Catch a Mate (10 page)

A knock sounded at the door.

Finally, the heavy burden of attention was removed from her as the women focused on the conference room's entrance. Beyond the glass stood an army of men. Of gods. They were powerful, rugged and undeniably handsome. Pure seduction. Her brows furrowed in confusion. What was going on?

One of them—Jillian recognized him as the tall, lean Peeping Tom who'd watched her kiss Marcus—peeked his head inside. “You ready for us?”

Marcus smiled with more satisfaction than she'd ever seen from a man. Even after hard-core, sweaty sex. “Absolutely. You're just on time.”

Her insides twisted and knotted. Obviously, these men were about to upset her. Nothing else would put such a smile on her enemy's face.

The door opened completely and those five godlike creatures entered the room. Peeping Tom, followed by a blond Adonis and a mocha-colored muscleman. After him was a redheaded guy who was burly and rugged. Last, there was a dark-haired, blue-eyed platter of deliciousness.

The men filed inside and stood at the far wall. Her friends, Jillian noticed, were drooling. Even Amelia, who liked to dominate, to be in control and normally did not reveal the slightest hint of her thoughts to the opposite sex, was starry-eyed.

As the males surveyed the females, they smiled with delight.

“Ladies, meet your new partners,” Marcus said, his tone dripping with relish.

“What?” Jillian shouted. No, no, no. She was supposed to saddle up with one of these pigs? Hell, no. “We've never had partners and we've always done a good job.”

He peered down at her smugly. “Like Anne said, things change. And it's time we started having male employees.”

“Why?” she insisted.

“You need protectors.”

Grrr! “No one here has ever gotten hurt on the job. We don't need protectors.”

“I've been scared a few times,” Danielle spoke up.

Jillian glared at her.
Not a good time, Danny.

“Well,” Danielle said, splaying her arms wide, “it's true.”

“Do the men need protectors, then?” Jillian asked through gritted teeth.

“Hell, no. But you
will
be needed when the men go on their own assignments. You'll act as cling control, keeping other women from distracting them while they do their job. That's just as important.”

Jillian opened her mouth to respond, but Marcus cut her off with a shake of his head. “It's going to happen whether you like it or not, Jillian. I've already decided. After the way Darren grabbed your arm last night, I realized I didn't like how vulnerable you were.”

“I took care of myself.”

“Doesn't matter. Each one of you will be accompanied by a male partner on every assignment. This man will remain close by but out of the way and the pair of you will need to work up a signal for when you're feeling threatened or even uncomfortable.” He lifted a sheet of paper from the table. “Georgia, you'll be with Jake.”

Peeping Tom stepped forward. Georgia nodded in welcome.

“Danielle, you'll be with Joe.” The gorgeous black man stepped forward, and Danielle practically melted into a puddle. “Becky, you're with Kyle.” Adonis gave a finger wave and Becky returned the greeting.

Jillian's stomach knotted further, twisting painfully. Her name hadn't been called yet, and she was beginning to worry about what that meant. Only three men were left and one of those was Marcus.

“Selene,” Marcus continued, “you'll be with Rafe.” The redhead gave a tilt of his chin and Selene gave him a cool nod. “Amelia, you're with…” Marcus paused.

Jillian almost threw up. He had better say—

“Matt.” The dark-headed, blue-eyed platter stepped forward. Amelia smiled wickedly at him.

“I hope you enjoy pain,” she said.

Matt licked his lips and winked. “I hope you enjoy feathers.”

“Rule number two,” Marcus said with a frown. “Let's not forget. I'll switch you around if I have to.”

The two of them flushed and hastily glanced away from each other.

Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Jillian swallowed past the lump in her throat. She knew what was coming next and wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. This wasn't happening, couldn't possibly be happening. The man was diabolical, doing everything in his power to make her miserable. To punish her. She'd suspected he wanted her to quit, but this proved it beyond a doubt.

“Jillian,” Marcus said, drawing out the word, as if her name was a caress to his senses. “You're with me. Before you dance with joy, I should tell you that I've already procured our first assignment. It's tonight at eight. Be ready.”

H
E NEEDED
a poker table in here, Marcus thought, surveying his new office. Maybe a foosball table, as well. The place looked boring. He pursed his lips; he couldn't have Jillian thinking he was boring, especially after all that talk about the weather yesterday. And speaking of Jillian, maybe he'd bring in a monitor—with the camera pointed at her cube—so he could keep an eye on her, make sure she was really typing case notes or reading about her next assignment. Otherwise she might be looking for ways to sabotage him.

You're with me,
he had told her.
Before you dance with joy, I should tell you that I've already procured our first assignment. It's tonight at eight. Be ready.
He would have loved to have seen her reaction to those parting words, but he'd left, too afraid they'd start kissing again. There had been fire in her eyes and the need to taste her—again—had nearly consumed him.

Like a coward, he'd run away from her as if his feet were engulfed in flames.

“What's up with you and Curls?” Matt asked now as the men congregated in Marcus's office.

Marcus wasn't surprised that Matt was the first to bring up such a dangerous topic. Matt was a reckless man who lived for danger and liked all things fast. Fast cars, fast women, fast living.

With a sigh, Marcus leaned back in his chair. He crossed his hands over his stomach and stared up at the boxed ceiling, away from the guys milling around the (boring) office, picking up papers, leafing through cabinets. They'd wanted to know about Jillian. He'd known this conversation would come up soon. But he'd hoped for a day's reprieve at least.

“She's a nuisance, that's what she is. And the only thing that's up is my blood pressure.” With barely a breath, he added, “So why the hell didn't you tell me I was wearing lipstick earlier?”

“Because it was funny,” Jake said with a laugh, “and I didn't want you to take it off.”

“You were sporting a stiffy when you told her she was your new partner,” Kyle said. “I was embarrassed for you.”

Male chuckles abounded. Marcus ground his teeth together. Having friends sucked ass. “You guys are welcome to find new jobs.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Not a good bluff, Markie, since you make that threat at least once a day.”

The nickname reminded him of Jillian, the way she tossed it at him in the heat of pique. His ex-wife had called him Markie, the reason he couldn't stand it—something Jake knew. To chastise Jake, though, was to invite all the men to call him by the hated name.

“Do we all get to make out with our partners or what?” Matt asked. His eyes were gleaming.

Rafe dropped to his knees and laced his fingers together. “Say yes and I'll work this job for free.”

“No.” Marcus snarled the word, a reminder more for himself than for the men. But he wanted to, God, he wanted to. Jillian's sweet taste lingered in his mouth; her moans still echoed in his ears. “What you witnessed was a mistake that will never happen again.” Unfortunately.

Slowly Joe grinned. “Mistakes that look that good are always worth repeating. Guaranteed.”

“No, they're not,” he insisted.

“I think you're lying,” Jake said, lips twitching. “I think you like her and want to make another mistake with her. A harder mistake. A longer mistake.”

The guys chuckled.

“Wrong,” Marcus gritted out. “She's my employee.”

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. “What would you do if you were stranded on a deserted island with her and work didn't matter?”

“Commit murder-suicide,” Marcus answered. Or make love for days and days and days without stopping. Frowning, he gathered the folders he'd already sorted on his desk and began tossing them at his friends, one at a time. “This is your partner's schedule for the week. Memorize it.”

“What about
our
schedules?” Jake asked with an arched brow, finally accepting the change of subject.

“The previous owner had a strict policy against testing wives, so I've only had one male client approach me. I'm taking that case myself.” He wanted to prove a point to Jillian—that women were as nefarious as men when it came to the game of sex, lies and more sex. “For the time being, you guys are simply acting as bodyguards. Soon you'll have more cases than you know what to do with, I hope.”

Guarding Jillian's body would be fun, he thought. Pounding in and out of it would be more fun.
No. Stop! Don't think like that. Bad Marcus. Bad.
He scowled.

“What's the death-glare for?” Jake asked, palms up. “I didn't say anything.”

“Nothing,” he grumbled. Jake was loyal, trustworthy and Marcus shouldn't glare at him. He and Jake had grown up in the same neighborhood after his move to the States. Their moms had been friends and they themselves had been inseparable, always in trouble. Of course, he'd been responsible for most of that trouble, but Jake had never complained.

He'd met his other employees at various agencies. He'd always liked them, admired them, had fun with them. They'd all just clicked. Then, three years ago, he'd bought his own company and offered the guys a job. They'd happily signed on.

When Anne first contacted him about buying CAM, then called and changed her mind, he'd flown here and spent several days convincing her of his worthiness. Expansion had always been his dream. Finally, the old warhorse had agreed. He'd promoted his younger brother, Farris, leaving him in charge of the Dallas office, and moved here.

Single and always up for a challenge, his friends had readily packed up and followed him to Oklahoma City. One day Marcus hoped to have offices all over the States, with each of these men in charge. After all, people were willing to pay massive amounts of money to test their significant other; he was just happy to oblige.

“The crop is exquisite,” Matt said, cutting into his thoughts. He was peeking out of the blinds, gazing into the cubicles beyond. The others closed in around him, looking over his shoulder.

“That redhead, what's her name, Georgia?” Kyle looked around for confirmation. “She's a juicy peach in need of plucking.”

“That's lame. Who calls a woman a peach? I like Selene,” Rafe said. “She's—”

“A white grape,” Kyle interjected. “Sink your teeth into her and her juices will pour down your throat.”

“Moron. You and your fruit. She's ice. My favorite. The cool ones always melt when you make them hot enough.”

Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. His crew smelled fresh meat—or fruit, in Kyle's case. They were just like him; he'd taken one whiff of Jillian's delectable scent and begun foaming like a rabid beast. Hopefully everyone—himself included—would settle down soon.

“What do you think Curls is saying to Georgia?” Matt asked. “She sat down so I can't see her mouth anymore.”

Curls, the magic word. Though he knew he shouldn't, Marcus joined his friends at the window. He was pulled by an invisible force, compelled. Forced by a need greater than himself, damn it, to look and see for himself what Jillian was doing. Georgia and Selene stood just in front of Jillian's cube, their backs to him. They were now talking animatedly, hands waving through the air, hair swishing down their backs. He could only see the top of Jillian's head.

Marcus willed her to stand back up so he could see her. She didn't, so he forced himself to turn away. His eagerness was embarrassing, anyway.

“I'll have your cubicles set up by the end of next week,” he said, getting them back to business. What would it take to purge Jillian from his system?

He was afraid of the answer.

“Right now,” he said, “we're going to sit on the floor and play a game of cards.” He needed to relax and get his mind off his least favorite employee. “Loser buys the entire office lunch.”

 

A
FTER
G
EORGIA AND
S
ELENE
tired of her nonresponsive “yeahs” and “uh-huhs” and flounced away—she didn't want to talk about Marcus's favorite shade of lipstick and whether she'd “helped” him apply it—Jillian leaned back in her chair and stretched her legs under her desk. For several minutes, she simply simmered. Simmered and cringed and battled a need to cry, to scream. A familiar sensation lately.

Marcus was her partner.

He wasn't just her boss, wasn't just her greatest foe. Wasn't simply the man she'd kissed and almost screwed against a wall.
Would
have screwed, if they hadn't been interrupted. He was her freaking partner. Why had he chosen her? To make her miserable? Done! To make her quit? She was on the verge.

God, if only Anne had given her a chance instead of shooing her away. By taking over CAM, Jillian would have had a ready-made income and a solid reputation to build on. If she opened her own place, however, she'd have to go into debt and would have no clientele for weeks, possibly months. That would be even worse than starting over at another agency and taking a pay cut. No, her reasons for staying were still valid, which meant quitting still wasn't an option.

Stuck, that's what she was. With Marcus. As her partner.

What the hell was she going to do?

How was she going to survive both days and nights with him? He'd be tempting other women or watching Jillian's every move. He might breathe on her, that sweet, warm breath that tickled her skin. Brush against her, a gentle caress, a hard touch. Already her heart rate quickened and her body warmed. Readied itself.

He'd ruin her, that was for sure. Ruin her concentration, her peace of mind. Her good sense. Not that she'd demonstrated any of those things lately, she thought, shoulders slumping.

Just then, her phone rang. Not wanting to talk to anyone but knowing she had to be professional, she placed the receiver to her ear. “Jillian Greene.”

“Mom just called me,” Brittany said in lieu of a hello. “She was crying.”

Not again. Jillian sighed and lowered her head onto her desk, pressing her forehead into the cool wood. “What's wrong with her now?”

“She put her profile on a dating site and so far no one has contacted her. She thinks all men hate her and no one finds her attractive.”

“When did she post the profile?”

“An hour ago” was the exasperated reply.

“Dear God.” Inside her purse, her cell phone burst into a high-pitched crescendo. It was her brother's ring tone. “Brent's calling my cell. I'm not going to answer.”

“He probably wants to talk about Georgia.”

“No doubt.” Thankfully, the ringing stopped.

A moment later, Brittany said, “Hang on. Someone's on my other line.”

“It's probably Brent.”

Brittany clicked over anyway. Silence claimed the line for over fifteen minutes. Jillian's ear began to throb. She tried to work, to flip through the folder Marcus had thrown at her just before he'd entered his office. She tried to study the woman he was supposed to flirt with tonight, but her concentration was shot.

Finally, Brittany came back onto the line. “Crisis averted,” she said happily.

“What happened?”

“You were right. That was Brent. Mom called him and he pointed out that she hadn't pressed upload, so her profile never actually went live.” With barely a breath, she added, “Brent wants you to call him. He wants to know what Georgia's wearing today.”

Jillian's lips twitched into a smile. “He's such a perv.”

Brittany laughed. “Yeah, but a cute perv. I just wish he'd get over Georgia and focus all that lechery on someone who's actually available. She's a nice girl and I like her, but I want him to have some stability, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Me, too.” They ended the conversation soon after and Jillian's gaze slid to the wall clock. She sighed with relief. Lunchtime. Well, lunch for her. Since CAM employees didn't arrive at work until late morning, they didn't take lunch until later in the afternoon.

Jillian stood, determined to hit the nearest restaurant even though she wasn't hungry. Any excuse to leave. No way in hell she'd ask Marcus's permission, though. Going into his office (which should have been hers), the very place she'd first tasted him, in front of the very men who'd witnessed her journey into ultimate stupidity/paradise…not going to happen.

She stalked to Georgia's cube, careful not to look toward the office. The blinds were closed, anyway. Her friend was talking on the phone while peering at her computer and frowning fiercely. She was muttering about “this stupid job.”

“Let's go to lunch,” Jillian whispered when Georgia paused for breath. She braced her hands on the side walls. “I've got to get out of here.”

Georgia gasped and looked up. One hand clenched around the cell, the other fluttered over her chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.”

“Hang on,” she said into the phone. To Jillian she said, “Should I gather the others?” She began closing down the file she'd been reading.

Jillian nodded. “Let's go to Café Maxwell.”

“Cool,” Georgia said, her frown easing into a grin. “It'll be good to escape our cross-dressing boss.” Then her grin lost a little of its dazzle. “You do realize I can't go to war with him now. He'd fire me.”

“Yeah. He's such a bastard.”

“Should we tell him we're leaving?”

“I'm sure he ate his Smart Boy puffs for breakfast and can figure it out on his own when he sees our empty desks. Besides, informing him when we go on break isn't one of his rules.”

Georgia's green eyes twinkled with wickedness. “I like how your mind works. See you there once I've rounded up the troops, then.”

Jillian returned to her cubby, pausing a moment to see if she could hear what Georgia was saying to the person on the other end of her cell. Something like, “I didn't answer my work line for a reason. I'm not going out with you.”