Rhonda Nelson – Getting It Good! (страница 2)

Tate was silent for the better part of a minute, then a slow calculating grin that made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end spread across his too handsome face. “I want you to hire Ross, let him come to work at Chicks-In-Charge.”

“What?”

Tate nodded, clearly pleased with his choice. And no wonder. As founder of Chicks-In-Charge—a national organization designed expressly for the purpose of empowering women—Zora was adamantly opposed to hiring men for any of her ventures. Sexist? Yes. But she’d been burned very badly by a former boyfriend/boss—which was how Chicks-In-Charge had gotten its start in the first place—and so far the concept had worked very well for her. She provided a completely testosterone-free workplace and all of her employees loved it.

Zora frowned thoughtfully. Particularly Frankie, who’d been scorched pretty badly by her father. “You know I can’t do that,” Zora finally said, mildly irritated. Hell, she’d compromised her principles enough by getting married. Hire a man? No way. “Besides, he has a job. He wouldn’t take it.”

“Oh, I can guarantee that he would take it.” An evil sort of glee clung to his smile. “If he wants the Maxwell account he’ll take it.” Tate’s advertising firm held the prestigious honor of catering to many of the larger men’s market accounts, and the Maxwell account was an especially juicy plum.

Zora gasped. “Tate, that’s horrible.” And, yet so diabolical she found it sexy. “Hadn’t you planned on giving him that account anyway?”

Smiling, he nodded. “Yeah…but he doesn’t know that. Besides, it would be worth it to see you add a man to your payroll.” He shifted in his seat, looked heavenward and heaved a dramatic sigh. “God, would it ever be worth it.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Zora replied tightly. “Pick something else. Anything else.”

“Nope. That’s what I want,” he insisted, to Zora’s supreme irritation. He thoughtfully considered her once more and one side of his mouth kicked up in a faintly smug smile. “Guess you’re not as confident as I thought you were. That, or you just don’t want this bad enough.”

Though she knew better than to react, the somewhat mocking taunt overrode her initial hesitation. “Oh, I’m confident, and I most definitely want this.” Frankie needed someone. Desperately. And Zora simply knew—knew—that Ross was the man for her. Besides, there was simply no way Tate could beat her hand. The odds were too great against it. Still, if hell froze over and she did lose this hand, then it would be better to have set a few conditions and parameters. “Temporary employment?”

“Define ‘temporary.’”

“An hour.”

Tate laughed. “Not long enough. Try a month.”

“In your dreams. A week tops,” Zora countered.

He nodded succinctly. “Done. What have you got?”

Now, for the moment of truth. Zora grinned and carefully spread her hand down on the table. “I’ve got a straight flush, baby. Read ’em and weep.” She threw her head back and a giddy burst of triumphant laughter bubbled up her throat.

Tate hummed under his breath and his head bobbed a single nod of agreement. “That is a good hand,” he conceded lightly. “But mine’s better—”

Zora’s gleeful chortling came to an abrupt halt and the smile slid from her face. “What?”

“—because I’ve got a royal flush.” Tate laid his cards down on the table.

Stunned, Zora shook her head. Dread curdled in her stomach. “No,” she said faintly. “But you can’t—I—It’s not possible.”

He smiled. “Oh, but it is.” He cheerfully slid the pot from the middle of the table. “So, what do I want first?” Tate pondered aloud with the exaggerated air of a child who’d just been told Christmas had come early this year. “Do I want a massage? A blow job? A secret fantasy?” His eyes twinkled with evil humor. “Or do I want you to call Ross right now and offer him a job at the magazine?” He pretended to think about it for a couple of seconds, then nodded dramatically. “Yeah. That’s what I want. I want you to call Ross. Right now.” Then to Zora’s immense irritation, he howled with laughter.

“If you’re going to have to blackmail him into taking the position shouldn’t I wait until we can both talk to him?”

Still laughing, Tate shook his head. “No.”

A frustrated growl vibrated the back of Zora’s throat. “Dammit, Tate, I don’t even know what I’m going to hire him to do, for pity’s sake.”

God, what was she going to hire him to do? Zora wondered with mounting alarm. There were no current openings, she was fully staffed at CHiC, her web-based e-zine, which had just made its debut into a glossy format. Furthermore, since it looked like she would definitely have to add Ross to the payroll—albeit only for a week—she should definitely make the most of it by putting Ross and Frankie in close proximity. Which would be next to impossible because Frankie—CHiC’s resident sexpert, the Carnal Contessa—would be on tour promoting the new glossy format the magazine had recently adopted.

Zora paused as a flush of inspiration suddenly lessened the panic crowding her brain. Wait a minute. This could actually work to her advantage. What if… A slow smile worked its way across her lips. Oh, God. That was perfect. Tate had not specified in what capacity she had to hire Ross, just simply that she must.

Tate’s laughter trailed off and ended with a deep satisfied sigh. He glanced at her, then frowned. “Why are you smiling?” he asked warily. “I won. I’m the one who’s smiling. Not you. You’re not supposed to smile. You’re supposed to worry and fret and eat humble pie. This is supposed to be a character lesson, a crash course in the benefit of humility.”

Zora grinned. “Whatever.”

“Whatever? What do you mean whatever?” His eyes narrowed. “Just what exactly have you got up your sleeve?”

“You’ll see,” Zora replied mysteriously. “Right now, however, I believe I have a few plans to make.”

1

FRANKIE SALVATERRA inhaled sharply. “You’ve hired the Antichrist?”

Zora’s lips curled into a droll smile. “A wee bit dramatic, don’t you think? God, it’s stifling in here.” She threw open the French doors behind her desk, allowing the crisp New Orleans autumn air to drift inside. “And I haven’t hired him yet—but I did offer him a job.”

“A job?” Frankie repeated incredulously. “Here? At CHiC?”

Her current boss and former best friend sat, then leaned back in her padded executive chair. She nodded once. “Yes, here. With you, specifically. But,” she sighed, “it’s only temporary and, though I’ve been assured that he’ll take it, there is still the chance that he won’t.”

With her? Frankie thought ominously. No, Zora couldn’t be serious, had to be joking. She couldn’t work with Ross. He was a stubborn, arrogant ass with an exalted opinion of his wit. He breathed to annoy her. She abhorred him, detested him. And yet, despite all of that, there was a small part of her which she refused to consciously acknowledge that was utterly captivated by him.

Ross Hartford was one of those fix-me males, the sexy-as-hell, rough-around-the-edges, you’re-the-only-woman-who-can-tame-me kind of guys that Frankie was inherently—stupidly—attracted to. His face was a masterpiece of masculine planes and angles—sinfully high cheekbones, dramatically hollow cheeks, a strong angular jaw and a sexy dimpled cleft that she’d fantasized about tasting one too many times. He had light brown tousled locks, eyes that were neither green nor blue nor hazel, but a compelling combination of all three, a voice that was low and smooth and a mouth that made her wet even when it curled into a mocking grin.

Which was beyond intolerable and only increased her desire to hate him.

Muttering a string of obscenities, Frankie vaulted from her seat and paced the plush office. She simply couldn’t believe this. Could not believe it. She’d known Zora Anderson-Hatcher since college, had been right there with her when the concept for Chicks-In-Charge had been born and had heard her say on countless occasions that she’d never hire a man. It was no small part of the reason Frankie loved working for CHiC, why she’d been drawn to and ultimately proud of being a part of the Chicks-In-Charge organization.

And despite that vehement credo, Zora’d not only abandoned it altogether, but hired the worst possible man on the damned planet and had the further effrontery to pair her with him?

She frowned, then irritably rubbed the line from between her brows. It just didn’t make any sense. Was completely out of character. Totally rash. What on earth had possessed her to—

Frankie gasped and whirled to face her. “You’ve been playing Dirty Poker again, haven’t you?”

Her boss flushed guiltily and looked away.

“Zora,” Frankie all but wailed, outraged. “You’re a terrible poker player! You rarely win. How could you bet something like this?” Irritation and disgust propelled her back into her chair. She shook her head, shoved a handful of hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe you did this! What on earth were you thinking?”

Zora huffed a despondent sigh, rolled her eyes. “I was thinking that I’d win, that’s what I was thinking. I had a straight flush.”

Intrigued, Frankie glanced up. “A straight flush? Then how did you—”