No Strings Attached
“You’ve also been giving me your undivided attention and ignoring the other customers sitting at the bar. And neither one of us is the least bit tipsy.” As if to punctuate her statement, Jason arrived with her glass of ice and diet soda. Chloe thanked him and stared at Eric while she sipped.
All he could do was shake his head. “You know, Chloe, I enjoy you too much for my own good. And you know me too well for mine.”
“I suppose you can blame it on Macy. Her scavenger hunt ended up having repercussions I don’t think she ever imagined.”
“Yeah.” He lifted a hand in greeting as a patron took a seat farther down the bar. “I heard about Anton splitting from Lauren.”
“You mean Lauren splitting from Anton.”
“Go ahead. Believe your bogus female facts.” Eric turned back to face her, his expression cocky, smug, totally male. “I’ll stick to the real man’s telling of the story.”
Chloe looked at him for a long, intimidating minute. The noise of the bar continued to burst like balloons over their heads. Glasses clinked and televisions blared and the doors to the kitchen swung inward and out. She toyed with the straw in her diet soda, ran her finger around the rim of the glass, dunked a persistent ice cube each time it resurfaced.
She’d grown up the only female in a household of five males. Eric Haydon could do his best to stare her down, but there wasn’t a question in her mind that she would win the battle of wills. He’d admitted to his curiosity already. All she had to do was keep from revealing too much too soon.
She knew that about men. When they wanted something, wanted it badly enough and had to wait for a woman to decide whether or not they were worthy, men were putty in a female’s hands.
And because that idea was so entertaining, she drove the final nail into his coffin. She looked up, over his head, at the television mounted above the bar. “Who’s winning?”
“Huh?”
“The Astros’ game. Without looking. Who’s winning?”
Eric blinked, then blinked again, as if working to jar loose the subliminally recorded score. “Okay, I admit it. You’ve distracted me. Happy now?”
“I’d be happy with an unqualified admission of your curiosity about what I’m doing here and what I want.”
“I said I was curious.”
“You qualified it by saying the answer is no.”
“C’mon, princess. You can’t expect me to give you an unqualified yes. For all I know, your request involves torture or public humiliation.”
Chloe glanced beyond his shoulder toward two men at the bar. They were cheering on a third, who was working to down a draft beer without stopping to take a breath. The drink dribbled out both corners of his mouth and down his chin, soaking a line down the center of his T-shirt to the crotch of his jeans.
“I don’t think you need me to provide public humiliation.” Shuddering, she tipped her head toward the threesome as proof.
“What do I need you for, Chloe?”
Chloe pretended to consider Eric’s question while inwardly, her mind raced. She really hated the thought of having to turn on her helpless-female bullshit meter.
But over the years she’d honed her shtick to a true science. And this situation, more than any other one she’d been in, merited experimenting with her skills.
She continued to toy with her straw, but now she averted her gaze from Eric’s, keeping her lashes lowered, her pout humble and subdued.
“You’re probably right,” she cooed, and sighed. “I don’t have anything that you need. But you have something that would really help me out a lot.”
“A favor? That’s it? You need a favor?” Wearily, he rubbed a hand down his face. “I thought you were going to want me to jump through seven kinds of hoops or something.”
She wouldn’t yet rule out hoops or tricks. Not until she’d convinced him that he’d be doing this favor of his own free will. Maybe if she played her cards right, she’d even convince him the entire idea, from conception to completion, had been his own.
“Where should I start?”
He peeked at her from between spread fingers. “The beginning is always a good place.”
The beginning was one place to which she preferred not to return. Look at the trouble she was in now because of where she’d begun. “I’m not sure my, uh, situation has a beginning as much as a sudden realization by others that it exists.”
“English, Chloe. Plain English.”
“It’s about work and my reputation for savoring a good expletive.”
Eric let out a loud whoop. “I knew it was bound to happen. You’ve been called on the carpet for your potty mouth, haven’t you?”
“And that’s another thing,” she responded, rising to the debate. “Why is it a potty mouth for a woman and straight business vernacular for a man? Another totally unfair double standard.” It was one of her pet peeves.
Eric was scarcely able to keep a straight face. “I’d think it would be hard to be one of the guys when you work for a company called gIRL-gEAR.”
“It’s perfectly acceptable for me to be one of the guys when it’s a partners-only situation. When we have late night meetings or when we do our thing at Macy’s loft. Make that Lauren’s loft, since Macy is in the throes of cozy domestic bliss with Leo.” Chloe went back to toying with her straw, dunking her ice cube. “It’s when I…forget myself at the office that Sydney tends to get bent out of shape.”
“It’s hard to imagine Sydney Ford getting bent out of shape over anything.”
“She takes the business seriously. And that includes how each of the partners’ actions and reputations reflect back on gIRL-gEAR.”
“So, you’ve been busted.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“Sounds like it was your manner of speaking.”
This was where she needed to tread carefully—and where she most needed his help. She held up her own thumb and index finger. “There’s a little bit more.”
“More?” Eric braced both forearms on the bar edge and leaned into her space, as if he couldn’t stand not knowing what other trouble she’d gotten herself into.
Funny how she wanted his interest on the one hand, but hated that he showed it on the other. She wished she was here for any other reason.
Now that the time had arrived, she hated that she’d had to come here at all. That she couldn’t get herself out of this ridiculous mess on her own.
She drew long and hard on her straw, swallowed and, before she could think twice, blurted out, “It’s my dating habits.”
“You mean, the men you go through like diet soda?” he asked, spinning her now empty glass on the bar. “The first sip satisfies, but then the ice melts and the fizz is gone?”
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s not one hundred percent accurate.”
“What is accurate, Chloe? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t find enough fingers and toes to count the number of men I’ve seen you with this year. And it’s only April.”
Was it really over twenty? She’d obviously lost count. “I like men. I like dating. But it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out immediate incompatibility.”
“Wait a minute. Let me get this straight.” Eric shook his head, signaled a time-out. “Every time you go out with a new guy, you give him a compatibility test? You don’t try for friendship first? Or for just plain fun?”
“Fun and friendship also require compatibility, sugar.”
All girls had their expectations and fantasies, didn’t they? So what if hers were nonnegotiable. She knew she’d heard at least one song about a woman bemoaning the absence of her own John Wayne.
Chloe’s preference just happened to be Cary Grant.
“And you and me?” Eric asked. “You think we’re compatible?”
They had fun together. She counted him as a friend. It was a start, wasn’t it? “We spent a month digging through one another’s baggage and I’m still here, aren’t I?”
Eric seemed momentarily at a loss for words. But his thought processes seemed equally stunned, judging from the sudden blank look on his face. But then he caught her off guard, retorting, “Didn’t we just determine that you’re here because you need a favor? Not because of any compatibility issue.”
“I do need a favor. I need an escort.” She stated it flat out, hoping the shock value would knock him off balance and into capitulation.
“You want me to take a poll? See which of my customers meet your criteria?” Eric cast a sweeping glance around the bar, then narrowed his gaze on her. “Or you want I should call in a favor from a buddy you haven’t met yet? Press one of the high-profile athletes I know into service?”
As if! “No. I want you.”
He frowned, backed a safe step away and crossed his arms. “What do you mean, you want me?”
She placed both hands, palm side up, on the bar. “I want you to be my escort.”
“So you can bust my chops all the way to next Tuesday?”
The first uncomfortable twinges of failure stung the backs of her eyes. “You’re jumping to unfounded conclusions, sugar.”
“Unfounded conclusions and unqualified no’s. Yep. I can see why that would make me the man you want.”
She wasn’t so sure any longer. Not this way. Not with this bitterness she’d never seen coming. She reached for her red leather mini knapsack and her wallet inside, intending to settle up for the cosmopolitan and the diet soda.
Men. Never again.
With a hand placed gently over hers, Eric stopped her from paying and from leaving. His expression had softened, as had his voice when he said, “C’mon. Let’s go talk in my office.”
2
HIS HAND AT THE SMALL of Chloe’s back, Eric guided his unexpected visitor across the bar’s common room, past the swinging doors leading to the kitchen and into a short hallway toward a door boldly marked: No Admittance Without Proper Authority or Play-Off Tickets.
The small of Chloe’s back was really small. The girl had a mouth on her, a big one, and an attitude to match. But boy, was she a curvy little thing. Made it hard to decide whether he wanted to date her or adopt her.
One thing he knew was that he wasn’t going to say yes to whatever cockamamie scheme she’d come here to pitch. If she didn’t want him for more than her own self-serving reasons, then screw her.
And screw him if he hadn’t learned not to let himself be used.
Chloe may have thought she’d come away from their scavenger-hunt month holding the upper hand, but he’d done his share of scouting, and he knew a thing or two about Chloe he doubted she knew about herself.
As tough as she seemed, she was appealingly vulnerable. He didn’t know why she protected herself with her big bad attitude, but if made her feel safer, he’d play along. At least until he learned more about what had brought her here.
Because Chloe Zuniga didn’t show up out of the blue looking like a cross between a Maxim cover model and a soccer mom without a damn good reason. A better one than needing an escort.
He reached for the doorknob, guided her forward, moved his hand from the small of her back to her shoulder. A surprisingly muscled shoulder, come to think of it, considering she hated physical activity.
His office decor reflected the rest of the bar, which meant Chloe would no doubt be just as uncomfortable in here as she had been out there. He’d give her an A, though, for effort, because she had made a big one. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her wear athletic shoes.
As he watched her take in the long wall covered with autographed photos, he couldn’t help but wonder what she’d look like having worked up a good sweat. He couldn’t even imagine, having never seen her with a single blond hair out of place, unless tousled on purpose for the sake of being sexy. He’d seen rational men turned into blubbering idiots by that bedroom hair and those big, violet-colored eyes.
Eric chuckled to himself. He loved tinted contacts. He loved the idea of mussing up her hair. He also loved the way she looked in play clothes. And the way she looked in his office.
He moved to lean back against the huge wooden desk he’d purchased at a rural school auction, crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He didn’t have a lot of time; Jason would be needing backup soon. But Eric had a feeling that whatever he was waiting for would be worth weathering a rebellion in the ranks.
“Bagwell, Biggio, Olajuwon, Lipinski, Campbell, Ryan, Lewis.” Chloe named off the past and present Houston sports figures, stopped when she reached the one frame set off from the others, and gave Eric the look most gave him with they came across the autographed shrine. “Anna Kournikova?”
Eric lifted a shoulder. “She plays tennis.”
Chloe’s only reply was a loud huff. She continued to tour his office, moving from the autographed photos to the matted and framed ticket stubs he’d collected since attending his first professional sporting event at the age of five.
He hadn’t framed every stub from every event. Most he’d randomly stapled to the wall, which made for wallpaper worth reading. But once in a very rare, memorable while, a frame was called for.
He watched Chloe lean in closer to read several of the stubs, watched her stand on tiptoe to read others. Watched her lips move as she mouthed the words. She smiled, she frowned, she sighed.
He wanted to ask which of the souvenirs generated which response, but he was too busy enjoying the way her calf muscles flexed when she lifted and stretched, the way the denim cupped her backside, the way the jersey molded her shoulders.
Either she’d pumped a lot of iron over the past couple of months or he’d really been blind as a bat the few times he’d had his hands on her before. Especially that time they’d danced at Lauren and Anton’s housewarming party…after he’d licked the salt from her skin, downed a shot of tequila and sucked the juice from the lime she’d held in her mouth.
God Bless America, but the woman could kiss.
Catching him in his intent study of her rear view, Chloe suddenly turned and flopped down on his office couch, which was some local designer’s interpretation of a cushy baseball dugout.
Middle fingers rubbing at her temples, Chloe closed her eyes and leaned back. “I really don’t know what I’m doing here.”
She’d mumbled the words, and he knew she’d said them more to herself than to him, but he wasn’t going to let her slide by that easily. “I think you’re here to make me an offer I can’t refuse.”
She stopped rubbing, looked up suspiciously. “You already told me no.”
He had, but she hadn’t looked quite so down and defeated then as she did now. And he hadn’t felt quite so compelled to offer himself up as her savior. Maybe one of these days he’d come to his senses and rescue stray animals instead of stray women. But for now…
Hands braced hip level on the edge of his desk, he crossed his ankles and made the conscious and recognizably half-witted decision to invite her confidence. He’d worry about regrets later—when he was in over his head.
“You went to a lot of trouble to get my attention, princess. You must need me in ways I’ve only dreamed about.”
“More like in ways I’ve never dreamed about,” she said, not even rising to his bait.
Ouch! Slam! Cut to the bone! “So, tell Dr. Eric all about it before Jason drags me back out to the bar.”
Chloe took a deep breath, scooted forward to sit primly on the edge of the couch. Her face, when she looked up to meet his gaze, could not have shown less guile. “Here’s the thing. I love my career. I really do. I can’t think of anything that would make me as happy as I am at gIRL-gEAR. And I don’t want to lose it. I’ll do anything not to lose it.”
“Why would you worry? You’re a partner. It’s not like you’d be first in line to be laid off.”
“It’s not about layoffs or downsizing. Sydney knows what she’s doing. Our bottom line has never been so black.” Chloe tucked her hands beneath her thighs, rocked back and forth and finished her explanation in a rush. “This is about me, my mouth and…my habit of dating everyone who asks.”
“Oh, now. That hurt my feelings. I asked and you turned me down.” He gave her a quick wink designed to convince both of them he was teasing.
“I’m exaggerating, obviously. I don’t go out with everyone.” Her rocking slowed and she studied him intently with those big violet eyes.
Eric tightened his fingers over the edge of his desk. “Just everyone but me.”
“I didn’t go out with you because, well, I have my reasons…one of them being that you’re a lot of fun.” She paused, as if wondering how much to say, then softly admitted, “I didn’t want to screw that up.”
“Dating is supposed to be fun. Dating me would be a hell of a lot of fun,” he said, more harshly than he’d intended.
Chloe straightened her back, gave a regal lift of her chin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do.” It was all he could think of to say, at bat, as he was, bases loaded, bottom of the ninth.
“But then what happens when we finish dating?” She waited for him to answer, and when he remained silent, she added, “I don’t want to screw up what we have as friends.”
What did they have as friends? And why did it feel like he’d been clothes-lined by her assumption that they’d be “finished dating”?
Even though he knew she was right, and he couldn’t see himself sharing a future with Chloe, he didn’t appreciate not being given a chance.
To do what, hotshot? Prove the princess as capable of dumping on you as any woman?
“Give me a clue here, Chloe. What sort of assistance, exactly, would you be needing from Eric’s Escort Service?” Maybe he could back his way into helping her out, because no matter how much he enjoyed her company, he wasn’t going to act the part of any escort.
Chloe got to her feet, paced to the opposite end of the couch, then back. She worked her hands as she talked. “Over the next few months, gIRL-gEAR is scheduled to be profiled in several national publications. Sydney has her eye on the big time. She’s courting designers. She’s talked about taking the company public.
“Which means we’re all living under a magnifying glass. We’ve been ordered to clean up our acts. And I specifically have been asked to dismantle the skeletons in my closet and give the room a thorough disinfecting.”
“Wow.” Eric nodded and absorbed and tried to fit his escort services into the lineup. “That’s heavy duty.”
“Which part? gIRL-gEAR going public?” She narrowed her eyes. “Or my skeletons?”
“If you have any skeletons, you’ve done a super job of keeping them under wraps. But then, that would make them mummies, wouldn’t it?” He waited for her to get it, then added, “Skeletons? Under wraps?”
“That’s not funny.”
“C’mon, Chloe. I can’t believe it’s all gloom and doom. You’ve been here, what?” He glanced at the basketball goal converted to a clock on the wall above her head. “Thirty minutes?”
“Yes. And?”
“So, you might’ve slipped one by me, but I don’t think I’ve heard so much as a dagnabbit come out of your mouth.”
“Trust me.” Her hands went deep into the pockets of her shorts, her gaze to the toes of her cross-trainers. “It’s only for the tight leash I have on my tongue.”
Eric leaned forward, catching the scent of sunshine in her hair. He smiled and whispered, “Just don’t let go. You’ll be fine.”
“So, you’ve solved one of my problems.” She held up two fingers. “There’s still my fast and furious reputation. And then there’s Poe.”
“Poe?”
“A buyer at work. Her name is Annabel Lee. And she’d sell her soul for my job.”
Eric needed more information to diffuse that particular bomb. But since Chloe’s reputation was one thing he knew about, he could ease at least that worry.
“You think you have a fast and furious reputation?” He shook his head. “In my dreams, maybe.”
A tiny smile crooked the corner of her mouth. “There you go. Dreaming again.”
No way was he touching that comment. Ten-foot pole or twenty. “You date a lot. It’s not a big deal. If you slept around, I’d know it.”
“What do you mean, you’d know it?”
Here he needed to tread carefully. He might not be held to the same standards as a man of the cloth, but neither did he spill his guts lightly. “We run in the same circles, Chloe. And I own a bar. Trust me. I hear as many confessions as a priest. Your reputation is safe with me.”
The second the words left his mouth, he knew he’d stepped into a big pile of dog doo. Chloe got a look in her eye that could only be called a wicked gleam.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
He stumbled over ten or twelve words before he finally shut his big mouth. This was what he got for trying to be a nice guy. At least he knew enough to stop with the shovel before he buried himself completely.
“I have three functions coming up over the next couple of months,” Chloe was saying. “Official business functions. I can’t get out of any of them and I’ll be representing gIRL-gEAR while I’m there.”
“So go already.” He knew where this was headed, knew he’d been smart to establish his just-say-no terms up front. Making like Chloe’s arm candy was not his idea of self-respect. “I’m sure you can find a date. Or better yet, avoid the reputation hassle and go alone.”
She shook her head. “This girl does not fly solo.”
“Why not?”
“My reputation, duh.”
Try as he might, Eric could not make sense of her logic. “I hope you’re kidding, because I think it’s your reputation that’s gotten you into this mess, am I right?”
“You’re not a girl. I don’t expect you to understand. I can’t go alone. I have to have a date. And I would be ever so appreciative if you could help me out here.”
He ignored the eyelashes she batted. “And by help you out, you mean…”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Chloe. I’m not sure I want to be one of your statistics.”
“You wouldn’t be. This is strictly business. Totally up front. If I show up with the same date all three times, the industry gossips won’t have a tongue-wagging leg to stand on.”
Threads of common sense were unraveling all over the floor. “Sure they will. It’ll just be a different leg. My leg. And I don’t really care to be the object of anyone’s wagging tongue.”
Then again…
“Don’t you get it?” She wrapped delicate fingers around his forearm. “That’s the point. Sydney can hardly object if the reason for the gossip is all good. You’d be putting a positive spin on my situation. Party girl interrupted.”
“First you want an escort. Now you want a spin doctor. I know it’s hard to believe, but even I can’t be all things to all women.”
The imprint of her touch remained on his arm long after he’d pushed away from his desk. He’d hoped he could walk away; why had he never learned how to walk away? But he didn’t get very far because Chloe was in his face, one hundred twenty pounds of enthusiasm.
“Think about it, Eric. Three dates. That’s all it is.” She counted them off on her fingers—one, two, three. “Three nights spent in my company, schmoozing with the media. With designers. Supermodels.”
She’d called him Eric. Not sugar. “Supermodels?”
“I’d do the same for you.”
Oh she would, would she? “Supermodels, huh? I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
He had to give her credit; she didn’t turn him down immediately the way he had before hearing the dirty details of her idea. She had an open mind.
A desperate open mind?
Willing to go to any lengths to save her career?
Hmm. He could see himself playing the devil to her Faust.
“What? What’s the deal?”
“You get your three dates.” He did the finger thing—one, two, three. “And I get my three—”
“No.” She shook her head so forcefully that wisps of her blond hair caught on her lips, leaving her decidedly disheveled.
Eric liked the look. “What kind of double standard is this? I’m not allowed to say no, but you can turn me down flat without hearing me out?”
“I don’t want to hear you out. Not if it’s going to be about sex.”