Office Date Page 3

  He drops the spatula and picks it up again. “And that would be bad because…?”

  “Ew!” I smack him. “You barely know me.”

  “Correction.” He points the spatula at me. “I’ve known you since middle school. We just never ran in the same circles.”

  “Rich people circles.”

  “Oh no, I meant popular people circles.” He winks.

  I want to wrap my dress around his neck and squeeze.

  “You look nice, though,” he says. “And I say that as your partner.”

  I strut over to the table and grab my glass of wine. “Hope you have more of this because I’m about ready to slam this entire bottle.”

  “Be my guest.” He keeps cooking or attempting to cook. The oven goes off, and half-naked Jack grabs his oven mitts and pulls out fresh bread. He also has the salad already made and on the table and what looks like fresh asparagus in the oven with the bread.

  “Smells good.” I sip the wine. It’s clearly expensive. I check out the label and sigh. “Emory Wines?” I hold it up. “Is everything an Emory product?”

  “Even my spatula.” Jack holds it up. “It’s insane. The guy tries to market everything. Probably why he’s rich.”

  “Probably why he can afford to put us through hell to test all of his new products without paying a few six-figure sums to the R&D team.”

  Jack snorts. “I think he just likes torture.”

  “That too.” I toss back more wine and suddenly start to get hot. Maybe the alcohol is getting to me? I ate today, though, and half a glass shouldn’t really do much to me.

  I start to fan myself. My cheeks are heating, and something starts to pulse down my neck—down my body, actually. What the hell?

  Jack turns off the stove and starts plating all the food. When he’s done, he brings the plates over and sets them on the table, then freezes and looks over at me. “What are you wearing?”

  “A dress?”

  “Not the damn dress.” He swallows slowly; his eyes dilate as he takes a step toward me and inhales. “What perfume are you wearing?”

  “What they put in the basket, why?”

  “No, it’s not even—” He gets closer, crowding me against the counter. “It smells like candy, but the good kind you could lick and lick and lick and—” He stops himself again. “Is this a trick?”

  “Is what a trick? God, I’m so hot I could take my entire dress off. Isn’t it hot in here? It feels hot!” I start fanning myself.

  He starts taking labored breaths.

  I don’t know who reaches out first, but suddenly I’m in his arms, and he’s staring at my mouth like he wants to participate in the licking, not the eating of dinner.

  I gulp. “I think it’s the pheromones.”

  “You put on pheromones!”

  “It was part of my task!”

  “THEN UNTASK IT!” he yells. “Untask it right the hell now!” He lets out a moan. “Fuck… you smell good.”

  “Let’s just eat the chicken,” I say in a shaky voice.

  He stumbles back and pulls out my chair. It topples over twice before he gets it to stay. He goes for his and sits so close to the edge he nearly falls onto the floor. Then he continues to Edward Cullen vampire stare at me for the next five minutes before he apparently realizes what he’s been doing. “Sorry.”

  “I smell. I know.”

  His voice is raspy, needy. “So much better than my burned chicken.”

  “Hey, you at least cooked it!” Too well, but I didn’t add that.

  “So, any other surprises?” he asks, giving me a suspicious, one-eye-narrowed stare.

  I choke on my wine.

  “Oh no, let me have it.”

  “I just have to get you to do something for me…”

  “What?” The sound of silverware scraping the plates fills the room as I keep the task to myself because isn’t this weird? Wrong?

  “Never mind.” I drink more.

  I eat to settle my stomach.

  And my annoyance.

  I yawn after we finish eating, only to have him bring out dessert from the fridge. It’s a gorgeous tiramisu that I know he didn’t make.

  “The only thing not burned,” I comment.

  Jack makes a face. “Very funny.”

  He’s still shirtless, and it’s impossible not to stare.

  I reach for my fork, but he presses his hand over mine and shakes his head, “You aren’t the only one with a task.”

  “Wh-what?”

  “Come here.” He crooks his finger. “I’m going to feed you now.”

  I hand him my fork.

  He sighs and hangs his head again. “Nah, with my finger.”

  Well damn.

  I wasn’t ready.

  Max woke up and chose violence, didn’t he?

  Are there hidden cameras?

  What do I even do right now?

  I lean forward. “This can’t be legal.”

  “It’s probably in our NDAs.” Jack licks his lips, then stares at mine as he dips his finger into the tiramisu and holds it out to my mouth.

  Well, here we go!

  My first mistake was going with it.

  My second comes when I lean forward and hear a small rip come from my ass.

  “What was that?” he asks with a smirk.

  I’m not even kidding when I almost say I farted just to save myself from admitting the dress is too small and my ass is too big.

  I quickly lick his finger and say, “Mmmmmm, so goooooood! Give me more!”

  The distraction works as he quickly dips his finger into the tiramisu. I eat more and wonder how I’m going to walk backward toward that door.

  The cake is almost done.

  And I have zero time.

  I keep eating.

  Thinking.

  Third mistake is being distracted as Jack leans forward with a smile. I think he’s going to actually kiss me when he turns my head to the side and looks over my shoulder. “Knew you’d have a nice ass.”

  I sucker punch him in the stomach.

  It was instinct!

  He starts coughing and falls to the floor, yelling, “Whyyyyyyy?” like I just committed murder.

  Whatever.

  I kick him lightly. “You’re fine; stop being dramatic!”

  “It was a compliment!” He slowly gets to his feet. “Who taught you to hit?”

  “My grandma.”

  He laughs, then stops. “Oh shit, seriously? Was she like a Kung Fu master or something?”

  “She got bored easy and started taking karate, then Kung Fu, Jiu-Jitsu, Krav Maga—she got around.”

  “Yeah, she did. I think I’d like to meet her.” He smiles and stands to his feet.

  And my heart sinks.

  “She’s…” I can’t say it; saying it makes me feel like I’m manifesting it even more, and I’m still not over losing my best friend. “Anyway, thanks for the cake and date; I’ll just head back to my side of the building.”

  “Hey.” Jack reaches for my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “How could you? We’re strangers, remember? Sworn enemies and all that.”

  “Yeah.” He leans in. His nose is cold as it presses against my neck. “Sworn enemies… that’s what this feeling is.”

  “It’s the perfume.”

  “And the ass,” he adds.

  I smack him again, then hold the material together in the back as he opens the door, and I shuffle across the hall and into my apartment.

  It takes me a while to sleep. And when it does finally come—I think of my grandma, and then I imagine her meeting Jack.

  And I smile.

  Chapter Four

  Jack

  I’m exhausted.

  Sleep is impossible.

  All I keep seeing is her ass, then thinking of a grandma kicking my ass, then about how good Ivy smells… and yeah, it was a night.

  I wake up to a package at my door and a text. I grab the package after reading t
he text that instructs me to put on the clothes and meet downstairs at noon.

  Ivy opens her door the minute I start to close mine. Her box is identical. Huh.

  “Did you have a good—”

  She shuts the door before I can finish.

  Whatever.

  We aren’t together for real; this is all fake, fake, fake dating. Fun, so fun.

  I need to just focus on the potential bonus and job opportunities before I do something stupid like kiss her—which I almost did last night until her dress ripped, then almost did again when she left.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I quickly get dressed in this weird black tracksuit that looks like I’m ready to go for a run but with an old guy who works for the mafia, wears a gold chain, and has a rasp in his voice.

  I leave the apartment at the same time Ivy does. She’s wearing a matching tracksuit, which makes things get weirder.

  Jude’s waiting by the elevator when we get on, his partner nowhere to be seen; he also isn’t wearing the tracksuit. “Stupid competition.”

  “What happened?” Ivy asks.

  He rolls his eyes. “I had two tasks, and my fake date freaked out! I kissed her. I mean, it’s not like I forced her, she came on to me! But—”

  “Fake or not, you never attempt that, bro,” I say. “Read the room. You probably freaked her out if you got all into it.”

  “This is stupid anyway,” Jude says once we get in.

  Ivy steps closer to me, and I kind of like it; I like that she’s putting distance and air between her and that dick.

  Maybe now she gets the whole arrogant vibe from him like I do, the one that says nobody is good enough for him, but he’ll take it because he just likes to use women.

  We say nothing to each other as we get off the elevator and meet in the lobby; Jude keeps walking. I wonder if he got fired.

  The rest of the interns are down here wearing various colors of tracksuits. It’s so strange?

  Dustin’s waiting in his typical bowtie and black-rimmed glasses; he’s carrying an iPad and grinning from ear to ear. “Welcome to day two of The Emory Games. I have to be completely honest; we had to test everyone yesterday to see if you would truly follow through with our instructions. Our safety measures are different this year, so you understand why we would do that; today will be much different.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  He clears his throat. “We’ve eliminated one couple already; sadly, Brad and Jessie are gone. The rest of you will be competing for the next few days in a brand-new game that has nothing to do with seduction or our products. Count yourselves lucky because Max just bought this company called Passion Plus, and they have the hugest dil—”

  “And that’s where you learn to stop talking,” Max says as he walks up and slaps Dustin on the back, making his glasses go askew on his face. “But as he said, welcome to day two. Now,” he says as he checks his watch, “let’s get going.” He rubs his hands together after that like he’s gleefully pumped to be at work right now.

  Which only means one thing.

  We should have all just gone along with seduction and pheromones.

  I grab Ivy’s hand and pull her back. “Tell me you’re not terrified.”

  She rolls her eyes. “What could be worse than last night?”

  “EXACTLY my thoughts,” I hiss. “Imagine!”

  “You worry too much, oh stapler of blank paper. We’ll be fine.”

  I gulp. “Okay.”

  “Everyone in the vans!” Max claps.

  In hindsight, I was right, she was wrong. I will one day make T-shirts to commemorate the rare moment.

  The trip takes about an hour.

  There’s this huge building a bit outside of Manhattan that looks like it was once a hotel or laser tag sort of place. It says Escape Room ETC.

  Huh, I’ve kind of always wanted to do one of those.

  I’m feeling more confident.

  And then Max lets us in the building and locks the door behind us. “Dustin, will you please start the cameras for our guests?” He adjusts his tie.

  “Guests?” I ask.

  “Oh, yes!” Max nods eagerly. “We always allow our Board of Directors to watch The Emory Games. It invigorates their old souls.” And just like that, Max opens a black door and goes up a few stairs.

  It shuts with finality along with Dustin’s mouth as he smiles weakly at us and points to another black door. “Just through there, instructions will come over the loudspeaker.” He starts to walk away, then backs up and says, “You’ve all signed your NDAs, correct?”

  Ummmmm.

  Nods go around.

  I want to yell no.

  I want to grab the door, but it closes as he escapes through it.

  “Open it,” I tell Ivy.

  “You open it!” she says back.

  Anderson sighs. “Guys, for once, could you just not argue?”

  Grumbling goes around the rest of the interns as he pulls open the door.

  It’s super dark inside the room.

  If this is a haunted house, I am officially out.

  I’m scared of the dark the way I’m scared of lizards.

  The lights flicker on.

  And all I can say is I’m stunned shitless. A life-sized version of Max Emory dressed as this girl in an orange dress is facing away from us. When I glance around, I realize it’s a legit exact replica of Squid Game, where the contestants would play their first game, red light, green light. If you get caught by the giant girl or Max, you get fucking shot. And you still have to make it past the finish line in minutes.

  “IS HE MURDERING US?” someone yells.

  “We’re a Dateline episode.”

  “I sucked at this game as a kid!” People start yelling and running in all directions like we’re about to get bombed or something.

  Music starts.

  And then his voice, like that of the devil, comes over the loudspeaker. “Make it across the line in two minutes. If big Maxine sees you move, you’re toast.”

  “I hate toast,” I whisper, suddenly clutching Ivy by the arm. “It’s so dry. I really hate it.”

  Ivy shrugs away. “Man up! We can do this. We just have to go fast and then freeze like we did as kids during freeze tag.”

  Easy? EASY?

  “Which part of running with a different crowd did you not understand?” I hiss. “I never played freeze tag! I played basketball!”

  She grins at me; it’s cute, but I know the horror behind that grin and what it means. “Then you’re dead.”

  “How are you so cruel?” I cling to her. “Who hurt you?”

  She shoves me off her. “Oh, some big giant idiot in college, but I’m over it.”

  “I’m not,” I say under my breath, making her own catch. Does fear cause a person to just blurt shit out like that? What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Three,” Max’s voice comes over the loudspeaker.

  I’m not ready.

  “Two.”

  “SHIT!” I yell. “Help!”

  Ivy grabs me by the arm and holds me behind her.

  “One!”

  We’re still as the music plays, and “Maxine” turns around and then turns back. Another couple trips next to us, and shots ring out.

  From a paintball gun.

  I’m still not relieved because that shit hurts.

  Maxine turns back around.

  “Run!” Ivy shoves me forward. She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I sprint toward the line, then stop and topple over onto my knees. When Maxine turns back around, I’m as still as I can be.

  I don’t get shot.

  I can feel Ivy behind me.

  She helps me up, and we make it across in record time, but my heart is still slamming against my chest.

  Ivy falls to the ground next to me. “That was intense.”

  “That was insane,” I grumble. “I mean, it’s just paintball, but still.”

  She holds her hand up for a high
five. “You did it!”

  “Yeah, well, I have a super good partner.” I nudge her.

  She laughs.

  And I realize I’m probably in more trouble right now than I was last night.

  Shit.

  Chapter Five

  Max

  “You see, Dustin, the thing about loyal employees… they’re willing to do just about anything for money or a stable job. The economy’s rough, as you well know, considering the shoes you choose to wear.” Max beams at the row of board members around him. “Thank you all for coming!”

  Dustin grumbles something under his breath.

  “What was that, little D?” Max asks, cupping his ear.

  “Little D?” Roger, one of the younger board members with perfectly slicked back black hair, an impeccable gray suit, and shiny black shoes, asks.

  “I’m glad you said something, Roger; thank you. Your voice soothes the soul.” Max puts his hands together in front of him. “It was a nickname from childhood after a girl told him he had a small—”

  “We should probably get started!” Dustin all but yells, then coughs wildly into his hands.

  Max sighs. “Fun ruiner.”

  Dustin shoots him a glare. “If you’ll just bring your attention to the player board and place your bets, we’ll be sure to get them into the system before the next event.”

  Roger pipes up again, “Can we bet on them all?”

  “No.” Max wags his finger at Roger. “You know you have to pick only one. That’s why it’s important to study the player profiles thoroughly. You pick one team, and if they win, then you win the entire pot of cash plus bragging rights. Everyone else, however…” Max grins. “Will have their names added to the trophy of shame and donate a pre-determined amount to the charity of their choice.” He rolls his eyes. “And people think this is cruel. You know we single-handedly saved the Penguin Palace at the zoo last year because of the Emory Games?”

  Max puffs out his chest. “Now, grab your avatar, and place your bets. I naturally won’t be betting since I have insider information. There are currently eight active board members, and each of you has picked something that represents you in some way. Roger, you chose an owl. Dane, I noticed you grabbed a lizard, which makes sense, all things considered.”

  Dane, is, in fact, wearing head-to-toe green but shrugs as if he isn’t aware that he looks, in fact, exactly like a lizard.