Sultry in Stilettos

“I want to see other people. Starting right now.”

Ricca Munroe’s heart stuttered, and her whole world stood still. She blinked up at her boyfriend Charles Garber, trying to comprehend the words that came out of his mouth. But her brain only caught snippets. The phrases she did catch hit her like blows. “Too clingy…” Slap. “Too focused on marriage...” Slap. “…not enough fun…” Punch. “…Don’t care enough about your appearance…” Knockout. Apparently this asshole was related to Roberto Durant.

He was dumping her? In the middle of the Westhorpe Gala? Hell.

Right now, one of her best planned fantasies was happening, and not only was she missing it, she was getting dumped. By a guy she’d planned to break up with? While she was wearing Spanxx no less. The universe had a messed up sense of humor.

Her best friend Jaya was getting the proposal of a lifetime, and Ricca was here on the balcony listening to this asshole. When Jaya’s hope-to-be-fiancé had approached Ricca to plan the proposal, she’d worked hard to make it happen. At least something good would come out of this night.

She glowered at Charles. When he’d picked her up tonight she’d thought he looked dapper with his gray tuxedo complementing his smooth, café-au-lait skin. Now, he just looked like a slimy slug who’d ignored the black-tie attire suggestion. “Funny how you couldn’t do this back at my place before we came out tonight.” Fury and confusion made for a fiery cocktail in her stomach.

He had the nerve to look bored. “I’m not an asshole. I wasn’t going to let you walk in all alone. But we’re done. I’m going to go mingle.”

“Let me get this straight, you’re doing me a favor? Funny how this favor couldn’t wait until the end of the night.” She narrowed her eyes. “You met someone, didn’t you?”

His voice was smooth—velvety—slick. “I just need to be with someone a little more driven. You know, going places.”

“And you think because I’m nurturing, I’m not driven.”

“Let’s face it. You’re the type of woman who wants to be married with kids. And that’s fine. I just don’t want that now.”

Her hands shook as she spoke. “Get the hell out of my sight.” If he didn’t leave her field of vision, she was likely to slap him in the face with her Spanxx.

He shrugged and walked away. Even more horrifying than all of this was the fact that the sniveling asshole had dumped her before she could break up with him. She'd known for weeks that she had to do it. But the holidays weren’t ideal. And not because, as her friend Micha suggested, that she would eschew all the good gifts if she did it earlier, but rather because neither one of them was in town. Dumping someone over the phone, or worse by text message, was so the new Post-it breakup, circa Sex and The City.

Why the hell was she always making bad man choices? Guys that she thought were solid and nice and seemed to care about her. Then shit like this happened. They were either deadbeats like Royce, who’d asked her to buy him a car. They only cared about sex, like Alan. They wanted an in with her friends, like Antoine. Or worse—cheat on her like that asshole, Braedon. She was off men—for good.

Okay so maybe not for good, but at least for a really long time. Her problem was that she was always chasing the possibility of love. She’d never actually been in love, but she understood the difference. It wasn’t that she hadn’t met the one, but rather that he was actively hiding from her.

Move, she told herself. Move. Get somewhere safe, then you can cry and throw things. But her feet refused to budge. She couldn't move her arms, like she was frozen alive. Like her limbs didn't connect to her brain, and there was nowhere to hide.

The crisp clicks of staggering stilettos off the polished concrete floor filtered through Ricca’s numbness as did the cocktail chatter. At least she was on the exterior balcony where no one could see her face. Above her, only a few clouds marred the clear night. Since they were so close to downtown she couldn’t see too many stars, but the few she did twinkled cheerily, oblivious to her woes. Strong heat lamps bracketed against the side of the building were the only thing that kept the crisp air from slicing through her.

She had to get out of here before anyone saw her. If she ran into Jaya, her friend would insist on trying to help. And God help them all if she ran into Micha. She would slaughter Charles publically, CSI and prison be damned.

A tear escaped from her lashes. Shit. Nausea rolled through her belly, and she wanted to hurl. But there she was, rooted in place. With no one coming to her aid.

Shit, she had to move before everyone witnessed her crumble into sloppy reality TV star kind of tears. Bracing her hand on the steel railing of the balcony, she wrapped an arm around her waist. The borrowed Balenciaga corset dress was a bad call. Not only had she had to put a cropped blazer jacket over it to cover the girls, but now the damn thing was cutting off her circulation. Or maybe that was the Spanxx. She dragged in several deep breaths in a futile attempt to calm her nerves. How the hell did someone escape a crowded party with their boobs hanging out, teetering on four-inch stilts while being asphyxiated? The hint of Hugo by Hugo Boss cologne alerted her that she wasn’t alone on the balcony. The scent was as familiar to her as her Marc Jacobs Oh Lola! perfume. As her heart kicked, her breathing grew shallow, and her palms started to sweat.

“Help. I need a rescue. Stage one Annie Wilkes clinger on my tail.”

Ricca gasped with surprise as Beckett Mills practically skidded into her. Given his broad-shouldered, six foot five-inch frame, she would have been road kill if he’d actually run over her. But what a way to go. With his curly blond hair and piercing blue eyes, not to mention his swimmer’s body, she’d have been the envy of every woman here.

Quickly she wiped her cheeks with her drink napkin and plastered a smile on her face. She could do this. A little small talk and she could escape. Nerves of steel, Ricca. The last thing she needed was Beckett’s pity. Ricca was used to playing buffer between him and overzealous women. After all, what good were wing-women if not as buffers? This was familiar territory. She’d explore her feelings about Charles dumping her later. Just as soon as she burned her Spanxx.

“Sorry, B, you’re no Paul Sheldon. Besides, I told you not to bring a colossal clinger as your date. When I met her last week, I told you this one wanted to have your babies like tomorrow. But you never listen to me.”

Beckett’s aqua blue eyes narrowed, and he frowned as he scrutinized her. The frown hardened his too-handsome features and made him look dangerous. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answered automatically. Best friend or not, she didn’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not with him.

He sighed and adjusted his bow tie, sticking a finger between the tight knot and his Adam’s apple. “You might as well tell me. I’ll keep harassing you until you do, and that would be a waste of your holy-shit-you’re-actually-showing-skin party dress. Just tell me.”

Ricca squared her shoulders. “You’re very irritating, you know that?” Ever since she’d known him, he had a way of making her forget her inherent shyness and just be her. Probably because he was persistently annoying. “Charles dumped me, okay? Can we stop talking about this now?”

“When the hell did he dump you? I saw you come in with that sniveling moron. I mean, why would you come with him to the party if—” He snapped his jaw shut, and his shoulders slumped. “Shit. When I just saw him walking away…”

“Was me telling him to go screw him—”

She didn’t get to finish as she instantly came in contact with Beckett’s chest. His arms enveloped her, and he squeezed. “He’s an asshole. If you want, I’ll grab Micha, and we’ll go disappear Charles’ ass.”

For one overindulgent second, Ricca let herself sink into Beckett’s embrace. She inhaled his unique scent of ocean and Hugo cologne. She allowed herself just one second of flutter in her lower belly and a galloping heart. Then she very deliberately stepped away.

“Thanks, but I’m good. Now do you want to explain to me how you ended up with yet another clinger?”

His lips quirked into a parody of a smile, but his brow remained furrowed. “Well, I wouldn’t have had to show up with a sub-par date if you had come with me.”

Ricca schooled her expression, even though she winced inwardly. She’d been deflecting Beckett’s shameless flirting for years. But tonight it smarted. “Well, to be fair, I had a boyfriend when you came running to me needing a last minute date.” Sniveling asshole EX-boyfriend.

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Where is the asswipe, anyway? I’m going to see if I can get him tossed out.”

“Don’t bother. He’ll just cause a scene. God, I can’t believe I wore Spanxx for this guy.”

“What the hell are Spanxx? And can I see them?” He waggled his eyebrows.

She rolled her eyes. Ignore and deflect. “You don’t want to know. And no, you may not. Besides, I know you like your women modelesque. My Spanxx would scare you.” For years she’d tried telling Beckett he might have more luck with a longstanding relationship if he just picked someone a little less Starving-Barbie and a little more normal. Like me.

With practiced ease, she smothered the errant thought. Her college crush on Beckett always picked the most inappropriate times to rear its head. Beside, Beckett Mills was not the marrying kind. Nor, with her petite curvy figure, was she in any way his type.

He inclined his head and grinned. “Nothing wrong with hot women. I can’t help it if they want to date me.”

“So modest. But maybe just once you could date someone who looks like she actually eats. What’s her name tonight could do with a pork chop or some of my mother’s callaloo.” Growing up, the Trinidadian dish, with its spices and hint of sweetness from coconut milk, was one of her favorites. It also was probably the reason for half her curves.

He nodded. “Yeah, hot.” He licked his lips. “And don’t make me hungry. I love your mom’s cooking.”

“You’re incorrigible. You deserve what you get.” Good old Beckett, predictable in his flirting. Normally, she indulged herself and enjoyed the attention. One of life’s little indulgences and, save one night in college, she knew better than to take his flirting as anything more. But tonight she wasn’t in the mood. All she wanted to do right now was go home and crawl into bed. With Beckett. No. Not with Beckett. Even she wasn’t that self-destructive.

One of the many photographers rolled around and snapped a shot of them together, which they dutifully smiled for. The poor guy had a tough time trying to get the two of them in the same frame. At her even five feet, she was more than a foot shorter than Beckett.

Beckett stared gloomily into his empty champagne glass. “So, are you going to let Jaya put you in one of those hideous bridesmaids’ gowns? If you want, I can recommend those ones from the mermaid fantasy we did last year.”

She grimaced. “Don’t you dare. The color alone is enough to make me vomit.” Of course he would remember that fantasy. They’d both worked at Fantasy, Inc. as event planners for three years. Leave it to Beckett to remember her least favorite fantasy.

“You wouldn’t have known it from the way you encouraged that woman. You were so sweet. I couldn’t believe you were able to pull that one off. The bride was a nightmare.”

“Well, that’s my job.” She tipped her head up and narrowed her gaze. “You going to survive Jaya’s wedding? I know you and Alec aren’t the best of friends.”

Beckett shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with the guy. And he seems to make Jaya happy, though I could do without the two of them pawing each other every chance they get. It’s not too likely that we’ll be chummy. Besides, my little ducklings have to grow up sometime.” He reached over to tug one of the tendrils that escaped her side bun.

Ricca gasped and ducked out of the way. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to get my hair to do this?” The side-swept messy bun had just the right amount of control and fun to it. Her hair was hard enough to control she didn’t need Beckett adding to the mess. “If I were you, I wouldn’t let Micha hear you call her a little duckling. I don’t want to think about what she might do or say to you.”

“I’m not afraid of Micha.” But still he looked around to make sure she wasn’t standing nearby.

From behind them, someone said, “How about a kiss?”

Both of them whirled and gaped at the unassuming photographer. Ricca’s heart skipped into a trot at the suggestion. Even as she drew in a shuddering breath, she clamped the flare of desire quick. No. Not ever going to happen. That would be all kinds of fuckeduptitude. She opened her mouth for some pat awkward response, but Beckett beat her to it.

“Yeah, no. I don’t think so. We’re not a couple.”

The photographer held up the camera. “It’s for the charity kiss auction. Winners of best kiss will get twenty thousand dollars donated to their favorite charity. Are you sure you can’t muster up a kiss?”

Ricca could practically hear Beckett’s teeth grinding. He needed the money. He’d been dying to rehab an old gymnasium downtown for years. Besides women, it was all he ever talked about. Twenty thousand dollars would go miles toward rehabbing it into a practice pool for underprivileged kids.

Never mind that she’d only fantasized about him kissing her for a million years. But this would not be that kind of kiss, she admonished herself. It’s for charity, her inner diva whined. But one kiss from him and she’d be in a mess of trouble. He was too much like his brother Braedon.

****

Becket’s heart thudded, and in that breath, he leaped at the idea. Not just because of the charity earnings. He might tease Ricca, but flirting with her was about as close as he’d ever let himself get. She was the one relationship he couldn’t fuck up—wouldn’t fuck up. She was right. It would ruin everything if he kissed her. But God, of the most secret wishes, it was the one he kept closeted under lock and key and under a wardrobe trunk.

Still, twenty grand, and he could have that pool open by the end of the year if he busted ass. He already had a few architects he wanted to take a look at the place. All he needed was the start up cash—and to risk his most important friendship for a dream. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe.

All he had to do was kiss her. Something quick and brief enough to put a holster on any errant fantasy that might crawl its way to the surface, but with enough dramatic flair to win. Geez. He cleared his throat. Maybe if he made a joke of it, it would be okay. “Relax, Ricca. I promise you, I’m very good.” He waggled his eyebrows for effect. Keep it nice and light.

She wrinkled her brows as she looked between him and the photographer. “You’re kidding me, right? Beckett, this is insane.”

“This is for charity. And I know just the charity. Help some underprivileged kids get a pool. It’s for the kids, Ricca. I can’t help it if you want my body.” He could only wish.

She scoffed. “You’re an idiot.”

“That may be true, but your man has a point. The charity kiss auction has been a Westhorpe Gala tradition for thirty years.” Adele Westhorpe, the hostess and billionaire hotel magnate, interjected as she strolled up to them, looking regal in her shimmer and diamonds. “Besides,” she added, “You’re standing under the mistletoe. You almost have to kiss at this point.”

Beckett looked up, and his heart kicked again. When he glanced back at the old lady, he would have sworn there was a knowing look in her eye, but it was gone just as soon as he noticed it, replaced by an impassive stare. He cleared his throat. “It’s not me you have to convince.” He inclined his head at Ricca. “I’m afraid she thinks I’m beneath her.”

Ricca slapped him on the arm. “Would you stop?” She huffed a breath. “Fine. But if you’re going to kiss me, make it good for the camera. Some kids need a pool, or so someone tells me.”

Beckett watched as Ricca licked her full lips. His body jerked and went rigid. Shit. Breathe. His fingertips tingled with the urge to touch her. In so many ways this was a huge mistake. In so many ways this could ruin everything.

Too bad he didn’t care.

Ricca looked from side to side. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He looked over at Adele Westhorpe, who wore a beatific smile. Fine. He could do this. Stepping into Ricca, he inhaled her scent. Something lemony and sweet. As familiar to him as his own cologne.

She tipped her head up and gave him a wry smile. “Why do you look terrified?”

He hadn’t had to think through the mechanics of a kiss so much since he was sixteen. Beckett wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her into his body. She leaned back, and wide, honey-brown eyes stared up at him. He swallowed hard as he walked himself through the technical mechanics. Lean over. Hold her tight. Angle your head. Place lips on hers.

The instant electric sparks made his brain fuzz. All he heard was the blood rushing through his head. Immediately, they pulled their lips apart and just stared. Under his fingertips, he felt her racing pulse, and his eyes widened. She’d felt it too?

She puffed out a tiny breath, and he smelled champagne and mint mixed with her lemony scent. He couldn’t have predicted what would happen next. When her lips parted, cohesive thought didn’t even factor. He slid his lips against hers again. Her breath mingled with his and his tongue sought hers. When she tentatively met his tongue with hers, he devoured her. Clamping a hand behind her neck, he held her in place. His hands shifted from her waist to her ass. He held her against him and groaned when her hands tentatively went to his face. The soft, generous curves of her breasts pressed into his chest.

She made a soft mewling sound, and he immediately deepened the kiss as a low growl rumbled deep in his chest. His libido roared to attention, and his erection throbbed against his tuxedo pants. In this moment, it was him and Ricca, alone and both willing and ready to do something carnal and dirty and—No, they weren’t alone. And he wasn’t kissing some random chick he’d picked up in a bar. He was kissing Ricca.

His brain gave the command to remove his hand from her ass, but his body rebelled against the instruction. Ricca didn’t help matters when her hands shifted from his face and fisted into the hair at the nape of his neck. An errant thought intruded into his lust-filled haze. Is she pulling you in, or is she pulling you away? Shit.

He straightened and pulled her upright, separating them. He took a deliberate step away and met her gaze. Her lips, plump and juicy, parted just a little. Her dark eyes were heavy lidded, and her pupils dilated. His body screamed to go back for more.

Ricca blinked, opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Beckett racked his brain but didn’t have the words for what they’d just done. After all there wasn’t a Hallmark for this kind of thing. Sorry I just kissed you like you were some bar girl I picked up in Pacific Beach.

“Well, if that doesn’t win best kiss, I’m dying to witness what does.” Adele Westhorpe looked pleased with herself.

Beckett’s fingers twitched, and he still felt the tingles in his feet. There it was, the inevitable urge to flee. Far and fast, away from anything important and serious. But he couldn’t just walk away from her. “Ricca, I—”

She quickly averted her eyes. “I—um. I’m just going to go. I’ll see you later.”

Beckett watched as she nearly ran in the opposite direction.

“Are you just going to let her walk away?” asked Adele.

“I don’t really have a choice.”

I never should have kissed him.

As Ricca iced her last cupcake, she anxiously checked her phone again. No texts. Exactly one week, two days, and nine hours since she’d gotten the kiss of her lifetime from Beckett, and not once since then had he texted or called. You haven’t called him either. Ricca glowered at her inner Diva.

It’s not like she’d been the one to jump him. It was supposed to be a silly kiss. Then somewhere along the way, it had changed into something hot enough to melt her panties. Icing oozed over her fingers as the memory of Beckett’s hand on her ass, cupping her against his body intruded.

“Oh shit.” She grabbed a checkered kitchen towel and quickly wiped up the icing from her large, butcher-block island. Reaching down, she snapped open the cupboard under the island and searched for the perfect container. She needed one large enough but not too expensive, in case her container walked away like her last two had. She grabbed the one she was looking for and placed the cupcakes into the dish. She had enough for the morning meeting staff and a few left over for the assistants.

Hell, she didn’t even like the birthday girl very much. But she was the cake girl—the one who baked something for everyone’s birthday on the mid to senior staff. Who was she kidding? She pretty much made cupcakes or desserts for everyone she had any direct contact with. The way she figured it, it paid to be nice to the staff. When she was in a jam with a client, she could usually call in a few favors. And things could get hairy this week. As it was, she already had an anxious mother-to-be breathing down her neck for the perfect baby shower, complete with baby elephants and a bratty teenager who wanted to get One Direction for her party. Apparently, Ricca was a miracle worker instead of a fantasy event planner. Just once, she’d kill for the opportunity at one of the master fantasies. Master fantasies were where the challenges were. Out of the box thinking. Too bad she’d been asking for one for over a year, but no dice.

Again she checked her phone, and again she cursed. If Beckett hadn’t texted or called by now, he wasn’t going to. They’d both been with family for the Christmas holiday and busy, so it was understandable that he hadn’t called. It was just so far out of their routine that it worried her.

Suck it up, kid. She would get to see him today, so she’d just have to deal till then. Pull your big girl thong on and act cool and breezy. It was just a kiss, not the end of the world. They’d both laugh about it and go back to being Ricca and Beckett.

Satisfied with her mini pep talk, she grabbed her stuff and headed out.

Once she arrived at work, she laid out the cupcake spread with a card and balloons—thanks to Karen, her intern—and tried not to bite her nails. As everyone filed in, Ricca received cheery good mornings and grateful sighs as folks started picking up their treats.

The birthday girl, Emily, strolled in with her sidekicks, a.k.a, the Bitch Brigade, and Ricca plastered a smile on her face. Fake it till you make it. “Happy Birthday, Emily.”

Emily’s eyes lit up as she eyed the red velvet cupcakes. Then Angel, the Bitch Brigade’s leader nudged her, and she mumbled, “Thanks, Ricca, but I’ve given up sugar.”

Ricca blinked once then twice. She’d woken up at five AM to make these for someone who didn’t even like sugar? Schooling her expression, she muttered, “I wish I’d known. I’d have brought you something else. I’ll um, just give it to Reception or something.”

“Oh, c’mon, Ricca, it’s obvious you like cupcakes. You should just have Emily’s. It’s not like you're watching your weight or anything. After all, you did all the hard work.” Angel smiled sweetly.

Ricca clasped her hands tightly in her lap as she clenched her jaw. If you kill her, Micha and Jaya aren’t here to help you move the body. Breathe. She sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. God, she hated Angel. Why the skinny blonde was so cruel was beyond her. Maybe in another life, Ricca had stolen her boyfriend or something. One of these days it would come to a head with the two of them, and Ricca would blow.

Luckily someone muttered, “God, I love birthdays. Ricca, you should open your own dessert place.”

Distracted from her anger, Ricca mumbled a thanks and kept her eyes peeled on the door. No Beckett. Maybe he wasn’t coming back today after all. Despite what the company calendar said.

As always, Serena Witt, President of Fantasy Inc., started the meeting on time. As Ricca’s boss droned on about last quarter’s profits, Ricca tried to keep her attention on the job and not on Beckett. She certainly wouldn’t think about the kiss. When the stupid photographer at the stupid Westhorpe, Year End Gala had suggested a stupid smooch under the mistletoe for the charity auction, she should have said, “No way.” “Nein.” “No thank you.” “Never in a million years.” Shit, he should have been the first one saying, “Hell no!” But ever the consummate flirt, Beckett had kidded her into compliance.

Shit. Who the hell was she kidding? His mouth should have come with a warning label. Warning: Side effects include scorched lips, flushed skin, an inability to stop picturing your best friend naked, along with sleepless nights. Please see your battery operated boyfriend if any of these symptoms occur. She had to stop thinking about him, the kiss, all of it. It was bad for her health—and her libido. Talk about torture.

She licked her lips in an effort to remember the taste of him. Without much effort, she recalled the mint and scotch on his tongue, and she shivered.

No. She couldn’t do this to herself. She shook her head, tried to shove the memory aside. But this flashback was more resilient than the others she’d managed to shut down. Her memory kept spinning the movie reel of their kiss, and she immediately remembered how his lips molded to hers. How he’d dragged her body to his and practically lifted her off the ground like he’d wanted to eat her alive. For that moment in time, she’d wanted to pretend it all could be real. But it wasn’t.

When the flashbacks of hot and heavy wouldn’t subside, she forced her gaze over to the Bitch Brigade. Yep, that did it—Angel’s scathing glare put a chill on any embers in Ricca’s body. Suppressing a shudder, she turned her gaze toward Serena and tried to pull herself back to the meeting. Focusing on Beckett when she was supposed to be listening to her boss was self-destructive.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard Serena say, “The leads for our next Master Fantasy will be Angel Flannigan and Beckett Mills, if he ever shows up.”

Say, what the fuck? Angel was getting this client?

Ricca sat bolt upright and sputtered around her sip of latte. She darted a glance around the conference room, hoping no one had noticed she’d been daydreaming. As it was, she’d only heard snippets of what Serena had been saying. Something along the lines of “New Fantasy client…out of the box thinking…important to the agency…very wealthy and high end…fun…” Ricca had been angling to be lead on a Master Fantasy for over a year. Master Fantasies were the big-ticket clients, who were willing to spend fifty thousand or more. It looked great on the resume, and it was a chance to really spread her wings so she could finally stop doing sweet sixteen parties.

Ricca blinked, stupefied. This was supposed to be her fantasy. Angel didn’t even have any planning experience. She was on the fantasy acting side. She played the part for guys who wanted a fantasy Vegas weekend. She was the arm candy travel partner for old rich guys who were socially awkward. She was a junior planner—how the hell had she gotten this gig?

Ricca gnashed her teeth together. Busting out with “That heifer can’t plan her way around Neiman’s” would not help her get the job. Her only option was to speak to Serena after the meeting. Bratty antics would get her nowhere.

Serena went on as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb. “Angel, you get to select your team, but Ricca will work with you. She has the experience you’ll need for the romance fantasies.”

Screw professionalism, Ricca itched to throw her cupcake at her boss.

“I expect you two to knock this one out of the water, or whatever the saying is.” Serena’s eastern European accent was so minimal it was barely noticeable most of the time, until she said something she was unsure of.

Ricca rolled her lips inward to moisten them. She glanced around the room, only letting her eyes rest on Angel for a split second before moving on. “I’m not sure I’m right for this fantasy. Angel should be able to pick her team, it’s only fair.” Read, no way you can take my Master Fantasy, give it to that self-serving bi—erm, ex-model, and expect me to play ball. She prayed Serena would buy that and not give her a public flogging.

“What’s the matter, Ricca, you afraid I’ll outshine you?” Angel’s voce was smooth with just a hint of sarcasm.

Serena was quick to cut off their jibes. “That’s enough, you two. These clients are not only important to the business, but they are personal friends of Zachery’s and mine. I expect these fantasies to be flawless.”

And just like that, Ricca was working for the enemy.

****

Shit. Late again. Beckett grabbed his gym bag and hustled to work. Even though he'd be making it by the skin of his teeth, he still went the long route so he could check on the renovation progress of the dilapidated building he’d bought with his brother, Braedon. There, on the corner of 13th and J street, was the old gym, Swim on J. Years ago it had been a boxing gym. Back when downtown San Diego had been a red light district, some great boxers had come here to train. But the building had stood empty for almost twelve years. Everything on the inside and the outside of the exposed brick was getting a face-lift. Just like he’d planned.

He and his brother Braedon had taken on the job with their mother. As a former swim coach, she’d been passionate about giving at-risk kids an outlet through sports and competition. She’d gone over every plan and blueprint for the place. But then she’d died. He and Braedon had taken over the job, but for two years they’d struggled to really do it justice. To cut costs, they’d opted to do much of the work themselves. When she’d died, she’d left money in a trust for both of them to continue, but with a few legal snafus, Beckett’s half of the trust was tied up with his father. It didn’t matter though. Come hell or high-water, they were getting this building done. He’d promised her.

Hustling through the building, Beckett did a mental scan, making note of any subtle changes. He wanted to make sure no homeless people had moved in and could claim squatter’s rights. Braedon had clearly been here over the holiday—the lockers in the men’s locker room were halfway mounted.

Beckett couldn't help the giddy excitement about the building. Ever since his mother had told him and his brother about her plans for it, he'd been dying to get started.

But then she'd passed away, and instead of building the project together, he and Braedon were on their own. But Beckett had made her a promise to build this place and he’d see it through no matter what it took.

He hustled down Island St. and made his way to the Fifth Avenue building where Fantasies, Inc. resided. As he rounded the corner, he did a run-by on the local coffee stand and smiled as he saw the barista finishing up his usual order. One latté, extra whipped cream, and one black coffee.

“Thanks, Helen." He flashed her a smile.

She grinned at him good-naturedly. "One of these days, you're going to buy me coffee, you hear?"

"Anytime. Just as soon as you leave your husband." He grinned and headed into Fantasies' building. The twelve-story building had once been a historical San Diego hotel. The developer who bought it had renovated it to make it more hospitable for businesses and added modern touches like the uber-modern lobby, but the outside exterior had that old time Spanish architecture and feel. Some of the offices were structured like hotel rooms and were connected by interior doors.

And for Beckett, if it wasn’t the waves, it was the indoor pool constantly distracting him. He'd long since hung up the mantle of Olympic hopeful, but a small part of his subconscious mind held on to the dream. It didn’t matter that he was almost thirty. He still trained as if the opportunity might present.

He didn’t bother with the elevator. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time and headed straight to the conference room. Zach's wife and business partner, Serena Witt, wouldn’t appreciate his tardiness, but then again, she never did. But she started the meetings at 9:15am on the dot to accommodate for her husband. Serena would have preferred to have the meeting at 9. Her eastern European sensibilities caused her to frown every time she saw Beckett squeak in just in time for the meeting. Today, he checked his watch as he eased down into the only available seat and handed the black coffee to his left. Nine thirty. Really late.

He didn’t dare slide a glance in Ricca’s direction. If he acted normally, things would just fall in line, right? A week was the longest they’d gone without talking. Or texting. He had to fix the awkwardness before it ruined their friendship.

“Nice of you to join us, Beckett.” Serena rolled her eyes.

He smirked. “Sorry.”

I never should have kissed her.

Beckett willed his eyes not to look in Ricca’s direction. Begged them even. But they were in no mood to cooperate. The moment he caught sight of her shifting in her seat and the way her thick wavy hair strained against the bobby-pinned bun she always wore, he squeezed his eyes shut to clear the imagery. Bad idea. Immediately, his brain transported him to that moment under the mistletoe when he’d gone back for that second kiss. He’d made that one choice unconsciously, grabbing her ass and hauling her against him, devouring her lips like a starving man.

Beckett blinked hard. So not going to go there.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Why had he kissed her? Because you wanted to. No. He did not want to. She was one of his best friends, and she was off limits—regardless of his stupidity at the Gala. He should never have listened to the old lady. But who in their right mind told Adele Westhorpe no?

What the hell did you say to your best friend when you were having all kinds of inappropriate thoughts about her? He so needed Hallmark to start making cards for just this occasion. He kept hoping that maybe he’d be lucky and Ricca would have forgotten the whole thing by now.

But given she hadn’t called or texted, and she was sitting as rigidly as stone next to him, that wasn’t likely to happen.

“Beckett, you missed the big announcement. You’ll be adventure lead on a Master Fantasy coming up.”

He blinked in surprise and instinctively turned to Ricca. “I guess we’ll be working together.”

The moment their eyes locked, he felt the rush of prickly heat all over his body. Memories of her soft lips under his flashed in his mind. The way her curves had molded to his hands, and the way her petite frame had molded to his body. He was glad he had his notebook covering the front of his pants.

As for her response, it was unreadable. Her eyes went wide for a moment, then she turned back around so quickly that the wisps of hair escaping her bun flew out like a fan.

Fantastic. One kiss had cost him his best friend.

Serena cleared her throat. “Not quite. You’ll be working with Angel as the romance lead.”

He frowned. Angel? She had no experience.

Angel grinned at him, and his body jerked. He should never have slept with her. Worst move he’d ever made. Funny, you were happy enough to sleep with her two weeks ago. It had been just after a street racing adventure, and they’d still been high off of the adrenaline. She was beautiful, but cold and seriously bitchy. He never should have gone there. Too late now. But still, how the hell had Angel gotten this job over Ricca?

“Okay.” He tried for a smile, but all he really managed to do was show some teeth. One hell of a mistake to sleep with her. He slung his gaze back to Serena, who was still talking.

“As you may have heard, we’re restructuring the company—so that Zach and I don’t have to be so involved. As a result, we’re opening up a Vice President of Major Accounts position. The position is open to all fantasy planners. Based on your performance on this mission and the last six months, one of you will be slotted into the Vice President role.”

Beckett held his breath. VP based on performance. The only person who was his real competition was Ricca. Yeah, but she’s just been benched. If he didn’t royally fuck this up, the job was his.

At the same time, guilt pinched him. Could he really take this job from her? Hell yes. This kind of job would mean the funds he needed to complete the ramshackle, old gym. He slid Ricca another glance. He was willing to do what it took to get this job.