Sugar And Spice (41 page)

As soon as she reached her cubicle, she pulled up Internet Explorer and zoomed over to Monster.com, posting her resume with several angry keystrokes.

“Hey, what’d that keyboard ever do to you?” Angie said, sliding back to poke her head around the paneled wall separating them.

“It’s not the keyboard. It’s him.”

“Jake?”

“Jerk is more like it.”

Angie held up a hand. “Whoa, Nelly. Five minutes ago you were starry eyed and well kissed. How’d he go from Romeo to Benedict Arnold so fast?”

“He let Brad cut off the Our Hope Shelter. Before Christmas. Before we bought gifts for the kids.”

“He did?” Her jaw dropped. “For real?”

“Technically, Brad did. Jake just stood by and watched the train wreck.”

“Hey, go easy on him,” Angie said. “Jake is the brains behind the operation, but Brad is where the buck stops. He has the majority share, remember?”

“Jake could have argued with Brad more. Anything but sit there like the village idiot and let this happen.” She shook her head, then pushed back from the desk, watching as her job search posting went into cyberspace. “I thought I knew him.”

“Maybe you do. There could be more to the story than you’re hearing. Some reason he supported Brad.” Angie paused. “Though I can’t think of one right now, I’m sure there is a reason.”

Natalie snorted. “I doubt that.” Then she sagged in her chair, wondering if she could find a way to leave work early. Just hole up in her apartment with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and some Turning Leaf and forget she ever thought Jake Lyons was a good idea.

“Why is this shelter so important to you?” Angie asked, her voice soft, concerned. “It’s about more than just poor kids, isn’t it?”

“No.” Natalie shook her head. “Yes.” But she didn’t elaborate. She didn’t want to tell Angie about her childhood, about the events that had driven her to passionately support anything that helped needy children. A few days ago, when Jake had sat in that chair and read a silly book about a reindeer to the children, she’d thought he might have felt the same way, but now…

It was clear he didn’t.

“Well, why didn’t you tell Brad and Jake that?” Angie asked. “Maybe Brad the Bozo would have reconsidered cutting the program support.”

“Brad let me do this only because he thought it would be a great PR stunt. Apparently, Jake agrees.” She cursed under her breath. “It’s all about the freakin’ bottom line.”

“Listen, you should talk to Jake.” Angie gave her friend a light jab in the arm. “Ask him to dinner. Lunch.

A scone at Starbucks. And talk to him.”

Natalie laughed. “Yeah, right. With me and him, it’s more like playing verbal ping-pong. And I don’t have a paddle.” She rose, and grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil. “Either way, I’m not letting them stop me.

I’m going to give those kids a Christmas no matter what.”

“And Jake?”

She grinned. She had a plan now. There was nothing like taking action to make her feel better. “For him, I do believe a lump of coal is in order.”

He’d gone too far. The small blue box in Jake’s hands was much too expensive for a Secret Santa gift and would definitely give him away as the gifter. Until now, he’d done little things—the Peach Shimmer body spray, the silver earrings, a book of poetry, a snowglobe with a scene that reminded him of the cityscape just outside the shelter’s windows.

But after he’d watched Natalie walk away from the conference room two days ago, disappointment and frustration sitting squarely on her shoulders, he’d wanted to do something, anything, to undo the damage Brad had just done.

Brad hadn’t acted alone. Jake had screwed up too, particularly by not putting his foot down about his cousin’s penny-pinching. Why’d he let this one slip by when he’d argued a hundred other financial decisions in the past?

He knew why. Because he’d been more worried about the fate of the company than the feelings of Natalie Harris. It had been a business decision, plain and simple.

Either way, guilt had driven him over to a jewelry store, made him linger so long the salesman got annoyed and had him racking up his credit card to buy something that was supposed to be office entertainment.

He’d never put so much damned thought into a gift in his life. For his father, who had everything—and everything everyone else wished for but couldn’t afford—Jake had always done something tax deductible, like buying a sheep in Indonesia. For his past girlfriends, he’d always called Tiffany’s or Cartier and let the experts there pick out a gift, wrap it, sign his name and ship it to him in time for a planned evening on the town. Shiny things always went over well with the women in his life, which meant he also had a Merry Christmas, sometimes under the blankets, but more often than not, under the tree, or wherever the diamonds had been dispensed.

This time, though, he’d spent four hours at the mall, battling crowds and bargain hunters, until he found the perfect gift, choosing it himself, right down to the wrapping paper. Not caring about what he might get in return but only wanting to see a smile cross Natalie’s lips again.

“Whatcha got there, Jake?” Sam the Suck-Up asked, poking his head into Jake’s office.

“Here,” he said, tossing the gift to Sam as if he didn’t care about it one whit, “put this on that girl’s desk.

Someone gave it to me by accident.”

Sam caught the box, then read the name inscribed on the card. “Oh, Natalie. The troublemaker.”

“What do you mean, troublemaker?”

“Did you hear how she argued with Brad over the Twelve Days of Christmas? It’s like she never read Working in an Office 101.”

“I bet you memorized it.”

Sam beamed. “Even better. I wrote it and self-published it. If you’re interested, I can—”

“I’m not.”

Sam shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned away, his head held in high superiority, the kind that came with knowing he was secure in his job because he had his head so far up Brad’s ass, he could probably measure the boss’s intestinal tract.

From behind his glass wall, Jake watched as Sam slipped the gift onto Natalie’s desk. Instead of getting to work or tackling the long list of calls he needed to return, Jake left the room and crossed by the central coffeepot, waiting until she entered the office a few minutes later.

Her hair was tousled from the winter wind, her cheeks red and bright. He’d never thought anyone could look so sexy and so innocent at the same time.

He wanted to kiss her again until the cold left her lips and she melted into his arms, drawing from his warmth. And maybe drawing a little more than that out of him. Desire for Natalie Harris wasn’t a problem—the ramifications of getting involved with her, particularly when the company needed a lot of TLC, were.

As she had for dozens of days, Natalie hung her long black coat in the closet, folded her knitted blue scarf and put it in the pocket. Neat, precise movements, all very good at ignoring him as she made her way to her cubicle.

He remained rooted to the spot, pretending to sip a cup of coffee, watching for the soft smile of discovery that took over her face when she found, then picked up the box. A smile curved across his features in concert with hers. Hell, now he was turning into the After Grinch, the one with the tripled heart.

He’d stopped thinking about his own Secret Santa and how intrigued SpiceGirl made him feel. Instead, he was more interested in Natalie and her responses to his gifts. In the last few days, he’d found out it was definitely way better to give than to receive.

With agonizing slowness, she removed the silver ribbon, the navy paper, then ran a thumb over the hinge of the long, thin velvet box before finally opening it. Everything within him stood still, waiting for her gasp of surprise.

The woman at the next desk—Angela, Jake thought her name was—let out a shriek. “Holy crap, Nat!

That’s some quality zirc.”

Cubic zirconium? She thought the tennis bracelet, made up of tiny diamonds and rubies in the shape of poinsettias, was a fake?

“It’s beautiful,” Natalie said, fingering the gems. “It doesn’t matter what it’s made out of.”

“Well, you got the long end of the Secret Santa stick. This is what was on my desk this morning.” Angie held up a Yard-O-Beef.

Jake chuckled, then covered with a cough when the women looked in his direction. “Uh, allergies.” He took the Styrofoam cup and headed back to his glass walls.

He lasted all of five minutes in his office before he depressed the intercom button and asked Natalie to come in. She did as he asked, her back ramrod stiff, her anger at him still clear on her face. For a second, he was tempted to tell her he was her Secret Santa.

But he’d rather not see his privates strung up on a diamond bracelet.

“You wanted to see me, M-M-Mr. Lyons?”

“Jake, please.” When she paused, he added a smile. “Please.”

She drew in a breath, then released it with his name. “Jake.”

The soft, throaty sound sent his thoughts spiraling back down Bedroom Boulevard. Somehow, he needed to make peace with her. Not so he could repeat the moment in the file room—

Who was he kidding? He wanted that particular event to go into multiple reruns. His mind might know better than to get involved with an employee right now, but the rest of him didn’t care. “I want to talk to you, but I don’t want to do it here, in the fishbowl. Would you like to get some coffee?”

The delicate arch of her eyebrows raised. “C-c-coffee?”

“You know, that warm caffeinated beverage that people use to start their day?”

“No, thank you. I have w-w-work to do. And you already h-h-have some.”

Oh yeah. He’d forgotten the cup from earlier. “You know the coffee here. Brad buys the cheapest crap he can. It’s more colored water than caffeine.”

That at least coaxed a smile out of her, albeit fleeting.

“We can talk about work if you like. Most of the time.” He tried smiling again, but she shook her head.

“I c-c-can’t. Sorry.”

“Listen, I know I was a jerk the other day. But if you’ll let me explain, over a cappuccino or whatever you want, I’d appreciate it.” He looked at her wrist, saw the sparkles dangling from her thin, delicate frame and considered again telling her it had been him who’d given her that “quality zirc.” But if he did that, he knew she’d only think he was buying her and she’d be out of his office before he could get another word out. “Please.”

She smiled at him, socking him in the chest once again. “Okay. Some c-c-coffee would be n-n-nice.”

“Then grab your coat and let’s go.”

“N-n-now?”

“Sure. I’m the boss, or one of them anyway, and I say you can take a break right now.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again, sending another smile his way. “Okay.”

A few minutes later, they had snagged a table at the Starbucks on the corner. A peppermint mocha latte sat in front of Natalie, a regular Kenyan roast in front of Jake. Shoppers and workers bustled in and out of the shop, ushering in a cold winter wind. Some used-to-be-popular pop star was on the store radio, singing a Christmas song, something about love and loneliness.

Jake wrapped his hands around his mug and realized he had no real reason to have asked her here.

Presumably, if the boss asked an employee to coffee, he had intentions.

Jake had intentions all right. None of them work related.

“So,” he began, scrambling for something to discuss, anything that didn’t revolve around his “clock.”

“Tell me why this shelter is so important to you.”

She bristled, and immediately he knew he’d asked the wrong question. Where was his brain? Couldn’t he have started with some small talk? Something like, “Hey, think the Pats will make it to the Super Bowl again this year?”

“Why do you care?” she asked, her ire immediately peaking again. Clearly, he’d hit a sore spot. “We’re not involved with that ‘silly’ place anymore. A few homeless kids will go without for Christmas, but the company will sure look good on its profit and loss, and that’s what’s really important, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t mean that. I—” What had he meant?

She rose, shoving her arms back into her coat. “This wasn’t a good idea. I have work to do anyway.”

“Natalie, wait.” He reached for her wrist, but she was too quick. Leaving the coffees behind, he hurried after her, pulling on his coat as he did. He caught up with her just outside the coffee shop. “Natalie, wait,” he repeated, taking her arm and inadvertently hauling her against him, sending a spark of fire roaring down his arm. She drew in a sharp breath.

“What?”

“Stay.” When she hesitated, he pressed on. “Please.”

Her sharp gaze narrowed. “Only if you tell me why you let Brad ax the shelter p-p-program.”

Through the outdoor speakers, Amy Grant’s version of “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” started playing. Natalie had worked hard on the shelter program, investing, he knew, many of her off-work hours to create crafts for the kids or to find a new book to entertain them.

He may not have been in the room to hear her read every week, but he had heard the shelter’s director sing Natalie’s praises every week. To the workers at the Our Hope Shelter, Natalie Harris was an angel.

A light snowfall started up, dusting her dark hair with fluffy white flakes. Maybe the people at the shelter weren’t too far off in their assessment.

He drew in a breath. “Do you want to know why I work for my cousin?”

She seemed startled by the question, so far off the topic, but she took it in stride. “Why?”

It took him a moment, even though he’d been the one to open this conversational can of worms. He’d never told anyone, much less a woman he wasn’t even technically dating, about his family history. Or his own part in it.

“I’m known as the family screwup,” Jake said finally. “I finished college, but just barely. I hated accounting, fell asleep during half my classes. Add that to the fact that I haven’t settled down, haven’t gone off and invented a cure for cancer or a car that drives itself, like the other Lyons men, or at least the ones who aren’t my cousin. I’ve just been…” he looked away, watching the bustle of shoppers hurrying down the street, “ordinary.”