Office Date Read online

  Max adjusts his tie and smiles. “I am, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dustin answers so quick my head spins a bit.

  “Wasn’t speaking to you,” Max snaps, then rolls his eyes. “Family, can’t live with them, can’t live without them. Then you end up hiring your cousin because your aunt has gout, and look at me now…”

  “Still in your prime, sir,” Dustin says through clenched teeth.

  I shake my head and look back to Ivy. Her brown eyes are studying me. She tucks her hair behind her ears and continues to stare. Shit, is she even breathing at this point?

  She looks down at her clenched hands in her lap. “You do have a bit of a point.”

  “Is that your way of saying I’m right?”

  “Maybe.” She refuses to make eye contact and squirms in her seat; it’s kind of cute.

  Wait, no, not at all, it’s hateful and immature, and girls are gross.

  Fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?

  She leans in. “What do I get out of this?”

  “Um, a job?” Is she dense? “A bonus? Take your pick!”

  She holds out her hand.

  I reach for it, only for her to pull it back.

  “I’m confused,” I say.

  “I’ll shake on it, but I want something from you.” She leans in.

  Her lips are shiny. Normally lip gloss scares me; so many ways that a kiss can taste horrible or go wrong, but hers is pink, and her tongue sneaks out to lick her bottom lip. I’m a bit too entranced when she snaps her fingers in front of me.

  “Will you give it to me?”

  Wait, what did she just ask me?

  “Give it?” I repeat.

  She leans in farther—shit, is it a billion degrees in the room? I lean in too.

  Her mouth is so close to mine that it would take maybe another ten inches, and I could seal our deal with a really work-appropriate kiss, you know, like the Europeans do, right? That’s a thing. I saw a documentary about it once.

  I think.

  Why am I thinking about kissing?

  She thinks I hate her. Maybe I do. Maybe I hate that I like her. So basically, I hate myself.

  Focus on the hate, not the lip gloss.

  “I want…” she starts.

  Please say my cock, please say my cock.

  Son of a bitch, has it really been that long? Am I that desperate?

  Calm the hell down!

  “Your stapler.” She pulls back and crosses her arm. “And you have to promise not to buy another one, no more stapling!”

  I snort out a laugh. “Damn, put a pencil behind your ear and add some glasses, and you’d be the teacher of my dreams.”

  Her cheeks flare bright red.

  Hmmm, does she like that?

  She ignores me. “So, do we have a deal?”

  Damn it, I really like driving her crazy. I hold out my hand anyway and say, “Deal.”

  “I’ll expect it on my desk by five.” She grins like she just won the lottery, and I’m still stuck on the whole turning in my stapler to her desk teacher scenario.

  I really need to get myself under control if I’m going to be her partner.

  We shake hands, and that’s it. I have a new partner in crime. I exhale a sigh of relief and turn to see that most everyone else is paired up as well.

  “Great!” Max claps his hands. “Looks like most of you found someone you can tolerate the competitions with. Now for the information on this year’s Emory Games!”

  The lights lower again.

  I’m pumped.

  I would love to do a ninja course or something like that.

  I’m giddy with excitement when the first picture comes up.

  Market Research.

  Huh?

  “Love abounds.” Max spreads his arms wide. “This year, Emory Hotels has purchased a company that produces dating manuals, soaps, lotions, and various products that help the younger generation date more efficiently since so many people are choosing online dating efficiency is everything. Because of the sensitivity of the product, we’ve had HR come up with a few different tests for you to do as a pair. We don’t want to get sued again,” he says with laughs.

  I’m so still now, I’m the one not breathing.

  “You’ll be living across the hall from each other, we couldn’t swing the whole roommate thing again, but you will be spending the next two weeks together as if you’re…”

  Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it.

  “Dating.”

  “Fuck!” I say, then realize I said it out loud.

  When a heel drives into the top of my foot seconds later.

  Chapter Three

  Ivy

  I’m so embarrassed I want to cry.

  I hold the tears in the entire meeting, and when we break for the rest of the day and go to our desks, I’m surprised to see the stapler already there with a note on top that says sorry.

  Yeah right, he’s just sorry he picked me.

  Could this get any worse?

  “Too bad.” Jude stops by my desk and leans over it. “I would have loved to fake date you for two weeks.”

  He smells so good.

  Damn it! Jude? I could have fake-dated Jude instead of the devil? Where is the recount? HUH?! FAKE NEWS! I demand a re-do!

  I’m the one that said yes, though.

  See! Just another way Jack is RUINING my life.

  I slam my hand down on the stapler, a lone staple comes tumbling out like it’s mocking me. I take a deep breath. “That would have been fun.”

  “Maybe another time.” He winks. “We can’t fake date, but…” He shrugs. “We could always—”

  “Stop trying to manipulate my partner,” Jack snaps as he comes up behind him. “As of right now, we’re in competition, so she’s mine, not yours.”

  Jude gives me a smirk, then wraps his knuckles on my desk. “Knock on wood; you never know what will happen during a competition. May the best man win…” He walks off without looking at Jack.

  Jack stares me down like the dad waiting up when you break curfew. “Jude? Really?”

  “He’s nice.” I shrug.

  “Nice?” Clearly, I’m exacerbating the situation as he comes around my desk and crowds my space. “My nana is nice, okay? She volunteers for the church, makes casseroles for the homeless, and still watches Wheel of Fortune. That’s nice. My old turtle who won’t die but just sits there and eats carrots… he’s nice. A walk in a field of lilies… that’s nice—”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “I’m fine!” He raises his voice, then lowers it again. “Jude isn’t nice, he’s out to win, and he’s out to seduce you before I get the chance!”

  My stomach erupts with butterflies that need to hurry up and die so I can survive this partnership. “You aren’t seducing me; that wasn’t part of the rules.”

  “No, but if it is, then I get to do it as your partner, no your date, you’re officially my office date. Deal with it.” He seems way angrier than he should be, considering the relationship isn’t actually real, but I let it go because, duh, I have his stapler, and it’s too weird to even process at this point.

  Since when did Jack even care?

  Since when did Jude even notice me?

  The day can’t possibly get weirder—after all, we only have a half-hour left before we get to go home.

  I hide a yawn behind my hand when Dustin walks in with a stack of manila envelopes.

  He plops them down on our desks.

  One has my name on it.

  I almost ask if I should open it, but it’s not like our bosses hid tarantulas or something in there.

  Ha-ha, no but seriously, right?

  Then again, Max is super eccentric, but does he really want his interns dying of cardiac arrest?

  Negative.

  I quickly dump the contents onto my desk.

  Inside is a small packet labeled “Date Number One.”

  Next to it is a key.


  And finally, directions to my new apartment in the same building I work in. Lovely, now it really is a prison.

  I take a deep breath and start to read through the instructions for the first date. Apparently, this company wrote a self-help book on the art of the first date followed by several products that could help guide you into it as well as—oh wow!— as well as after it if you so choose.

  The products are already in a basket at each of our apartments. Our job as a team is to plan the perfect in-home first date.

  Girls use the products.

  Guys have to cook using what’s in the fridges.

  Must stay for at least two hours and play one of the games created by the company, which helps partners get to know each other.

  Great, sounds worse than the stapler!

  All teams who make it through the two hours without burning any food, arguing, and learning at least five new facts about one another will be given points—teams must also rate the products and give honest opinions about their effectiveness.

  All I keep wondering is why they won’t tell us what the products are.

  “This is bullshit,” Jude says to Anderson. “What does it matter? Isn’t this what the R&D team is for?”

  Dustin, still standing there, clears his throat. “Max likes to take a more organic approach to research and development. Any product deemed useless won’t be sold in any of our stores and will be pulled from all of the company’s hotels immediately. Anything given a high score will be rebranded under Emory Enterprises and merchandised. Does that answer your question, boy with waxed eyebrows and a spray tan?”

  “I’m Latino, you racist prick,” Jude says with a sneer.

  “But he does wax his brows, so one for two, Dustin, one for two,” Jack adds.

  Everyone snickers around us. Jude looks ready to sue, but I know he wants this job just as much as the rest of us.

  “Apologies.” Dustin turns bright red. “I just—never mind. You have lovely skin. Compliments to your skincare routine; it must take ages to get that dewy look.”

  “Are you hitting on me now?” Jude asks, his voice laced with shocked disbelief.

  Dustin, if possible, turns even more red. “No, no, no, no.”

  “Damn it, Dustin.” Max comes waltzing in. “Do I need to send you to HR again to get the talk?”

  “No, sir!” Dustin straightens up.

  Max rolls his eyes. “Grow a brain, and while you’re at it, do a nice little soul check, would ya?”

  “Soul check?” I mouth to Jack.

  Jack shakes his head, face twisted and looking as confused as I am.

  “Now, do your breathing,” Max says to Dustin. “Do you have your rock?”

  Dustin breathes in and out in and out while Max pats him on the ass and then looks at us. “Now, only I can do that because he’s my cousin, and we’ve talked about good touch/bad touch; if HR see’s any of you doing anything like this, you’ll most likely be fired; nice demonstration, though, am I right, Dustin?” He slaps his ass again. “Alrighty.” He checks his watch. “You’re dismissed. You have exactly twenty minutes to get to your apartments. Clothes have been delivered for you to your exact requirements. If you make a note of what you would like from your dwelling places, we can send someone over to grab things, but you should have all your needs met right down to your shampoo, phone chargers, silk pillowcases, and toothbrushes.”

  I’m still in shock that we are actually doing this. I feel semi-numb as I grab my stuff and put the contents back into the envelope. I walk into the elevator and see Jude try to make his way over to it.

  Jack blocks his way.

  And lets himself in, then hits the down button giving Jude a middle finger as the doors close.

  I smack him on the chest with my envelope. “Was that necessary?”

  “For me?” He snorts out a laugh. “Yes, I can’t stand that guy. And for you, double yes, he just wants to fuck you.”

  “Wow, thank you; what a great way to almost start our first date.” Scowling, I turn away from him.

  The elevator stops at the company apartment level.

  “After you.” He holds his hands out as the elevator doors open. You could fit an SUV in the hallway it’s so big. From what I can see, there are only four rooms on the floor; mine’s to the right, and Jack’s is to the left.”

  “So…” He stops at his door. “Should we just plan on meeting up in an hour or so, just rip that Band-Aid clean off?”

  “How romantic,” I grumble. “Rip the Band-Aid right off?”

  “What?” He shrugs; his hands go to his head as they run through his gorgeous model-like hair. “I’m just saying the sooner we get done, the better, right?”

  “Sure, teammate, sure.” I want to bang my head against my door. Instead, I call over my shoulder, “Think you can get dinner ready in an hour?”

  He mouths it back to me like a toddler, then types in the code to his apartment while I look back at my door and do the same.

  His door slams.

  Mine follows.

  Great start, truly a great start.

  I lean against the door and look around. The apartment is super nice, not huge, but I at least have my own bedroom and a bathroom, the ceilings are at least twelve feet, and I have a giant window right in front of my living room that overlooks Lower Manhattan.

  Let’s be honest, it’s probably one of the biggest apartments I’ve ever been in and could never afford even if I made six figures.

  The kitchen is gourmet with whites and grays that make the space feel more open, and the couches match everything perfectly, almost making me want to stay off the couch just in case.

  A faux fur rug is draped across the soft white suede couch, and they look so comfy I want to crash.

  A flat-screen TV is bolted to the wall, and of course, they have succulents strategically placed around the living area.

  I wish I could live here.

  But it’s temporary, just like dum-dum across the hall—thank God.

  I quickly open the card on the table and then stare into the ginormous basket that accompanies it.

  I’m expecting perfumes and other products that women use during dates; instead, I’m staring at essential oils for seduction, a dress that looks like it would only fit a toddler, and a few other boxes I’m actually afraid to open.

  “You can do this, you can do this,” I repeat to myself as I take the tiny black body con dress and pull it up against me. “He’s going to see my bits!”

  Oh great, now I’m talking to myself.

  I drop the dress and pick up the first box. The directions say to add just a bit of the pheromones to my pulse points, and behind my knees-what the hell did I get myself into?

  Pheromones?

  I shudder and open the next box.

  Ah, perfume… perfume I can deal with.

  It tells me to spray it on my right wrist and to shake my wrist until the perfume starts to fill the air.

  The next card looks daunting, I pick it up, and all it says is. “Get him to seduce you, using the products, your charm, and the dating guide below.”

  Well, shit did just hit the fan, didn’t it?

  The dating guide has only four suggestions. “Lean in when he speaks to you, smile as often as you can, use any excuse to lightly touch him, and laugh at everything he says.”

  Who the hell wrote this? I flip it over and roll my eyes. “From Max Emory’s Guide to Dating and Every other Life Question.”

  He’s clinically insane, isn’t he?

  It’s the only explanation.

  How does his company even get away with this? Is it some rich person thing? And why do the interns have to test all the products?

  I check my phone and realize I only have about forty-five minutes left to make this work. I hope to God that Jack’s struggling just as much as I am.

  I don’t have to wait long as I attempt to pour myself into the black dress, put on some makeup—adding in the oils and weird perfumes, and topping
it off with a low bun and the nude heels that were in the box next to the basket.

  I add some lip gloss for effect and make my way across the hall; I lift my hand to knock, chicken out, then finally hold my breath as I knock twice.

  When the door opens, Jack’s standing there completely shirtless. “I can explain.”

  “Ummm…” I have nothing.

  “It burned,” he blurts.

  “The food?”

  “My shirt.” He’s breathing heavily, and his face is cherry red as he glances around the room. “I mean, the food doesn’t look horrible, but the stove wasn’t working, and I got too close and—”

  I cover my mouth to keep from laughing.

  “Not funny.” His teeth clench. “I’m half-naked!”

  Yeah, he is… ” Kind of, though?” I sidestep him just as he leans in and sniffs me.

  Wait, is he actually sniffing my neck?

  He jerks back like he realizes what he just did, then scratches the back of his head, showing off some impressive abs and smooth skin, plus one large tattoo that goes down his right side.

  “A dragon?” I point at it.

  “They’re fierce, and I wanted to piss my dad off, so I found the biggest one I could do with my pain tolerance and went for it.” He winks and walks over to the stove.

  The table is set.

  A bottle of wine sits in the middle, already opened, and both glasses are poured like a real date.

  He even has the white linen tablecloth on correctly.

  A single red rose lays across my plate.

  Hmm, maybe it won’t be so bad…

  “Shit! Fuck! Motherfucking chicken!” Jack shouts.

  I nearly break an ankle as I rush over to see that he’s burned one side and is on his way to burning the other which means no points for us unless I step in. “Let me help.”

  “I’ve got this.” He jerks away from me.

  “No, you burned an actual shirt from your body. Jack, that doesn’t scream I’ve got this; that screams fire department and burning down an entire office building!”

  “I can do it.” He takes a deep breath. “So how was, um, getting ready in that thing you call a dress.”

  “Ah, this old thing?” I lean against the counter. “Let’s just say I almost had to open it up with scissors, turn it into a scarf, and walk in here half-naked.”