Sweet Rivalry (1001 Dark Nights)(18)

That voice. The one I’ve heard talk throughout the day. The laugh that has carried through the room at different times and felt like it was slowly removing each layer of my clothing right along with it.

This morning didn’t happen.

I keep my head down and do just what he said I can’t do, ignore him.

He’s the enemy.

Not an irresistibly hot guy who being shirtless, sweaty, and out of breath in an elevator with me made me envision that’s what he’d look like after a round of orgasm-inducing, breath-robbing, incredible sex.

He’s the one standing between you and the promise you made to Wade that will let you keep your job.

And if he’s going to use this strategy––the one where he renders me stupid by standing two feet from me so that I want him so bad it hurts, then I might as well play too.

Besides, nothing says game-on like a woman in heels, and I have my favorite power-pink heels on today to prove that exact point.

Yes, I let my composure—my concentration—slip this morning. I let the sight of his skin and the bang of lust between my thighs commandeer my thoughts. Or lack thereof. But with my favorite heels and my best power suit on, I feel more in control.

No man is going to throw me off my game and make me lose this job.

That I know for sure.

Besides, it’s hard to wear a pair of heels and not feel sexy.

And I need that feeling today. The sexy, the sassy, the defiant, and everything in between because I refuse to let him render me stumbling and fumbling like I did this morning.

I’m winning this bid. I can want him. I can desire him. And I can still beat him out all at the same time.

So when he asks me if I’m going to ignore him, I do just that. Keep my head down, my fingers tapping on the keyboard, and my shoulders straight.

Because this morning didn’t happen.

“Harper?”

“Hmm?” I don’t look up. I give him the same sound he gave me all those years ago. He will not distract me.

“Oh, so you can hear me. Good to know.” There’s humor lacing the edge of his voice and I hate that a part of me wants to look up and see if he’s smiling. If his beard is curving up. “I have a sister. I’m well versed in estrogen-edged silent treatment. It works perfect for me too. You silent means you’re not distracting me…so keep at it. My concentration appreciates the silence and you for it.”

I don’t react although every part of me bristles at the comment and the return of Ryder’s trademark sarcasm.

The silence stretches. The clicking of my keyboard is the only sound in the room. I don’t dare look up to see what’s going on, although I have a good sense that the blackened sky in the windows at my back is a solid indicator that it’s just Ryder and me remaining once again.

I continue to type. Click. Click. Hating that now that I’m aware we’re the only ones left, being alone here with him is all I can think about. And dammit, my plan for not being distracted has been shot to hell.

“You’re going to have to talk to me at some point,” he murmurs from his desk.

“I haven’t yet.” I take the bait and his chuckle reinforces it.

“You just did.”

“No, I merely responded so as not to be rude. Responding and talking at some point are two different things.”

“You and your semantics.” His laugh returns and pulls my eyes to him.

Damn. I shouldn’t have looked because if a put-together Ryder Rodgers is hot, and a shirtless Ryder is mouthwateringly tempting, then a rumpled, tired, and hard-worked Ryder is impossibly irresistible. The one whose tie has been removed and shirt is unbuttoned enough that I can see the edges of a tattoo barely above the neckline of his undershirt.

Reminding me of just what they look like in full 3D color.

The heat returns to my cheeks again when our eyes meet, despite how hard I try to remain unaffected, but the smile he gives me is sincere and so void of the smugness I had expected.

He waits a beat before he speaks, as if he’s choosing his words one by one before actually uttering them. Something I obviously need to take heed of.

“How are your numbers coming along?”

His question startles me. It’s not what I expected and yet exactly what I wanted, him acting like this morning never happened.

But it did and now he’s acting like it didn’t.

It’s like I can’t make up my mind. My head wants to deny that my elevator confession ever happened while my legs want to spread apart like it did.

The one thing I do know is that the longer he stares at me, waiting for a response, the harder it is for him to deny the mocking smile from turning up the corners of his mouth in a way that fires my temper.

“I’m basically finished.” He carries on as if he asked the question to himself and is answering it. “I’ve made some good headway today, just paring down my presentation. How about you? You ready to take me on again? See who comes out on top this time around?”

“No. Nuh-uh. You don’t––”

“Nuh-uh? Now I really know you’re mad at me if you’re breaking out the big words like nuh-uh. I take it you’re struggling with your numbers then?”

I just stare at him, eyes blinking, fingers paused on my keyboard and try not to give into that placating tone of his that used to drive me bat-shit crazy.