Sultry in Stilettos (3 page)

Again she checked her phone, and again
she cursed. If Beckett hadn’t texted or called by now, he wasn’t
going to. They’d both been with family for the Christmas holiday
and busy, so it was understandable that he hadn’t called. It was
just so far out of their routine that it worried her.

Suck it up,
kid
. She would get to see him today, so
she’d just have to deal till then.
Pull
your big girl thong on and act cool and breezy
. It was just a kiss, not the end of the world. They’d both
laugh about it and go back to being Ricca and Beckett.

Satisfied with her mini pep talk, she
grabbed her stuff and headed out.

Once she arrived at work, she laid out
the cupcake spread with a card and balloons—thanks to Karen, her
intern—and tried not to bite her nails. As everyone filed in, Ricca
received cheery good mornings and grateful sighs as folks started
picking up their treats.

The birthday girl, Emily,
strolled in with her sidekicks, a.k.a, the Bitch Brigade, and Ricca
plastered a smile on her face.
Fake it
till you make it.
“Happy Birthday,
Emily.”

Emily’s eyes lit up as she eyed the
red velvet cupcakes. Then Angel, the Bitch Brigade’s leader nudged
her, and she mumbled, “Thanks, Ricca, but I’ve given up
sugar.”

Ricca blinked once then twice. She’d
woken up at five AM to make these for someone who didn’t even like
sugar? Schooling her expression, she muttered, “I wish I’d known.
I’d have brought you something else. I’ll um, just give it to
Reception or something.”

“Oh, c’mon, Ricca, it’s obvious you
like cupcakes. You should just have Emily’s. It’s not like you're
watching your weight or anything. After all, you did all the hard
work.” Angel smiled sweetly.

Ricca clasped her hands
tightly in her lap as she clenched her jaw.
If you kill her, Micha and Jaya aren’t here to help you move
the body
.
Breathe
. She sucked in a breath and
let it out slowly. God, she hated Angel. Why the skinny blonde was
so cruel was beyond her. Maybe in another life, Ricca had stolen
her boyfriend or something. One of these days it would come to a
head with the two of them, and Ricca would blow.

Luckily someone muttered, “God, I love
birthdays. Ricca, you should open your own dessert
place.”

Distracted from her anger, Ricca
mumbled a thanks and kept her eyes peeled on the door. No Beckett.
Maybe he wasn’t coming back today after all. Despite what the
company calendar said.

As always, Serena Witt,
President of Fantasy Inc., started the meeting on time. As Ricca’s
boss droned on about last quarter’s profits, Ricca tried to keep
her attention on the job and not on Beckett. She certainly wouldn’t
think about the kiss. When the stupid photographer at the stupid
Westhorpe, Year End Gala had suggested a stupid smooch under the
mistletoe for the charity auction, she should have said, “No way.”
“Nein.” “No thank you.” “Never in a million years.” Shit,
he
should have been the
first one saying, “Hell no!” But ever the consummate flirt, Beckett
had kidded her into compliance.

Shit
. Who the hell was she kidding? His mouth should have come
with a warning label.
Warning: Side
effects include scorched lips, flushed skin, an inability to stop
picturing your best friend naked, along with sleepless nights.
Please see your battery operated boyfriend if any of these symptoms
occur.
She had to stop thinking about him,
the kiss, all of it. It was bad for her health—and her libido. Talk
about torture.

She licked her lips in an
effort to remember the taste of him. Without much effort, she
recalled the mint and scotch on his tongue, and she
shivered.

No. She couldn’t do this
to herself. She shook her head, tried to shove the memory aside.
But this flashback was more resilient than the others she’d managed
to shut down. Her memory kept spinning the movie reel of their
kiss, and she immediately remembered how his lips molded to hers.
How he’d dragged her body to his and practically lifted her off the
ground like he’d wanted to eat her alive. For that moment in time,
she’d wanted to pretend it all could be real. But it
wasn’t.

When the flashbacks of hot
and heavy wouldn’t subside, she forced her gaze over to the Bitch
Brigade. Yep, that did it—Angel’s scathing glare put a chill on any
embers in Ricca’s body. Suppressing a shudder, she turned her gaze
toward Serena and tried to pull herself back to the meeting.
Focusing on Beckett when she was supposed to be listening to her
boss was self-destructive.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard
Serena say, “The leads for our next Master Fantasy will be Angel
Flannigan and Beckett Mills, if he ever shows up.”

Say, what the fuck?
Angel was getting this client?

Ricca sat bolt upright and sputtered
around her sip of latte. She darted a glance around the conference
room, hoping no one had noticed she’d been daydreaming. As it was,
she’d only heard snippets of what Serena had been saying. Something
along the lines of “New Fantasy client…out of the box
thinking…important to the agency…very wealthy and high end…fun…”
Ricca had been angling to be lead on a Master Fantasy for over a
year. Master Fantasies were the big-ticket clients, who were
willing to spend fifty thousand or more. It looked great on the
resume, and it was a chance to really spread her wings so she could
finally stop doing sweet sixteen parties.

Ricca blinked, stupefied.
This was supposed to be
her
fantasy. Angel didn’t even have any planning
experience. She was on the fantasy acting side. She played the part
for guys who wanted a fantasy Vegas weekend. She was the arm candy
travel partner for old rich guys who were socially awkward. She was
a junior planner—how the hell had she gotten this gig?

Ricca gnashed her teeth together.
Busting out with “That heifer can’t plan her way around Neiman’s”
would not help her get the job. Her only option was to speak to
Serena after the meeting. Bratty antics would get her
nowhere.

Serena went on as if she hadn’t just
dropped a bomb. “Angel, you get to select your team, but Ricca will
work with you. She has the experience you’ll need for the romance
fantasies.”

Screw professionalism, Ricca itched to
throw her cupcake at her boss.

“I expect you two to knock this one
out of the water, or whatever the saying is.” Serena’s eastern
European accent was so minimal it was barely noticeable most of the
time, until she said something she was unsure of.

Ricca rolled her lips
inward to moisten them. She glanced around the room, only letting
her eyes rest on Angel for a split second before moving on. “I’m
not sure I’m right for this fantasy. Angel should be able to pick
her team, it’s only fair.”
Read, no way
you can take my Master Fantasy, give it to that self-serving
bi—erm, ex-model, and expect me to play ball.
She prayed Serena would buy that and not give her a public
flogging.

“What’s the matter, Ricca, you afraid
I’ll outshine you?” Angel’s voce was smooth with just a hint of
sarcasm.

Serena was quick to cut off their
jibes. “That’s enough, you two. These clients are not only
important to the business, but they are personal friends of
Zachery’s and mine. I expect these fantasies to be
flawless.”

And just like that, Ricca was working
for the enemy.

****

Shit
. Late again. Beckett grabbed his gym bag and hustled to
work. Even though he'd be making it by the skin of his teeth, he
still went the long route so he could check on the renovation
progress of the dilapidated building he’d bought with his brother,
Braedon. There, on the corner of 13
^th
and J street, was the old
gym, Swim on J. Years ago it had been a boxing gym. Back when
downtown San Diego had been a red light district, some great boxers
had come here to train. But the building had stood empty for almost
twelve years. Everything on the inside and the outside of the
exposed brick was getting a face-lift. Just like he’d
planned.

He and his brother Braedon had taken
on the job with their mother. As a former swim coach, she’d been
passionate about giving at-risk kids an outlet through sports and
competition. She’d gone over every plan and blueprint for the
place. But then she’d died. He and Braedon had taken over the job,
but for two years they’d struggled to really do it justice. To cut
costs, they’d opted to do much of the work themselves. When she’d
died, she’d left money in a trust for both of them to continue, but
with a few legal snafus, Beckett’s half of the trust was tied up
with his father. It didn’t matter though. Come hell or high-water,
they were getting this building done. He’d promised her.

Hustling through the building, Beckett
did a mental scan, making note of any subtle changes. He wanted to
make sure no homeless people had moved in and could claim
squatter’s rights. Braedon had clearly been here over the
holiday—the lockers in the men’s locker room were halfway
mounted.

Beckett couldn't help the giddy
excitement about the building. Ever since his mother had told him
and his brother about her plans for it, he'd been dying to get
started.

But then she'd passed away, and
instead of building the project together, he and Braedon were on
their own. But Beckett had made her a promise to build this place
and he’d see it through no matter what it took.

He hustled down Island St.
and made his way to the Fifth Avenue building where Fantasies, Inc.
resided. As he rounded the corner, he did a run-by on the local
coffee stand and smiled as he saw the barista finishing up his
usual order. One latt
é
, extra whipped cream, and one black coffee.

“Thanks, Helen." He flashed her a
smile.

She grinned at him good-naturedly.
"One of these days, you're going to buy me coffee, you
hear?"

"Anytime. Just as soon as you leave
your husband." He grinned and headed into Fantasies' building. The
twelve-story building had once been a historical San Diego hotel.
The developer who bought it had renovated it to make it more
hospitable for businesses and added modern touches like the
uber-modern lobby, but the outside exterior had that old time
Spanish architecture and feel. Some of the offices were structured
like hotel rooms and were connected by interior doors.

And for Beckett, if it wasn’t the
waves, it was the indoor pool constantly distracting him. He'd long
since hung up the mantle of Olympic hopeful, but a small part of
his subconscious mind held on to the dream. It didn’t matter that
he was almost thirty. He still trained as if the opportunity might
present.

He didn’t bother with the
elevator. Instead, he took the stairs two at a time and headed
straight to the conference room. Zach's wife and business partner,
Serena Witt, wouldn’t appreciate his tardiness, but then again, she
never did. But she started the meetings at 9:15
am
on the dot to accommodate for her
husband. Serena would have preferred to have the meeting at 9. Her
eastern European sensibilities caused her to frown every time she
saw Beckett squeak in just in time for the meeting. Today, he
checked his watch as he eased down into the only available seat and
handed the black coffee to his left. Nine thirty. Really
late.

He didn’t dare slide a glance in
Ricca’s direction. If he acted normally, things would just fall in
line, right? A week was the longest they’d gone without talking. Or
texting. He had to fix the awkwardness before it ruined their
friendship.

“Nice of you to join us, Beckett.”
Serena rolled her eyes.

He smirked. “Sorry.”

I never should have kissed
her.

Beckett willed his eyes not to look in
Ricca’s direction. Begged them even. But they were in no mood to
cooperate. The moment he caught sight of her shifting in her seat
and the way her thick wavy hair strained against the bobby-pinned
bun she always wore, he squeezed his eyes shut to clear the
imagery. Bad idea. Immediately, his brain transported him to that
moment under the mistletoe when he’d gone back for that second
kiss. He’d made that one choice unconsciously, grabbing her ass and
hauling her against him, devouring her lips like a starving
man.

Beckett blinked hard. So not going to
go there.

Stupid. Stupid.
Stupid.
Why had he kissed her?
Because you wanted to.
No. He did not want to. She was one of his best friends, and
she was off limits—regardless of his stupidity at the Gala. He
should never have listened to the old lady. But who in their right
mind told Adele Westhorpe no?

What the hell did you say to your best
friend when you were having all kinds of inappropriate thoughts
about her? He so needed Hallmark to start making cards for just
this occasion. He kept hoping that maybe he’d be lucky and Ricca
would have forgotten the whole thing by now.

But given she hadn’t called or texted,
and she was sitting as rigidly as stone next to him, that wasn’t
likely to happen.