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“In case you haven’t noticed, Santa, I’m not exactly the holly, jolly type.”Not anymore, I added only to myself. “And I’m pretty sure whatever angel has been following me around is drunk and fresh out of miracles.”
He tapped on his keyboard, falling into rhythm with me, before shooting me another smile. “Good thing you have your own personal golden boy then.”
Chapter Two
Brendan
Shit.
Fuck.
Dammit all to hell.
I kept the reassuring and slightly teasing grin firmly in place as I questioned how exactly I—well, we, this was definitely a team project, even if I had the nearly overwhelming urge to take over—were going to fix this. My self-appointed second job since moving to this department was getting my snarky, sarcastic office mate to smile.
Actually, my end goal was to land the sassy brunette in bed with me, but given the fact that she was an integral part of Team Lanza, I didn’t want to create issues. And the more I’d gotten to know her, the less I wanted it to be a one-night stand. She was bright and clever and kept me on my toes.
And it didn’t hurt that she had gentle curves in all the right places to make my gaze follow her every time she stood up to refill her drink. The swell of her generous ass was visible whether she was wearing pants or a skirt and never failed to tempt me into making our relationship so very unprofessional.
She snapped her French-tipped fingers in front of my face, yanking me back to reality and off the dark and dirty path my thoughts were tripping down. “Earth to Brendan.”
I shook my head and shifted slightly in my seat. “Sorry… I was brainstorming ways to figure out this issue.”Liar, I condemned myself silently.
A fraction of the tension marring the creamy skin of her face eased. “And what brilliant solution did the heir to the throne come up with?”
I lifted my chin toward her open laptop. “Are you getting outright cancellations or just concerned questions?”
She turned her rosy-red lips downward into a half frown, half pout and her gaze scanned over her screen. “Mostly questions on how we are going to handle this, if the special is still on, you know the drill. Only two actually requested to be released from their contracts to perform.”
I flicked my wrist and glanced at my watch. It was already after four p.m., and my brain was fried by the unexpected blow to my father’s personal brainchild and my mounting, unrequited attraction to Leah. Ignoring my body’s incessant chants for just one taste of the woman I not only wanted physically but also as something more than a willing bed partner was exhausting.
Leah tilted her head slightly. “We should ask them for more time.” She uttered the words so quietly that I wasn’t sure if she was speaking to me or herself.
“Huh?” As much of a turn-on as her body was, her brain was far sexier, and I could practically see the wheels turning behind her bright blue eyes as a plan seemed to take shape.
My question brought her gaze in connection with mine, and for a moment her expression took on a surprised appearance, as though she’d all but forgotten about my presence until I asked the question. She blinked rapidly several times, finally focusing on me. “The ones who have requested to be released from their contracts… I’m going to ask them for more time, just two weeks, and if we don’t have a mind-blowing replacement that will make them drool…then we will release them.”
“Two weeks takes it to Christmas. That’s cutting it close to New Year’s Eve.” I drew my brows together and frowned. “Who are the ones trying to back out?” Out of the star-spangled lineup we had, there were three genre-hopping super-celebrities who I was one hundred percent certain would make or break the special.
Leah stopped her frantic typing on her keyboard and she looked up at me, biting her lower lip in a way that simultaneously made me suspicious and made me want to turn the conversation to decidedly unprofessional topics, like what her favorite position was.
Holy hell, I was turning into one of those perverted workplace assholes who objectified women. I gave myself a mental shake to stay focused on the very serious matter at hand.
“Dinah.” She over-enunciated what seemed like every letter of the celebrity’s one-word moniker.
“And?” I prodded, both needing to know and not wanting to hear the name I was certain she’d say next.
“Tommy Raleigh.” She winced as she said the name of the iconic, world-renowned rock star who was instantly recognizable and had somehow managed to withstand the test of time, pulling in many generations of fans.
The man was a living, breathing legend with truckloads of awards, including more than one for lifetime achievement. Losing him from the lineup would be like a knockout blow to what was supposed to be a defining moment in Lanza Broadcasting—the special that would not only be televised on our station but also stream exclusively from our website. This was set to be the premier that would take us from a top five station to the coveted number one spot.
The dream was quickly turning into a hellish nightmare.
Her normally fair complexion turned as white as the boring, utilitarian color of the wall behind her. Seeing her upset was enough of a catalyst to make me shove down my own fears and concerns and ignore the churning of my gut at the very thought of discussing the growing catastrophe we’d found ourselves in, thanks to that greedy, entitled prick Bryce Ramone.
Every lusty thought I’d had nearly every day for the past three months for the beautiful woman sitting across from me paled in comparison to the overwhelming need to work on the problem at hand—to smooth the worry lines creasing her forehead, to make her eyes sparkle, even if only with the amusement she got from teasing me.
I just wanted to see her happy and relaxed.
