Page 59 of Craving the Player

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sierra

"Knock knock."

Peeling my eyes off my computer screen, Iblink past the burn from staring at the bright screen for hours and see Cole leaning in the doorway to my office. He’swearing alight gray suit today with the sleeves uncuffed and rolled twice, paired with shiny black dress shoes. His aura is confident and arrogant, like he knows some big secret that nobody else does.

Ihaven’thad to spend too much time alone with Cole over the past two weeks, but this is the first time that he’scome across this way. Most of the time, he’stoo concerned with trying to butter me up to let his true colours show. But I’ve always known this arrogance would make an appearance sooner than later. Most men like him have astrong arrogant side, one that doesn’tusually appear until they have you wrapped around your finger, unable to let their true personality turn you away, already too enraptured by them to care.

"Hi, Cole. What can Ido for you?" Iclear my throat and plaster on asmile. Cole was the last person Iwas hoping to deal with today. It’sjust past lunch, and having been plagued with akiller migraine this morning, Iskipped it, not trusting my stomach to handle anything other than aglass of flat Ginger Ale.

"Let me start by saying that you look beautiful today." Cole says the compliment with agrin that Isee right through. I’manything but beautiful today. With my finger combed hair and wrinkled clothes, Ilook ridiculously unprofessional. But after being woken up in the early morning with Braden’stongue between my thighs, Ifell back asleep way too late and slept past my alarm. It’samiracle that Ieven made it today in the first place. Ican’tsay that it wasn’tworth the risk, though. Because it definitely was.

In the past two weeks since my first ever boxing match, Braden’sonly managed to slither farther under my skin. When I’mnot at the office, I’mwith him. And in the moments that we’re not together, the thoughts of him consume me. I let them consume me. Ishould be more frustrated with how far inside my chest he’smanaged to bury himself, and Ihate that Iache for him to stay there forever.

My house, his house, dinner, the movies, we’ve been doing it all. Ifeel like ateenager again with all of this so-called “dating.” At least, Iwould consider it dating. Iknow that Braden does too. We haven’texactly put alabel on what we’re doing, but he’sbeen adamant that he hasn’tbeen seeing anybody else, and Ihaven’teven thought about anybody else since we first met. I’msure that if Iasked him for alabel, he would give me one. But what pisses me off the most is that Ican’tget myself to ask.

Labels bring something heavy and expecting to arelationship. The word girlfriend comes with the expectation of putting your partner above and beyond everything else. And Ican’tdo that. Ican’tpromise that I’ll put my life, my career, on the back burner for him if he asked me to. The ugly sinking feeling taking up shop in my stomach is exactly why Irefuse to label our relationship. It would ruin what we’ve built. Iknow it would.

Iturn back to Cole with an ache in my chest. My boss seems to think his compliment permits him to drag his eyes down my torso in away that leaves me itching to wrap myself in ablanket. Iswallow the wad beginning to form in my throat and stiffly say, "Thank you."

"Ialso wanted to stop by to personally escort you to the meeting happening in the boardroom in just afew minutes. It’sgoing to be ajaw-dropper.”

His words bring back the confusion that Ifelt when Iopened up my emails this morning to see ameeting with the entire firm scheduled for today. It wasn’tposted on the calendar Friday, so it had to have been added over the weekend, although it’shighly unusual for such abig meeting to be planned on such short notice. Amonday no doubt.

"The meeting, right. Did Imiss an email about this meeting? It wasn’ton the schedule before Ileft on Friday and Iwasn’ttold about it until acouple hours ago in your email.” Ifiddle with the pen on my desk, growing nervous that Imissed something Ishouldn’thave.

"Oh, no. The meeting was pushed up afew weeks. Iunderstand your confusion, but Ipromise it'll make sense soon. Are you ready?"

Weird, but plausible. The tension drains from my muscles at the realization that it wasn’tmy fault. After working at my previous job and missing the due date of our marketing pitch for one of my boss’shighest paying clients, Inow make sure to check my calendar twice aday, terrified of making the same mistake. That mishap cost me ashit load of respect and nearly my job altogether.

With areluctant nod, Istand and brush my sweaty hands down my skirt. Cole’sexcitement is borderline revolting as he watches me closely, not moving from his spot in the doorway until I'mmere inches in front of him.

"Let'sgo then." He holds out his arm for me to take and with along few seconds of hesitation, Ido, not wanting to piss him off.

Luckily the board room is only afew doors down from my office, leaving only acouple of minutes of awkward silence between us. Ican tell that he wants to talk to me, but Iavoid him as best Ican while being so close to his side. His good looks don’thave the same appeal as they did just afew weeks ago. It’slike someone has reached inside my brain and flipped off the Cole is attractive switch. And if Iwere to guess who that somebody was, I’msure that Iwould be right.

When we reach the glass door, Ipeer in and wince. Aroom full of people packed in like sardines waits afew feet away. Some sit, some stand, but the one thing everyone has in common is the confusion etched on their faces as they look towards the front of the room. Two bodies stand stiffly at the head of along, dark table, assessing each and every person with ascrutiny that has my skin itching. Irecognize one of the men to be Clark Brenton while the other man goes completely unrecognized. Idon’tremember ever meeting him or seeing him in passing. His place at the front of the room sparks my interest.

It’sso quiet that you could hear apin drop when Cole opens the door and leads us inside. Heads turn and curious, maybe even envious eyes observe me, fraying my nerves. When Cole turns to face me, Ilet my arm fall limp to my side. Iflinch when he pats my lower back, his pinky brushing the top of my ass.

He mumbles quickly, "Have aseat and enjoy. Ilook forward to talking to you afterward.”

Imanage to nod before moving to the lone empty chair that rests against the back wall. The two male voices that spread throughout the room echo with authority and power. Ican feel the shared nervousness that floats along the room, sitting heavy and thick. Looking from one set of rigid shoulders to the next, Irealize that I’mnot the only one who has no idea what this meeting is about. None of us do.

Agorgeous blonde sits with perfect posture on the left side of the table, two chairs down from where Clark stands, his thin lips moving as he speaks, addressing the room. Asleek, well-ironed navy pantsuit covers the woman’sathletic build. It matches the colour of her eyes perfectly. Inotice that after they’ve narrowed in on me, lit with barely controlled anger.

The intensity has me swallowing an invisible lump. It’sthen that Ibegin to feel watched. Turning my head slowly, Isee several sets of eyes on me. They all look at me like they’ve found me tossing kittens onto abusy highway. The intensity behind their sudden hatred has me touching the base of my neck, feeling my raging pulse beneath my fingertips. My stomach swirls and flips, nausea threatening to take me down. Suddenly freezing, ashiver racks down my spine.

"The expansion in Toronto will only push our clientele to the next level. And with the team management selected, Ihave no doubt we'll be up and running in no time," Clark announces and turns from aman I've never seen before to alit-up board on the wall behind them.

Alist of several names appears on the screen at the same time that my hand flies to my mouth. Mine rests five spots from the top.

Sierra Caster - Marketing Manager

What. The. Fuck?

Imeet Cole’seager stare from across the room, fully aware that my jaw hangs unhinged, but not giving enough of ashit to reattach it. This is some sort of ploy to get into my pants. It has to be. Ihaven’tearned this job. Hell, Ihaven’teven been here long enough to earn my choice of fancy coffee creamers in the staff lounge. It feels wrong—dirty even. Like Islept my way to apromotion when Ihaven’tdone anything of the sort. Everyone has to be thinking the same thing. Ican feel it in the way they look at me, like they’re disgusted by me.

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