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Fight With Me(3)

By:Kristen Proby



I call a cab from the lobby of the prestigious downtown Seattle condo building and wait for my ride back to the parking garage of our office building so I can get my own car.

When I finally get home to the house I share on Alki Beach with my best friend, Natalie, I see a strange Lexus convertible in the driveway and lights coming from the kitchen at the back of the house.

“Natalie?”

“In the kitchen!”

“Do you have company?” I am so not in the mood to meet Nat’s new friend.

“Yeah,” she calls back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I’m going to bed.” I climb the stairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and take a long, hot shower. My skin is still sensitive from my romp in Nate’s bed, and his scent clings to me, all clean and musky and sexy, and I can’t help but regret leaving just a little. Perhaps there could have been more fun during the night before the harsh light of day settled in.

And along with it, The Talk.

No, thank you.

I really don’t need to have Nate spell out all the reasons why this was a one night indiscretion. I certainly don’t think I can handle the awkwardness of the morning after. It’s better to just pretend like it never happened, and get back to business as usual.

I pull on pink panties and a white cami and pull my phone out of my purse on my way to bed. There are no messages or texts.

He’s probably as relieved I left as I am.

I lay awake all night, trying to figure out what I’m going to say when I call in sick at work tomorrow.





Chapter One

Late Spring



I love my job. I love my job. God, sometimes, I hate my job. I read the terse email from my boss, Nathan McKenna once again and swallow hard.



Friday, April 26, 2013 13:56

From: Nathan McKenna

To: Julianne Montgomery

Subject: Working Late



Julianne,

I need you to work late with me tonight, possibly into the weekend. Please gather all the files on the Radcliffe account and meet me in my office at 6:00 pm.

Nate



Damn it! For eight long months I’ve managed to steer clear of my boss, and I know I’ve been incredibly lucky that I haven’t had to work alone with him after-hours, but we recently lost the other junior partner in our department, and that leaves just me and Nate.

Large, beastly butterflies have taken up residence in my stomach.

Since that one night last summer, Nate and I have maintained a level of professionalism that I’m very proud of, despite the fact that whenever I see him I feel a pull of electricity that makes my thighs clench. I did invite him to double-date with Nat and I on the night of one of Nat’s husband, Luke’s movie premieres, but I managed to keep that night completely platonic.

It almost killed me.

Since then, it’s been for the greater good of keeping a job that I enjoy that I steer clear of Mr. Sex-on-legs.

Not that he’s been clamoring to get me back into bed. The morning after The Best Sex In The History of Mankind, after I snuck out of his bed, he had been pissed. He’d called and texted, wanting to know what the hell happened, and I’d avoided him like the plague for a good two weeks, telecommuting from home and taking vacation time.

Then, he just stopped. All personal communication halted, and when we are together during business hours, he is the epitome of cool professionalism.

There are days that it pisses me the hell off.

And now, because the moron who had been in our department couldn’t take the demanding schedule of our job quit, I have to work alone with Nate.

Fuck.

I sit back in my chair and look at the time. Five thirty. I pull my glasses off and toss them on my desk and hang my head in my hands. So much for spending the weekend with a pint of ice cream and a good book.

I can do this. Pull it together, Montgomery. I’ve posed naked in magazines. I’ve had dinner with gazillionares and hung out with movie stars. I have four older brothers who tease me incessantly, and taught me how to kick ass.

I can handle the sexiest man I’ve ever seen in my life for a few hours without ripping my clothes off and having my wicked way with him.

I think.

Probably.

I pull myself together, check that all my calls and emails are set to forward to my iPhone, and go to the bathroom to prepare myself for this evening.

I’m happy with what I see in the mirror. My long light blonde hair is still holding the loose curls I rolled into it this morning. My makeup is subtle and professional, setting off my blue eyes. I smooth on a fresh coat of nude lip gloss, straighten my simple cranberry-colored dress and skim my eyes over my slender figure. I was blessed with excellent genetics. I’m not as sexily curved as Natalie, but I was blessed with decent boobs, a perky ass, and a figure that got me onto the pages of Playboy magazine. Three times. I work out hard to maintain my shape.

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