CardsNeverLie (2 page)

Jill made a full stop at Melanie’s office door and held onto
the doorjamb for support.

“Melanie,” Jill mouthed, out of breath. “Boss Man wants to
see you pronto.”

Melanie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it a little early for Al
to be conscious? It’s only eight-fifteen.”

“New girlfriend. She works the seven a.m. shift at Swedish
Hospital.”

“Pity. I preferred his hours when he was dating that exotic
dancer last winter.”

“Deal with it, babe. I’ve got to copy some charts that
gorgeous analyst from Product Development sent up.”

“Anything important?”

“Dunno, I don’t look, I just photocopy.” Jill whipped around
and left the office, her skirt billowing.

Melanie took one last mighty gulp of coffee and pushed her
hands against the desk, raising herself. Hooray for Mondays.

She traversed the cubicle corridor more slowly than Jill
had, skirting the open drawer and the pile of Christmas ornaments that had been
stashed in the hall for months. Luckily, the firemen hadn’t been by for their
annual inspection, they’d declare the place a firetrap and close the building.

Down in the east wing, the surroundings were serene and free
of clutter. Welcome to exec-land, home of Al Plowman, Product Marketing director.

“Melanie,” her boss said from his desk, a less than
welcoming expression on his face. “Sit down.”

Melanie sat, wondering what was wrong. “What’s going on?”

Al frowned. “I’ll let Tommy Joe tell you.”

He motioned behind her and Tommy Joe, otherwise known as
that tall, dark and handsome guy in Product Development, stepped forward.
Melanie sat, confused. She hadn’t seen him when she’d entered Al’s office. Had
he been hiding behind the ficus tree outside Al’s door? She took a closer look
at his saturnine features. Yes, she could believe he would go for a little
bondage.

“Hi, Melanie,” Tommy Joe said, his usually taciturn face
creased into a slight smile. He cleared his throat and rustled a sheath of
papers clutched in his hand. He motioned to an easel behind Al’s right ear.
“May I?”

Al nodded, scowling. “Let’s get it over with.”

Tommy Joe reached behind Al and stuck his wad of papers
under the metal clasp of the easel.

He pushed at the back leg of the easel with his foot, trying
to get it to stand. It wouldn’t hold and he struggled for a full two minutes
while Melanie watched in disbelief. Finally, wiping his brow with a crisp white
handkerchief, he coughed.

“Mr. Plowman, Melanie, I’m afraid I don’t have the best
news.”

Melanie missed the rest of the beginning of his speech,
horrified by the way Tommy Joe’s eyes seemed glued to her cleavage. Al didn’t
seem to notice. She liked being desired, but in the appropriate time and place.
The analyst was indeed a bit perverse.

Al’s angry voice forced her back to the subject at hand. “So
revenues were down twenty-three percent last quarter?” His mouth was set in a
grim line. “Melanie, what are you going to do about it?”

Melanie took a long look at the colorful, detailed graphs on
the easel. The numbers looked really bad. “Maybe we can take another look at
the last three products New Development suggested. I realize they were shot
down, but I’m sure—”

Al cut her off. “I don’t want anything but new ideas.”

“It’s only been two months since you fired my predecessor
and hired me. I need time.” She glanced at the graphs again, hunting for an
angle.

“Excuses aren’t what we look for in a manager, Melanie,” Al
barked. “We look for results.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t be so much looking at new products but
fixing existing problems.” She pointed. “Graph five indicates an issue with oil
odor and the samples we’ve examined show spoilage. What is going on with our
products?”

“That’s not our problem here in Product Marketing. We need
to invent and sell the product, not fix operational issues.”

“How long can we last if we’re selling garbage?” Melanie
protested, her fingernails digging into the backs of her hands.

Al cut her off with a disgusted wave of his hand. “Bottom
line, Melanie. If I don’t see a big rise in revenue by December, I will hold you
responsible.”

Melanie tried to swallow her rage. Her entire career had
been spent at this company and she had worked hard for this promotion. Was this
some kind of setup? Her predecessor hadn’t lasted long, maybe she had been a
fall guy too. It didn’t matter. Her job did. And she had less than two months
to save it. But how could she fix her private life if her career was in
jeopardy? She couldn’t concentrate on both.

Tommy Joe spoke up. “Melanie, you’re going to a conference
tomorrow, right?”

Melanie nodded. “A bath and beauty product conference.”

“Maybe you’ll get some great ideas there.”

She grimaced. You’re not much help, Tommy Joe.

Al looked reflectively at the two of them. “Tommy Joe,
what’s your schedule for next week?”

Tommy Joe looked confused. “Why, sir?”

“I’d like you to attend this conference with Melanie.”

Melanie opened her mouth to protest then shut it. She didn’t
want the man who had just been promoted to her old job shadowing her in her new
one. She feared this meeting was a warning that she could be easily replaced.
But maybe Tommy Joe could be a better ally than enemy.

“That sounds like a great idea,” she said. “There’s always
too much for one person to digest at these conferences.”

Al nodded approvingly. “Good teamwork, Melanie. That’s the
way to go about this. Tommy Joe can offer a fresh perspective. Did you know
that his brother runs Wicked Oil?”

“Aren’t they our direct competitors?” Melanie asked as
sweetly as she dared, remembering the horoscope oils at Blithe Books &
Baubles.

Tommy Joe picked up his charts. “Nah, they own the Midwest
market. And it’s a big market.”

After shoving the easel into place behind Al’s desk with a
scraping noise that made Melanie wince, he left the office as silently as he
had come in. It had to be something about the shoes. Ninja shoes.

Melanie watched as he disappeared behind the ficus tree.
Ninjas were warriors. Were they into black magic and other naughty games as
well?

Chapter Two

“Jack,” Rob said into the headset of his cell phone as he
opened the door of his hotel suite. “How did your conversation with
Professional Massage go?”

“Great,” his executive VP said. “We’re good to go. But they
want to meet with you before they start talking final numbers.”

Rob kicked away the newspaper lurking on the floor then
rustled around inside the mini-bar until he found a dark imported brew. He did
his best to ignore the hotel’s idea of medieval décor, tacky imperial purple
draperies and ornate, pointy furniture. “I’m not going to help Grandfather sell
the company.” Rob bent the cap of his bottle off with the bottle opener and
took a swig.

“Aw, c’mon, Rob,” Jack wheedled. “Don’t be bitter. Everyone
wants to meet the famous Whipmaster.”

Rob tossed back half the bottle. As his oldest friend, Jack
O’Brien should know better than to torment him with that. “The Whipmaster is
Grandfather, not me. I never posed for one of those god-awful magazine ads.”

“You’d never know it. You look just like the old man in his
prime.” Jack chuckled. “Seriously, Rob, you’re going to have to meet them.
You’re the CEO now.”

“Maybe if I hold them off long enough, I can talk
Grandfather out of selling. Why don’t you come down to Vegas so I can get back
to Seattle and talk to him again?” Rob sat on his purple couch.

“Sorry. Bombshell quit today and the shit has hit the fan.”

“She quits about once a month. She’ll be back tomorrow.” Rob
felt something poke him in the leg. He stuck his hand into his pocket. Shari’s
massage oil. He dropped the amber bottle into his open briefcase, which lay on
the coffee table. There’s nothing like an attractive nurse to send a man’s mind
toward fantasy. Rob didn’t need to ask why his grandfather had forced
Bombshell, the LeatherWorks nurse, to wear the old-fashioned nurse’s white
dress when most corporate nurses wore slacks and a sweater.

Rob had asked her out a couple of times since she seemed
like a sweetheart as well as being gorgeous, but she had turned him down with a
smile, saying she didn’t date anyone she worked with. He recalled more than one
midnight fantasy in which it turned out she had a sister who would date him,
but no such luck.

“Not this time, Rob. She left screaming, and I do mean
screaming, ‘sexual harassment’.”

Rob scoffed. “And who was doing the harassing?”

“Your grandfather.”

Rob laughed aloud. “Thanks, Jack. I needed the laugh. He’s
eighty-two, for Christ’s sake.”

Rob could hear Jack’s sigh through the telephone wire. “The
judge would probably say the fact he’s wheelchair-bound just gives him a better
shot at pinching her ass.”

“Grandfather wouldn’t do that. It’s just the way he talks.
He’s stuck in the past and to today’s woman his language is often offensive.”
He smiled. “Sounds like I’d better get back.”

“No dice. I’ll think of something. You concentrate on coming
up with a way to talk your grandfather out of selling.”

“You mean you don’t want him to?” Rob’s grandfather had once
given Jack a second chance, but when John Black was gone, Jack could move on to
a better job at a larger company. He had the skills. Rob had never understood
where his insecurity came from.

“Of course not. Executives will be the first to go under new
management.”

“They won’t be that dumb. Your job is safe. Give Bombshell a
raise and get her back to work. Grandfather needs a nurse and those temp
services cost a fortune.”

Jack grunted. “You want me to bribe her?”

Rob shut his eyes. “It worked last time. And while you’re at
it, do what you must to dissuade Grandfather from selling, since I’m not there.
You’ve always been good with him.”

“You mind putting that in writing? I could use
owner-management skills on my resume.”

* * * * *

“Brisa, I don’t know if I want to go through with this.”
Melanie focused on ironing the new yellow miniskirt she had just finished
hemming.

“What can you do, cuz? If you quit your job the way I quit
mine they might not take you back. Not when you have a successor salivating in
the wings.” Brisa, sometimes known as Bombshell ever since her high school
cheerleading days, stretched out her long, lightly tanned legs on Melanie’s bed
and leaned back against the lavender Indian print pillows.

Melanie shot a glance at her cousin. “Get your shoes off my
bed!”

“Sorry, love.” Brisa kicked her sandals off and let them
drop to the floor. “Maybe this won’t be all bad. You can seduce ol’ tall, dark
and handsome and you won’t even have to change the sheets afterward.”

“I’ll think about it,” Melanie said absently.

“You’re backsliding,” Brisa announced. “I thought you had a
wild and crazy Melanie under development.”

“It’s hard going with my job in trouble. I’m more likely to take
a whip to Tommy Joe than sleep with him,” Melanie muttered, tossing the skirt
into the open suitcase on the floor next to her.

“Calm down,” Brisa laughed. “I guess those raunchy gifts
I’ve been buying for you from the company store are finally going to be used?”

Melanie waved a hand, almost burning it on the iron. She
frowned and switched it off. “I had a tarot reading as a birthday present from
Jill. Madame Lois said my soul mate would be into S & M. Or something like
that.”

Brisa put a manicured hand to her mouth. “You’re kidding!”

“It’s not like I believe that stuff,” Melanie protested.

“Maybe not, but think of the fun you could have.”

Melanie rolled her eyes in Brisa’s direction. “I actually
bought a tarot deck yesterday, but I’m afraid to give myself a reading. Think
the Devil card would come up twice?”

“If Tommy Joe isn’t your man, maybe it’s someone from
LeatherWorks. There’s this guy named Tim who’s kinda cute. And he’s definitely
a fan of our product line, judging from his leather and metal wardrobe.”

“He sounds like just my type, Brisa,” Melanie said
sarcastically.

“At least he’s the opposite of Gerald.” Brisa made Melanie’s
ex’s name sound like a pus-filled sore.

“I’m past needing a man who’s twenty years older to hold my
hand. But I think your friend Tim is a little advanced for me. There’s wild and
then there’s unstable.”

“There’s always the Whipmaster.” Brisa grinned.

“Who?”

“The Whipmaster is LeatherWorks’ owner. You’ve seen the ads,
right? But his grandson runs day-to-day operations now and he’s inherited the
nickname. He’s, oh,” Brisa considered. “About thirty, blond, movie star
handsome, deep dark eyes, great physique. But conservative, unlike Tim.”

Even though the description didn’t match the one from her
reading, he still sounded scrumptious to Melanie, especially since she doubted
anyone truly conservative would run a sex toy company. “And with that hunk
around you still want to quit?”

Brisa sighed. “I’m thinking I might not go back this time.”

“Really? You’ve never said that before.” How was Brisa going
to take care of herself and her son Ethan?

“I know.” Brisa turned over and tucked her chin into her
palm. “I might go back into hospital work.”

Melanie folded a selection of bright, tight,
ready-for-mischief clothing and placed it in the suitcase. When Brisa quit her
job at Harborview Medical Center three years ago, she was so physically and
emotionally exhausted she swore she’d never go back. It hadn’t surprised
Melanie that she’d burned out as an ER nurse. There were few tougher ways to make
a living.

“Will you go back into the ER?” Melanie hoped not.

“Probably not, but I’m tired of giving insulin shots to that
rude old man. LeatherWorks can be a fun place to work, but being the owner’s
almost-private nurse is hardly challenging.”

“Why did you keep quitting?”

“Sexual harassment.” Brisa said the loaded phrase casually
as she inspected her fingernails.

Melanie stared at her cousin. “You never told me that.”

Brisa leaned into her hand and closed her eyes. “It was
always minor stuff. I just made a joke about it and quit for a day, but it got
old. You’ve seen the uniform the old man makes me wear. And too many guys with
arrested development are hanging around when I have to run over to the plant.
The idea of a blonde in a nurse’s uniform turns them all on. The constant
‘let’s play doctor’ jokes and touching wears thin.”

“They’re all like that? You should have played doctor,”
Melanie deadpanned. “Stuck a few needles into them. That would have taught them
a lesson.”

It sounded like Brisa’s life had been wilder than Melanie
had realized. She wanted light and fun and sexy, not demeaning and degrading.
The LeatherWorks guys were men to avoid. She’d stick with Tommy Joe for her
spice.

* * * * *

Rob rested his half-empty beer bottle on his forehead. It soothed
his headache. As he drifted, an image of the Bombshell’s luscious frame came to
mind, a thoroughly unproductive thought that sent his blood pooling in the
wrong direction.

He hoisted his lazy ass off the couch and padded into his
bedroom then shuffled though his suitcase until he found a pair of swim trunks.
After pulling them on, he grabbed his room key and headed for the outdoor pool.
A swim might clear his head. He had a lot of thinking to do about his future.

Rob squinted into the sunlight. Las Vegas showed off its
shiny summer best and heat poured down from the sky. Light reflected into the
pool’s blue water, making it shine like a second sun.

He dropped his towel and key onto a free lounge chair and
shoved his moccasins underneath. When a couple of chattering kids popped over
the rope marking the closest lane, he dove cleanly into one end of the
Olympic-sized pool.

Rob was thrilled to be in the water again. He much preferred
to use his muscles instead of merely building them and had a swimmer’s build,
unlike his notorious grandfather, who had once sported the stocky physique of a
carnival sideshow strongman.

Grandfather had the carnival barker’s sense of salesmanship
too. In public, you’d never know he came from a long, sober line of
blacksmiths. Legend had it that the family had been working with leather and
metal a long time. But Grandfather had created a persona the Blacks had to live
with, despite their conservative lifestyle.

And now it had come to this. Another generation in the sex
business. Rob wanted to make changes, but his grandfather wanted the business
sold. Rob didn’t want to walk away from a business that had been in the family
for years. And there were sixty-two employees as well. What would happen to
them? They were like family too.

The problem had faced him for two years. How do you convert
the most profitable arm of a business to something more respectable? Erotic
fantasy costuming and wholesale sheet leather, the other two arms of the
business, weren’t enough to keep everyone employed.

“Robbie!” A sultry female voice called, pulling Rob out of
his reverie. He swam to the side of the pool.

“Come out of there and give me a hug, you bad boy!”

Rob reluctantly complied. Anita had been the star of an
advertising campaign for LeatherWorks a couple of years before, when he’d taken
a shot at removing the Whipmaster image from the product. Sales had increased
when his products had been featured in one of her movies, but many customers
had written to say they preferred the old company image, so the Whipmaster
remained.

As he rose from the pool, Anita flung her arms around him.
Rob gently hugged her, trying not to soak a bikini meant more for show than for
swimming. As soon as his arms were around her, Anita moved her hands down Rob’s
back and gave his butt a squeeze.

Rob jumped back.

Anita giggled at his reaction. “Don’t do that, baby. You
might fall in.”

Rob chuckled lightly, as expected. “A little water won’t
hurt me.”

Anita pouted. “But it might hurt this suit. I’d love for you
to get me wet, sweetie, but this isn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

Rob raised an eyebrow, masking his annoyance.

“Shouldn’t those little shorts of yours be leather?” she
teased.

Rob shook his head. “Too much resistance.”

Anita giggled and coyly slapped him on the shoulder. “You
bad boy,” she squealed. “How come you and I never got it on?”

“I like my women a little more cloistered.”
And a lot
less full of silicone.

“You mean like a girls’ school. Ooooh, there’s a fantasy.”
Anita wrinkled her forehead. “I had a boyfriend who liked threesomes. But
really, he just liked to lie back and watch. I started thinking maybe he was
impotent so I dumped him.”

“Maybe he needed a good spanking,” Rob suggested dryly.

Anita struck a pose and repeated the line from one of her
movies. “Hurry up and hurt me better, stud!” She slapped her firm butt. “This
is what keeps me in business, you know. Guys just love to see this thang get
pink.”

“You keep up the good work, Anita.” An unwelcome memory of
that movie scene, watched because of the LeatherWorks’ leather and fur paddle
product placement, flashed through his head. “I have to get ready for dinner.”

“You can eat with me. Or on me,” she said with a wink.

“Unfortunately,” Rob said, grateful for the ready-made
excuse, “I promised to treat my staff. What brings you here this year?”

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the new poster girl for Villani
Cosmetics.”

“Congratulations!” Maybe this would get her out of the
“acting” business for good. He was always glad when one of the women in the
industry climbed out. Villani had once been a porn queen herself.

Rob gave Anita a gentle hug, hoping she wouldn’t do anything
else X-rated considering all the families around the pool. They were going to
get a rude awakening when the convention got into full swing tomorrow night.
This pool with its swim-up bar was going to be chock-f of all kinds of
wildness.