Can't Touch This (25 page)

“Boston College.  Undergraduate and graduate school.  Triple eagle, in fact.”

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, just that I went to BC High, too... the mascot’s an eagle... never mind,” he says with a smile.  “Local expression.”

I take another bite and contemplate.  “Haven’t you ever wanted to get away from here?”

“I travel for work all the time, but my family is here.  This is home.”

I harrumph.  “My childhood was a moving truck existence, living in six states and two countries.”

“You turned out okay from what I can tell,” he says with a grin.

Damn that dimple.

Changing the subject, I note, “You have a reputation as a compassionate customer advocate.”  I gaze at the top of his spikey black head as he pores over the papers strewn on the table.

Looking up, he says, “I enjoy what I do, but I get frustrated when companies don’t see the importance of customer satisfaction.  Some CEOs don’t recognize how vital client care is.”  He picks up his burrito and gnaws on it a bit more.  “Jiles doesn’t understand.  All he sees is the bottom line.  Money.  Dollar signs.  If I can change that, then I’ve earned my paycheck.”

“I’ll help you any way I can,” I say, nodding.

Kyle points at my mouth.  “You’ve got a little sour cream right there...”

Without thinking, I waggle my tongue to get at the rogue dairy product.  “Did I get it?”

“No... it’s... umm... down a little.”  His eyes watch my every motion and suddenly the chicken and beans settle hard in my stomach into something similar to a delicious ache of desire for this guy seated next to me.

I retract my tongue and wipe furiously at my mouth with a napkin.  Lovely.  I’m such a slob.  And in front of the Hazel-Eyed Hunk.  “Sorry.”

His eyes crinkle at me.  “Happens to everyone.”

When we finish, he does the most courteous thing a thirty-year-old guy can possibly do:  he stands and pulls my chair out for me.  And back at the office, he lets me go in the elevator first and opens the office door for me.  Come to think of it, he’s been doing this on all of our travels together, only I just now realized it.

Griz is waiting at my cube when we return.

“See you later, Vanessa,” Kyle says, walking away.

“Thanks for lunch,” I add and retake my seat.

She watches him walk away and says in a hissed tone, “Something going on with you two?”

“Just lunch and work,” I say quickly.  I don’t want her to know I’ve actually come to my senses.  That I’m seriously letting my attraction for Kyle Nettles take over my better judgment.

“He is mighty gorgeous to look at,” Griz says.

I sit at my desk.  “Please don’t drool on my marketing plan.”  Then I ask, “Do you need something”

“Who me?  No.  I was leaving you a note that Jiles Chancey is looking all over for you.”

“Oh.”

Right then, Little Baby Jesus marches down the aisle like a Storm Trooper.  “Vanessa, I needed that lead pipeline spreadsheet ten minutes ago,” he shouts as he passes my cube.  “Where’ve you been?”

Griz hightails it back to her desk.

Trying not to stammer, I say, “Discussing the customer service plan with Kyle.”

“Well, get this done,” he snaps.  “Now.”

I bust a gut on the Excel table, making it perfect, print it out, and proudly deliver it to Little Baby Jesus’ office.

“Sit down.  We need to talk,” LBJ says as I attempt not to shake in place.  I don’t want him to know he scares me, so I slide into the chair in front of his desk to give my knees relief.

“With Aislin out on maternity leave, I want to see how you think outside the box and how proactive you are.”  LBJ crosses his legs.  “You should step up to the plate and show us what you’re worth.”

I thought I’d already shown what I’m worth with all of the travel, late nights, and sacrificed weekends that I spend here instead of at home.  I’m not exactly sure what
more
I can do to prove myself further.  Work is a good thing and it keeps my concentration occupied instead of focusing on the tomfoolery with Rory or Rodney.  I wish I could download the memories of our interaction together onto a thumb drive and then erase it for all eternity.

Then Jiles knocks me back to the here and now.

“You’re a real team player, Vanessa.  I want you and Nettles together twenty-four/seven getting these client meetings set.  No excuses.”

I blink hard, trying to comprehend his words.  He’s ordering me to spend more time with Kyle.  It’s all about work; however, the little niggle inside me feels that it’s a tad bit coincidental and convenient.  While I continue to do my job to the best of my abilities, I’ll admit being in close proximity and contact with Kyle Nettles isn’t going to do much to stop me from exploring these feelings for him.  All that time I put into giving Rory my attention and Kyle’s been right under my nose.

So, I’ll do as ordered by supervisor.  More time working with Kyle.

Geesh, I guess that means I need to start dressing better.

*****

A
pparently Griz and
William agree, because when I get home, they surprise me with an emergency makeover and fashion intervention.  I guess I haven’t been suffering as silently over Rory as I’d thought.

Thanks to my friends’ efforts, my closet is now free of unfashionable, baggy clothes.  They sealed them up in a Hefty bag to be carted off to Goodwill.  Never to be seen again, thus ending my four-week pity-party.

My makeover consists of a facial, pedicure, and manicure.  They even color my hair with Clairol’s Apricot Rapture from the Herbal Essences Spicy Collection—
sounds sassy
—the one that makes the woman shout out orgasm-like in the TV ad.  It enriches the golden tones in my hair.  I have to admit, they did a great job.

Griz organizes my black clothes like a department store.  Pants, skirt, and shirts all sectioned off.  We come up with several outfits both she and William assure me compliment my figure.

“Look at this.”  She’s up to her elbows in my underwear drawer.  “You’ve got all this sexy underwear.  What the hell are these?”  She holds up a pair of oversized, worn, cotton panties.

I snag them from her.  “They’re comfortable.  So sue me.”

“You won’t feel sexy if you’re wearing granny panties.  You’ll feel like the frump you’ve been looking like.”

“I haven’t been looking like a frump.”

William nearly spews coffee and then reaches for his phone.  “Griz has been sending me pictures of your daily work attire.  Do I need to go through all of the photos and give you my real opinion?”

I glare at Griz.  “You took pictures of me?

“This isn’t about me.  It’s about you, Vanessa, and getting you out of this funk.”

No, it’s actually about two of the best friends a girl can have.  They care deeply and won’t let me wither away in the corner all because one horrid man trampled my heart.

I can’t help but feel like things are looking up.

And why wouldn’t they with help from friends like this.

A
 week later,
my Android beeps during the sales, marketing, and client services meeting.  I ignore it at first while I listen to Jiles’ presentation.  But the notifications persist.

I pull the device into my lap and pull my finger over the screen, clicking on the messages icon.  It’s from Kyle’s cell phone and it reads: 
You did something to your hair.

It beeps again.

“Virtue, turn that damn thing off,” Jiles snaps.

“Sorry, the battery must be running low.”  Hastily, I click the sound off only to see another text message:
 So, did you?

I pan the room and then I catch those spectacular hazel eyes, smiling at me from the back.

Trying my best to act like I’m listening to Jiles instead of texting, I write: 
Shouldn’t we be listening, Mr. Manager?

Nothing I haven’t heard before,
is the next text.

What’s the point?
I write back.

Blamestorming.

What’s that?

Less creative brainstorming?

I thought that’s why they hired you.

I do my best.

Okay, maybe he’s not the non-stop Mr. Corporate I originally thought he was.  Maybe he’s not a Jiles wannabe, either.  He’s just a hard worker.  Like me.

Guys love compliments, so I text: 
You’re the Miracle Man.

He writes: 
Whatever.  So… the holiday party…

DigitalDirection is holding its annual event at the Royal Sonesta hotel tomorrow night.

I respond: 
You going?

Like he has a choice.  Everyone is required to go.

Yep.  Let’s have a drink together, okay?

My heart skips a beat and it’s all I can do not to break out into a beaming smile.  Kyle is sort of asking me out.  It’s a safe environment.  A work thing where flirting can mix in with forced socialization.

Before I can hit send on my “
Okay
,” I get another text: 
Meet me after this.

Following the meeting, Kyle is deep in conversation with one of the Willies—I don’t know which one is which.  I don’t want to loiter, so I head back to my desk.  Ten minutes later, I hear a creak as someone leans against the partition of my cube.

“What color is that?” Kyle asks, pointing at my hair.

I sit up tall.  “It’s apricot.”

“It suits you.  It’s soft and pretty.”  His smile and compliment warms me from head to toe.  I wonder if he thinks that I am soft and pretty, or just my hair.  Men should learn to be more specific.

“Thanks, Kyle.  So, what’s up?” I ask, changing the subject away from me.

“Mind if I sit?”  He hitches his black clad hip up onto the top of my desk.  I shake my head and watch the smooth fabric stretch over his muscular thighs.  Charcoal spidery eyelashes, that are way too long to be wasted on a guy, frame his hazel eyes.  It may be cliché, but his features
are
chiseled and precise.  When I feel the overwhelming desire to reach up and run my finger along his lips, I sit on my hand to keep it from acting out on its own.

“What’s up?” I repeat, trying not to stare at his… everything.  I’m livid with myself for letting Rodney Elmore fool me when Kyle has been the one all along that I’ve had this dormant attraction to.  And all because of some asinine employee handbook and my pre-conceived notions, I pushed toward the wrong person.  However, like a fresh summer breeze bringing warmth and freshness to me, I suddenly realize I don’t care about DigitalDirection’s rules or regulations.  Maybe after spending so much time with me, Kyle doesn’t care about them either.  Or so it seems by the look in his eyes.

He clears his throat and the moment’s over.  For now.

“Our first client meeting is after the holidays in Newport Beach, California,” he starts.  “I was thinking it would be nice to have a ‘thanks for your business’ flyer inside the portfolios.”

I smooth out my short black skirt.  This is one of those “you better wear this to work” outfits Griz and William picked out.  “We don’t really have time to get anything through the design and printing phase here.”

“I was hoping you could design it,” Kyle says, smiling, exposing the dimple.  I want to place my index finger in the dent.

“I don’t know about designing it myself.  I mean—”

“You know the basic layout design software, right?”

“Well, sure.  I suppose I can take a stab at it.”

“Here’s what I’m after.”  He leans across my desk.  For a second, I think he’s after my left breast, rather he reaches past me for a notebook and pen.  I take a deep breath and steady myself.  I watch him sketch.  He’s a lefty with a really nice handwriting.  He adds squiggles where the company logo should be.  I open my drawer to get another pen and add a couple of thumbnail sketches to his ideas.  “We’re on the same wavelength,” he says, cheerfully.

Looking at our sketch, I can do this.  “Give me a while to play with this, okay?”

An hour later, Kyle’s standing by the printer when I go to retrieve my masterpiece.  I hand him the flyer.  “How does this look to you?”

“Pretty good.  I have an idea, though.  Do you mind?”

He points toward my cube and follows me there.  He snags the empty chair from Jack’s area and pulls it into mine.  I scoot my chair under the desk to make room for him as he edits the text.  At one point, we both reach for the pen and our hands brush before he relents and allows me to claim the tools.  My skin burns where it touched his.  It’s nice to know that after a month and a half of my self-imposed nunnery my libido is still alive.  My whole body reacts in a relaxed, lazy, liquid way.  Goose bumps run over me and I hope my excitement doesn’t show through my white shirt.

Remarkably, for the first time in a long time, I’m not over-analyzing things.  I’m not worrying about what people will think, or who will see us.  I’m actually going with the flow.

Kyle moves from the chair and plops his hip on the desktop.  He leans in toward my computer screen, pointing at graphics and text boxes.  But, I’m gone; immersed in the smell and nearness of him.  He has a slight citrus scent to him and I wonder what cologne he wears.  Happy?  Escada?  Tommy?  His long-sleeved olive polo stretches across his broad chest and highlights the expansive curves of his forearms.  The pants fit him perfectly, accentuating his trim physique.

I gasp unknowingly.

He’s simply the most gorgeous guy I’ve ever met.

“See if that works,” Kyle says, running his hand through his hair.  I wonder what the texture’s like.  Stiff and bristly?  Or soft and inviting?

“Sorry?”  I try to key in on what he just said.  Then, I notice he’s looking down my shirt.  He doesn’t see me catch him, but it’s apparent.  There’s a mellifluous reaction throughout me once again and I fidget to control it.  He is interested in me, despite these idiotic company rules.  Maybe… just maybe Kyle Nettles is a rebel after all.

His hand is on the back of my chair.  He’s so close I can feel the warmth emanating from him.  “We make a good team, Vanessa.”

“I think so, too.”  I finger my hair behind my ears and his eyes follow the movement of my hand.  Then, they move to my mouth.  His lips part slightly and he takes a deep breath.  We bend toward each other and I feel my head tip to the side.