Jennifer Labrecque - Better Than Chocolate...

“The only fun I’m interested in is winning that promotion and beating LaRoux.”

“I’m just interested in who winds up on top,” Andrea said, a teasing glint in her eye.

JACK LAROUX LEANED against the hotel’s black marble counter, impatience lurking behind his nonchalance. He needed a swim, a shower and a Scotch. Not necessarily in that order. All three were a mere check-in away.

According to Neville, Jack also needed to get laid. But then again, his assistant considered sex of tantamount importance ninety-nine percent of the time. From day one Jack’s perpetual reserve had never inhibited Neville’s outrageous tongue.

While he waited on his key card, Jack checked out the bar tucked into a corner on the first floor, visible from the lobby mezzanine. Not crowded yet. Not surprising at seven forty-five on a Friday night. He could probably pick up a Scotch and Neville’s prescribed lay in the bar. If that was what he’d wanted. Instead, he’d order the Scotch poolside after his swim.

“Here you are, Mr. LaRoux,” said the desk clerk. Meg, according to her name tag, offered a smooth, professional smile along with his key card. “You’re in Suite four-fourteen. Is there anything else I can help you with? Do you need a hand with your bag?”

“I can handle it.” He picked up the garment bag and the black leather attaché housing his laptop, compliments of Hendley and Wells, and smiled across the desk at her. “Thanks, Meg.”

Meg blushed and tucked her hair behind one ear, flustered. Who was he to question why women responded to his smile that way? But they did, and it made his life much easier. Most of the time. “Enjoy your stay, Mr. LaRoux.”

“Thanks.” Jack shouldered his bag and headed for the bank of elevators, anxious to dump his things in his room and head to the pool. He had energy to burn and swimming laps inspired some of his best thinking.

He rode the glass-fronted elevator to the third floor. The thick carpet absorbed the sound of his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

His cell phone buzzed. Neville’s office extension flashed on the caller ID. Jack flipped it open with one hand. “Hi, Nev.”

“You will not believe who just called the office looking for you,” Neville announced with typical dramatic flair.

“Don’t leave me hanging.” Jack keyed open his suite door and padded across the thick carpet. He deposited his laptop on the desk.

“LaTonya Greer.” Neville paused for effect.

The redhead he’d met at the art gallery opening last week? No. Her name was Leslie or Laura or maybe it’d been Leanne. It wasn’t LaTonya. He crossed the sitting room to the bedroom and hung his garment bag in the closet. “Am I supposed to know LaTonya Greer?”

“Hel-lo. Assistant to Eve the Evil One.”

“Hmm. I hope LaTonya Greer doesn’t torture her boss with hyperbole.”

Neville sniffed on the other end. “You’d better hope she’s not as good at her job as I am. Of course, she couldn’t possibly be.”

Jack grinned at Neville’s pretended effrontery and juggled the cell phone on his shoulder as he shrugged out of his jacket. “No one’s as good at their job as you are—hyperbole or otherwise. What did Ms. Greer want with me and what did you tell her?”

“It was some nonsense about confirming information for Monday’s meeting. I told her you were in a meeting.”

“Good. Anything else?”

“Good. That’s it? Don’t you wonder what she’s up to?”

Neville possessed excellent intuition regarding advertising, but he tended to be a tad dramatic, seeing intrigue where none existed.

Jack shrugged, even though Neville couldn’t see it over the phone. “I’m sure you handled it with your usual aplomb.”

“I did, thank you. Now, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Neville’s voice carried that let-us-digress-to-sex tone.

“After I hang up with you I’m going to check out the pool.”

“Laps and a Scotch?” Nev asked with a sigh.

Neville sounded as if Jack might break out knitting needles next. It didn’t mean he’d grown boringly predictable, it just meant he’d developed a method that worked. Sipping Scotch after a hard swim sparked his creativity.

“I should be poolside—” he checked his Rolex “—in about ten minutes.”

“Swim your laps and then check out the bar. All work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy. Find yourself a playmate for the weekend.”

“I’m not into—”

“Then you should be,” Neville interrupted. “You’ve been wound up way too tight lately. Think of it as relaxation therapy. You know, all those endorphins released by good sex. Consider it priming the pump for doing your best work on Monday.” Neville was nothing if not tenacious. Arguing with him was a waste of breath.

“Sure, Nev,” Jack said.

“You’re humoring me.” Jack should’ve gone for a more convincing tone. “I’m dead serious about those endorphins.”

“I’ve been busy.” And bored. All the women he met seemed the same.

“Nobody should be that busy. Speaking of bitches, when’s the Evil Eve blowing in on her broom?”

They’d been speaking of bitches? Not in his conversation. Jack shook his head. “You supplied the itinerary forwarded by the travel agent. She’s expected the same time I was supposed to be here, Monday morning.”

“I’ll want a full report on the Avenger.”

Eve the Avenger. Or simply, Evil Eve as Neville preferred. She had a hell of a buzz going, not only in the company but in the industry. He’d studied her most recent projects. She was good, borderline brilliant.

“I’m looking forward to meeting her. I admire her work and respect her reputation.” He’d even pictured her a couple of times in his head. Tall, thin, distant, cool. Okay, maybe he even had a bit of a fantasy thing going for her.

“Courting the enemy. That is so Machiavellian,” Neville said.

“Not particularly. It’s just good business. And I wasn’t planning to court her, simply meet her. When I get the new position, she’ll be an asset to the team.”

When he moved into the vice presidency, he’d welcome her talent. And he would win that promotion. He knew he was damn good at what he did. And a vice presidency was the kind of success a man like his father recognized.

Henri LaRoux, with icy disdain, had predicted Jack would fall flat on his face when he left the family business to make his way in the advertising world. Henri hadn’t understood Jack’s driving need to excel outside of the commercial real estate industry and his family’s considerable influence. Jack could hardly wait to throw his visible success in his father’s face.

Not only did he want the vice presidency for himself, he wanted it for Neville, also. Neville had worked long and hard, giving up the security at his old firm to follow Jack to Hendley and Wells. It was nearly seven on a Friday night and Nev was still at the office.

“She’s good, Jack. I’m not so sure about this one.” Nev always got this way on a project, antsy and uncertain. But that was okay. Jack was sure enough for both of them. Nothing, or in this case, no one, was going to stand in the way of that promotion.

“Don’t worry, Neville. Beating Eve Carmichael is going to be like taking candy from a baby.”

EVE DROPPED her towel onto a lounge chair and walked to the edge of the nearly deserted rooftop pool. A couple sat in the hot tub perched a few steps above the pool. Well, they weren’t exactly sitting—it was more as if they were devouring each other. Low lighting cast the tables scattered around the stone patio into shadowed intimacy.

To the left, a small bar stood empty except for the bartender and a cocktail waitress chatting at the counter. The waitress looked at Eve to make sure she was okay. Eve signaled with a small wave. She’d swim first, drink later. Smooth jazz floated from hidden speakers. Despite the glass walls and roof, Eve could almost feel the caress of the night air.