Can't Touch This (3 page)

“We’ve hired three new people to help get control of the market and our customers.  I’d like everyone to meet them now.  Guys...come on up here.”

Two men in their mid-to-late forties climb onto the stage and stand next to Jiles.  Behind them is what I can only describe as a mouth-watering hunk-and-a-half.  Okay, okay, no dating other employees and all of that, but the handbook says nothing about looking and appreciating what I see.  And look I do.  If my eyes could devour him, he’d be the blue plate special on my lunch menu.  But seriously…how can I
not
notice him when nearly every female in the room gasps?

Griz makes eye contact with me from her seat three rows ahead and mouths, “He’s hot.”

Damn right.  Someone call the Boston Fire Department.

Then I mentally berate myself.  I shouldn’t be gawking at this guy like he’s a slab of meat.  He’s a co-worker for heaven’s sake.  Correction.  He’s an ever so yummy co-worker and I can’t help but stare.  Young, athletic build, and handsome enough to make me lick my lips involuntarily.  He’s off limits though.  Even mentally.

“Down girl,” Jack notes with a grin and a nudge.

Oh God, I’m being obvious.  “Shut up.”

Jiles’ introductions bring my attention back to the proceedings.  “This is Will Fletcher, our new VP for Business Affairs.”  He points to the taller of the two older men.  “And this, is Will Coglin, VP for Client Services.”

Is it just me or do these two guys look exactly alike?

Jiles cracks himself up when he adds, “Will Fletcher and Will Coglin.  Because every company needs a couple of good Willies.”

The room roars with laughter.  I just shake my head.  Why are these brown-nosers encouraging him?

“And this is our new Consulting Manager for Client Services, Kyle Nettles,” Jiles says, reaching around the Willies to pull the well-dressed hottie forward.

Hmmm...Kyle Nettles, huh?  He definitely took his breathtakingly handsome vitamins as a kid.  Tall, dark spikey hair and clear, vivid hazel eyes.  I can make them out from my vantage point on the eighth row.  His teeth are straight and white and there is a tiny dimple in his right cheek when he smiles.

It’s been a while since I’ve been inspired by a dimple.  This one has potential written all over it if it weren’t for the asinine company rule.  But eyeing him, I’m sure many women in the room are considering bucking company policy and are scheduling full flirt sessions with him in calendars.

“Kyle comes to us from T.R. Manning Corporation where he’s earned the reputation of being an expert on client focus.  We’ve brought him in to think outside the box and reach out to our existing customer base to provide immediate solutions.”

I lean forward and whisper to Aislin, “What does that mean?”

“Damage control,” she says.

“Ahhh...”  Nothing like unhappy customers to send a company into a tailspin.

The three new guys step down from the stage and retake their seats.  Kyle Nettles looks out over the crowd and just like that, our eyes sync up.  He smiles.  I smile back.  The room goes blank and silent all at the same time.  I half expect a soundtrack of swelling music to kick in, but that would just be ridiculous.  An exhilarating spark starts in the base of my throat, dive-bombs into my stomach, and ends in a tingle in my toes.

Kyle is gazing directly at me with an expression that says he knows something.  Information I’m not even privy to.  I try to glance away, but I’m frozen in his gaze.  Every hair on my arm is at attention.  He nods and breaks eye contact, re-taking his seat with the other new guys.

What the blue-blazing hell was that?  That’s certainly not in the handbook.

Jiles’ soliloquy brings my focus back to him.  “Let me wrap up by saying that as of today, this is a whole new company.  I’m not lacking in self-confidence or motivation, let me tell you that straight up.  I have no life; this is my life—”

“His wife will be happy to hear that,” I mumble to Jack.

“—Part of me wants to say that what happened today—the firings—is deplorable.  But it’s not.  It’s like pulling off a Band-Aid and seeing what’s underneath.  We’re going to run fast, people.  If you’re going to sit back for the ride, this is no place for you.  Are you with me?”

What choice do I have after a speech like that?  Nasty-ass Band-Aid analogy and all.

The room bursts into applause with everyone chanting, cheering, and patting each other on the back.  Jack and I gather our things and join the heard of corporate cattle slowly moving out of the conference room back to the cube farm.  I turn when I hear Aislin call out my name.

“There she is,” she says to someone.  “Vanessa!”

When the person pushes through the crowd, I gasp.  Mother of God, the new client services guy is even more gorgeous up close than from a distance.  I curse that damn employee manual as I imagine myself having this guy’s children and settling into a nice two-story Colonial in Cambridge while our kids go to private school.

“You’re Vanessa Virtue?” Kyle Nettles asks, his clear eyes sparkling.

I gulp down my nervousness and try to ease the dryness in my throat.  I toss my hair a bit in an attempt to exude much-needed confidence.  “That’s me.  In the flesh.”

He extends a strong, capable hand that firmly encompasses mine in warmth.  My body tingles at the contact, though I try not to show it.  “Great to meet you, Vanessa.  Kyle Nettles.  So, I hear we’re going to Atlantic City together.”

I flash him my most charming and confident smile.  This promotion just got a hell of a lot more interesting.

“I
already told you
I’m not interested in an office romance,” I nearly shout into the phone to Griz as I flit around my tiny bedroom, packing for my first trip.  “I’m not risking my job because of a chiseled ass and a sexy dimple.”

It’s not like guys are falling at my feet.  My handful of recent first dates attests to that.  There’s nothing wrong with me.  I’m just not a Victoria’s Secret model.  I’m a regular gal who rides the T, dresses sensibly, and doesn’t want to sleep around.

“But Vanessa you’re traveling with the cute sales guys...and that babe, Kyle Nettles.  Get over it and have a wild fling,” Griz says over a scraping sound.

“Are you kidding?  Have you not read your Compass Employee’s Handbook?”  I trot over to my desk and pull my HR packet from of the drawer.  “Section 7:  ‘It is strict policy of DigitalDirection that employees will refrain from sexual liaisons with fellow co-workers.  Such behavior could result in termination.’”

Griz snickers and the scraping continues.  “That’s only mumbo-jumbo corporate crap.”

I’m horrified at her blasé attitude.  “It’s the rules!”

“You could break them for that hottie Kyle.  He’s worth it.”

“What
is that god-awful sound in the background?”

“I’ve got the PedEgg on my feet,” she admits.

I sigh out of frustration.  Not just from my friend’s…oddness, from everything.  The promo, the new duties, the impending travel, and Kyle.  My body is alive and buzzing from my brief contact with him, but I can’t entertain the idea of a fling.  No way, no how.  “It’s not worth it.  And what...become the star of the office gossip mill and get called into HR?  No thank you.  You weren’t around for Reagan Vanbiesbrouck and Donovan Hughes’ big affair.  Cost the company, big time!”

She giggles across the phone line.  “Are they the ones who got caught in the server room going at it like a couple of rabbits in heat?”

Shaking my head like she can see me, I explain.  “It was during a customer training session.  They were on a break and decided to go for a quickie.  But they knocked the server off-line with their…umm…”

“Love-making,” Griz says so innocently.

“I don’t know if you’d call what they were doing making love.  He was married and she was engaged.”

I hear Griz click her tongue.  “That’s not exactly the company’s business.”

“It is when they’re doing it on company time.  When they disconnected the server, the computers went black and the IT guys discovered them.  One of them took a pic and uploaded it to his Twitter.  The customers in the office were horrified and dropped us because of it.  They even heard about it at SalesTracker.  They refer to us as DigitalDickingAround.”

She laughs.  “Okay, you have to admit that’s a bit clever.”

“No it’s not,” I say, tripping over clothes on the floor.  Why doesn’t Griz get this?  We’re not in college anymore.  This isn’t an internship to help you get a good grade.  This is real life.  Paying your own bills.  Making it on your own.

“Is that why they made the ‘no touchy’ rule at the office?”

“Yeah, and I’m not going to buck it.  Reagan and Donovan were a
scandal
.  He got fired and she got put on notice.”

“Why didn’t she get fired?” Griz asks.

“She was pulling in more new business than anyone else.  Still is, only working out of an apartment in Portland, Oregon where she ran off to.  Money talks.  Bullshit walks, you know.”

“Ahhh...the good old bottom line.”

She’s not listening to me.  “Well, no one could stop talking about it, trust me.”

“Who cares what people think or talk about?  An affair with the Hazel-Eyed Hunk would be awesome,” she presses.

“It’s unrealistic.  You’re talking plain old Vanessa Virtue.  You know this about me.  I’m the girl who’s had one
serious
boyfriend in her entire life.”  Besides, even if I were willing to forego the company edict, no one that looks like the Hazel-Eyed Hunk will give me the time of day.  He’d go for someone named Brandi or Ashlee or some girl who looks like the models on magazines covers.  That brief exchange after the company meeting two weeks ago was him merely being nice.  Every time I’ve seen him since he’s been trailing Jiles and the Willies like a puppy dog.  Already a corporate suck up.  God, I hate people like that.

“Like I believe that you’ve only had one boyfriend,” Griz says.

 “You think I’m kidding.  His name was Alan Partridge.  We went out for three months during my junior year in college.  When I wouldn’t let him into my pants, which apparently was his only quest, he broke it off.”

“What a jerk.  You should have broken
it
off.”

Okay, I snicker at that as I fold up a pair of black slacks.  “Good one.”

Griz presses me, though.  “So you don’t like sex?” she asks seriously.  I’m tempted to hit the disconnect button on the cordless.

“Of course I like sex!” I blurt out.  “I’m not a prude, but having sex in the back of his Audi wasn’t my idea of true romance.”

“Why have you never told me any of this before?”

“It’s embarrassing.  I’m not one to talk about my sex life.”  Or lack thereof.  “Anyway, men don’t fall at my feet, tell me how gorgeous I am or try to nudge their way into my bed.  Doesn’t happen.”  I’ll never be one to make people turn their head or fall over their feet.  My parents insist I’m pretty, but they’re supposed to say that.  My friends call me cute, yet as much as I stare in the mirror, all I see is an ordinary gal.  Not too thin, not pudgy...clear eyes and straight hair.  Like I said...ordinary.

“I know what you mean,” Griz says.  “The guys I’ve dated always end up disappointing me.  Or they’re bad in bed.”  She stops and lowers her voice to a horrified whisper.  “Oh my God...you’re not a
virgin
are you?”

I almost fall into my open suitcase.  “I’ve had sex, Griz, but I’ve never had anyone who moved the earth for me.  I don’t feel like wasting time with someone who doesn’t have
potential
.”

“I guess that makes sense.  There’s nothing wrong with being picky.”

“I don’t necessarily need a man in my life,” I say.  “I don’t feel inadequate or incomplete.  But I do dream about that perfect guy.  He’ll be kind, sensitive, caring, and put me ahead of everything.”

“Well, honey, don’t we all wish for that?  You think someone like that actually exists?”

“He has to,” I say quietly.

After a moment, she says, “You’ll find it.”

“But, Griz, I haven’t had that many dates recently.”

“You just need some self-confidence.  A little flirting will help boost you up.”

Maybe she’s right.  I have to stop seeing myself as some sort of inferior person unworthy of success in work relationships.  “Maybe I’ll meet someone at one of these tradeshows.”  The company handbook doesn’t say anything against that.

“Vanessa’s gonna get lucky on the road,” Griz sings out with a laugh.

“But not with Kyle or anyone from The Compass!”

“Whatever.  It’s gonna happen.”

“Care to make a wager on it?”  Since I know myself and my track record with guys, especially wicked cute ones, I know this is a sucker’s bet.  This’ll be an easy win for me.

“Ahh, she’s a betting woman,” Griz says triumphantly.

“Not really.  I just know me and what will and won’t happen.”  There I go again, being negative.

She harrumphs.  “A hundred bucks says you’ll get lucky on a trip.”

Why not?  I have nothing to lose.  If miracle upon miracle something does happen, I’ll be out a Benjamin, but hey, it’ll mean I’m getting some well-needed loving.  “You’re on.”

“Text me from Atlantic City.”

“Will do.”  I hang up and toss my BlackBerry onto the pile of pillows.  What clothes aren’t already in the dryer are spread out over the bed.  I have no idea how to dress for this excursion to Atlantic City.  Business casual?  Professional?  Sultry?  No, no, no.  I have to get Griz’s romantic interlude prediction out of my head.  This is about representing The Compass.

Where
are
my black boots?  I can never find anything in this mess of a room.  The closet space is infinitesimal so I end up piling things on the chair and the floor.  The unused Bowflex in the corner is a good place to hang my pants, skirts, shirts, and tights.  Maybe my boots are back there?

My apartment is your typical Boston area rental situation—crappy landlord, fun roommates, and a first-rate location near the T.  It’s the middle floor of a three-family house in Cambridge, near Porter Square.  Three bedrooms, one bathroom, shared with a gay guy, a budding nursing student, and me.  We’re all terrible primps.