Brenda Jackson - The Elliotts - Mixing Business with Pleasure

“I’m trying to tell if you’re complimenting or insulting me.”

“Both and neither. I’m just being practical, like you. Telling you the truth.”

Gannon looked into her eyes for a long moment. She’d grown stronger during their time apart. Smarter. More practical. He felt the burn of challenge chafe at him. It was the same feeling he’d given in to last year. Only it seemed even stronger now. Erika had always managed to turn his head and harden his groin as no other woman could. Her combination of mental toughness and hidden emotional softness drew him like a magnet.

Even though he knew getting involved with her could wreak havoc with his family’s reputation and hers, he had a tough time depriving himself of going after her. Nothing and no one but his career grabbed his attention as she did. He’d broken the rules with her before and damn if he didn’t want to again.

Gannon reined in the impulse to seduce her past her practicality until she was moaning with him inside her. He summoned a businesslike tone and said, “Let me know if you have any questions. I’d like to get the contract signed tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll look it over tonight.”

“Good. And by the way, my father wants four representatives from Pulse at a cocktail party hosted by the United Nations ambassador from India. It’s tomorrow night. You want in or not?”

He saw immediately that she did. In her eyes he saw a dozen lights signifying a dozen feature ideas.

“Yes,” she said. “May I bring a guest?”

Gannon paused, feeling a quick, unwelcome spike of an unpleasant emotion he preferred not to examine. “Sure. As long as they can pass a security search. Give the name to my assistant.”

The following morning New York City was hit by a nor’easter that brought a foot of snow. EPH allowed employees to leave early as reports of electrical outages and traffic accidents increased throughout the day.

Erika took advantage of the quiet and finished some work on HomeStyle, then turned her hand to editing one of the three articles for Pulse that had greeted her that morning on her desk.

An e-mail from Gannon’s assistant informed her that the cocktail party was cancelled due to the weather, which was probably just as well since she was on the fence about whether she wanted to see Gerald, the TDH podiatrist, again.

When she’d met him for drinks, she’d found him tall, dark and handsome, funny and intelligent, but it seemed that every hour since she’d met him, for some reason unknown to her, her interest had waned.

Making a face, she turned her attention back to the article she was editing. At five o’clock she glanced out the window at the mess of weather and traffic and decided to fix herself a mug of hot chocolate instead of going home yet. She walked through the nearly deserted office to get some water for her coffeemaker, which she didn’t use for coffee. On her way back she noticed the door to Gannon’s office was ajar and the light was on.

Tempted for a second to say hi, she thought better of it and continued toward her office.

“You’re not going to share?”

Gannon’s deep voice traveled down the hall to tickle her ears just as she started to turn a corner. She stopped midstride and considered continuing on as if she hadn’t heard. Her hesitation decided for her.

Gannon appeared just behind her and the sight of him made her stomach do a little dip. “I know that pot of water isn’t for coffee. It’s for hot chocolate. You steal the community coffee at work on the rare times when you want it.”

“If it’s community, I’m not stealing it. And I don’t advertise my hot chocolate with marshmallows. I generally confine it to my office.”

“You don’t have to. We can smell it. There’s a blizzard outside. We’re the only two people left on the floor and you’re not going to share your hot chocolate with me?”

Even though he was joking, she couldn’t help feeling like a selfish little beast. “Okay, come on. I have a couple extra packets. What I don’t understand is why you want my instant hot chocolate when you could get the real thing in the executive dining room.”

“Proximity,” he said, joining her as she walked toward her office. “Besides, the executive dining room is closed.”

“You could tell your assistant to get it for you.”

“Except she’s not here. And although she would do what I asked, she’d think I’m a chauvinistic ass if I told her to get hot chocolate for me.”

She couldn’t help smiling. She poured the water into the coffeemaker and turned it on. “And you’re not?”

He tossed her a dark look. “You’ve met my sister and my aunt Finola. Those two file their teeth on the bones of men who displease them.”

Erika laughed. “Looks like you’ve successfully escaped their fury.”

“It can be a tricky challenge. Which mug are you going to give me? The one with the New York skyscraper scene?”

His ability to remember many of the little things he’d learned about her during their affair continued to surprise her. After he’d dumped her so easily, she’d decided she must not have been important to him at all. “Sorry. I think a cleaning person broke the skyscraper mug.”

A look of trepidation crossed his face. “You’re not giving me the PMS mug, are you?”

She laughed again. “No. I have a new one perfect for you to use.” She pulled a mug from a box she hadn’t unpacked yet. “I received this during a Chinese gift exchange at the HomeStyle Christmas party. I realize it’s missing a zero, but I think it will do.”

He glanced at the mug and gave a cryptic smile. It had a computer-altered image of a million-dollar bill wrapped around it. “I’ll take it.”

She dumped an envelope of hot chocolate mix into the mug and poured hot water, then stirred with one of the plastic straws she’d taken from the community coffee area. “You may borrow the mug,” she said. “I’m not giving it to you.”

“Thanks. You’re growing more territorial in your advanced years,” he said, taking the mug.

“Just embracing the boundaries that protect me,” she said and fixed her own mug of hot chocolate.

“That sounds like a line from either a shrink or a self-improvement book.”

“Paula’s psychologist. It clicked for me.”

“How about the TDH? Did he click with you?”

“So far,” she said, surprised he’d asked and not wanting to discuss it further. She buried her face into her mug and took a sip of hot chocolate.

Silence followed.

“That’s all? So far?” he prodded.

She nodded. “Uh-huh. What about you? How’s your love life?”

He blinked at her question and looked away. “It’s not a priority. I’ve got my hands full with this competition for the position of CEO of EPH.”

“Is that your standard answer?” she couldn’t resist asking.

He met her gaze and shook his head, then took a quick drink from his mug. “There was a time when you were intimidated by my position and name.”

That was before you ripped out my heart and stomped it under the heel of your Italian loafer. “That was before you tried to guilt me into giving you hot chocolate from my private stash.”

“I didn’t just try,” he said and took another sip from the mug. “I succeeded.”

“So you did. Please excuse me while I finish editing this article.”

He glanced at her desk. “Which one is it?”

“The one on the growing influence of women in sports,” she said.

“I thought that might appeal to your feminist side.”

“I suppose,” she said. “We’ve still got a long way to go to catch up with the kinds of salaries men in sports make. But that’s a matter of finding a commercial angle and creating a rabid fan base. There are plenty of barriers left to be broken.” She paused. “I’d like to see some insets on some of the current barrier-breaking women and include a little personal information with each one.”