

When I take a step toward her, she doesn’t budge an inch. “Yes, you are,” I inform her as I reach out to take her by the shoulders and physically move her to the side. It takes everything I have to force myself to ignore the damn jolt of heat that sears my nerves so that I can leave the conference room.

I’ve got to get the hell away from her. Just from one simple touch of her skin, my body feels like it’s on fire. Her laugh reaches me as I start to walk down the hallway, and on principle, I turn back around, then stride with purpose up to her and get well within her damn personal space. And even though my blood is boiling, the only thing I can focus on is that fucking perfume of hers that tickles my nose.

“Just tell me one thing, Beaux .”

“It’s BJ to you.”

I couldn’t care less what she wants me to call her because it’s not like I’ll be speaking to her again anyway. “Why play me like you did? Because you did play me, right? You slithered up to me at the bar, used your sexy voice and those come-fuck-me eyes to reel me in, and then stayed long enough after I left to ask around and see where I was. So were you waiting in the stairwell? Biding your time until I came down so that you could get in my pants and what? Ensure you’d get my blessing for the position because you researched me enough to know what happened with Stella and knew I was going to freak the fuck out? And then when Rafe called last night, you figured out who it was and bolted in case I put two and two together?” I’m shouting now, hands fisted at my side, and almost nose to nose with her. I don’t care about goddamn protocol now.

Shit, we fucked that over last night the minute my lips touched hers.

My breathing is labored and when I force myself to step back, I can read the look on her face. I swear to all things holy, she must be the best damn actress on the face of the earth. Beaux’s eyes are wide, her bottom lip is trembling, and her eyes are welling with tears.

I love and I hate the sight of her tears all at once. I love them because it means it just might have been a coincidence, and I hate them because it means there is no way in hell she’s tough enough to survive the despair here if she can’t handle my chewing her out.

She wipes her palms on her jeans, and I focus on the motion, because I’m always leery of a woman wielding tears. When she doesn’t speak but just stands her ground, I look up and meet her eyes to find anger and disbelief.

“Rest assured, I knew who you were, Tanner Thomas… but I didn’t know until this morning that you were my new partner.”

I snort at the word partner , crossing my arms over my chest as I lean against the wall. “Yeah. Uh-huh. Convenient.”

“Look, Pulitzer, I don’t need your goddamn chivalry. I can handle myself just fine,” she says with a sneer.

I reach out and grab her arm as she skirts past me. “You sure as fuck needed me last night.” She wants to be a bitch? Well, I can be a grade A asshole. She has no idea who she’s messing with. We already started this relationship with a bang, so why not keep it going that way, right?

“Wow. You forget all of your women that quick? Last I checked, you were the one who made the first move in the stairwell.”

“Really?” My voice escalates with each letter of the word. “Parade that body of yours around and —”

“What? Be a woman? The audacity ,” she says, feigning horror. She stops trying to shrug out of my grip and instead surprises me when she steps farther into me. “Let’s make one thing clear. Chivalry is dead. I wanted you. I had you. And I assure you, it won’t happen again.”

“You’d better come at me with better lines than that if you think I’m going to buy your bullshit lies. I believed them once. Not again, Beaux… or is it BJ?” We stare at each other in a silent standoff.

“It’s both, but you have to earn the right to call me Beaux, and it seems you already lost that,” she says as she lifts her chin in defiance. And shit, in less than twenty-four hours I believe I’ve met both Beaux and BJ. The funny thing is I’m not sure which one I like more. Or if I like either at all.

“Why’d you bolt last night? It’s a little too convenient, don’t you think?” I’m still feeling unsure about her motives and I hate it. I’m a man who survives by following his gut instinct, and right now my gut isn’t telling me shit. So goddamn frustrating.

Beaux steps toward me, steel in her posture, and spite in her voice. “Did you think you were that special?” she asks, causing me to immediately bristle at the comment, male ego front and center. “Don’t act so surprised. I found your bed easily in the dark, so why do you think I couldn’t have found the door so easily afterward?”

Touché.

“I don’t like being played.”

“And I don’t like being judged.” She takes a step back. “Now that we got that out of the way, let go of my arm.”

I keep my hand on her for a moment longer, wanting more from the answers than she’s giving me. Still I’m aware we both had sex last night willingly. I didn’t ask questions, didn’t want to know more – and that’s on me.