CHAPTER FIVE
SHANNON
The animal cages rattle on the backseat of Herbie, my 1969 Volkswagen Beetle. It was Dad’s car, to be precise, but I can’t seem to let it go—like many things in my life, it would seem. It breaks down constantly, with a strange clanking sound at the back that no mechanic’s been able to diagnose yet, but I love him all the same.
Beyoncé’s singing on the radio: “If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it.”
“Oh, oh, oh.”
“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh.”
Put a ring on it. It’s certainly the right soundtrack for the thoughts ping-ponging around my brain—some naughtier than others. Gabe, AKA G. I. Joe, wants me to be his fiancée.
Fake fiancée, I correct.
Stupid brain. Always ruining everything.
It’s true. I’m a sucker for a good cause, and this thing with his mother is a good cause… or at least I want to believe it is. I do want to be close to Gabe, have a relationship with him even if it isn’t exactly real. Besides, I could do with the excitement.
You can pretend you’re a Bond girl or something.
Yeah, just without the sex. And I know sex with Gabe would probably be toe-curlingly, heart-quickeningly incredible. You don’t get around with a body like that without knowing how to use it.
I imagine his fingers weaving through my hair, his hand sweeping under my back to lift me against him, fill me with his…
Enough, E. L. James.
Sadly, I’m not headed for Gabe’s bed. I’m off to work, and boy would I rather be somewhere else. Tahiti, Hawaii. Hell, any of the ‘I’s. I’ll take Illinois.
I park underground and shut down Herbie. There’s a final splutter from the exhaust.
Daryl’s brand-new Maserati is parked in the spot opposite. The number plates read ‘G 5POT.’ I’m thinking ‘DOUCHE BOI’ would work quite well.
I doubt he could find his own dick let alone the G-spot. I can’t even find it.
I greet the security guy and head up in the elevator, thanking my lucky stars it’s empty.
It’s still five minutes before I’m on the clock. I dump my things on my desk, Daryl on a call, winking at me from his seat.
I take the opportunity to head to the kitchen and fix myself a coffee. I shovel in six sugars. It’s a habit I’ve been unable to break. I could never stand bitterness as I kid. Clearly, I still can’t.
“That’s how I like it too—sweet.”
I give a little jump at the intrusion, almost spilling the coffee.
Slowly, I turn, and force the words out. “Morning, Daryl.”
He leans against the doorframe and lets his eyes fall to the second button of my blouse. “Morning, beautiful.” He nods to the coffee. “Is that how you always take it?”
“How’s that?”
I shouldn’t have asked given the smug smile on his face.
“Hot… wet,” he purrs.
I try to squeeze past him. “I should really get back to my desk.”
He blocks the door. “What’s the rush? It’s not every day you’re one-on-one with the big boss man, is it now?”
Thank the good lord it is not. I try again. “Seriously, I should—”
He stands firm. “I admire the enthusiasm, Shannon, but come on. Take a seat. Boss’s orders.”
I pull out a chair and slump into it. I quietly sip my coffee. I’m not about to make the conversation here, listen to this human chode talk about his latest property acquisition or how he benched two-fifty at the gym this morning.
He leans right over the table, eyes refusing to lift from my chest, actually dropping even lower to gaze over my legs. I’m going to need baby wipes after this.
“So, how goes things, Shannon?” he begins. “What are you doing for fun these days? I feel like we don’t really get to connect, you know?”
It’s no accident, I want to reply.
I clear my throat, squeezing the coffee cup harder than I should. “Things are fine.”
“You run, don’t you? A body that tight doesn’t come without work. I should know.”
Looking over Daryl, I don’t think the Mr. Universe trophy is in danger. “I don’t run, no.”
“Could have fooled me,” he shrugs. “Pole-dancing, perhaps?”
He thinks he’s being clever, smiling.
“No,” I state firmly.
He throws his hands out. “Come on, open up to Uncle Daryl.”
And this just gets creepier and creepier.
“What about guys?” he continues. “You seeing anyone? Or is it a ‘she’ I need to be worried about?”
I’m not even going to touch that one. I’d slap him, but that would be animal abuse.
He’s asked me out before. Thankfully, I’ve always managed to squirm out of it.
He directs his hands to his crotch, legs spread wide. “You know you want a piece of this.”
It comes to me in a blinding flash of brilliance.
The answer.
“I’d have to check with my fiancé first,” I inform the world’s biggest boner-head.
I wish I had a camera the look of shock on his face is so pronounced. It’s glorious.
He straightens up, actually exhales like I’ve just announced something’s died.
Yeah, your chances of getting within a hundred square miles of my pants.
He tries to formulate a reply, but stutters, unsure what to say.
I’m happy to fill him in. “Oh, didn’t I tell you I was engaged?”
He’s still reeling, the A-bomb I’ve just dropped continuing to send out shockwaves. “No.”
It’s probably the shortest sentence he’s ever uttered. He manages to regain some sliver of composure. “Who’s the lucky guy?” His eyes shift to my hand, and for a second I’m not sure why until I realize he’s looking for the ring.
Crapola.
I slide my hand away under the table. Still, my confidence is building. “Actually, he’s a Navy SEAL.
Boom! Payload deployed.
I can almost see poor Daryl’s penis shriveling up like an autumn leaf. “Oh?”
The poor guy’s been reduced to single syllables. “I guess it just happened,” I continue, on a roll now. “But I suppose if you took more interest in anything other than my appearance you’d know that, wouldn’t you?”
It’s bold, perhaps the most alpha thing I’ve ever uttered. I think I’ve gone too far, sure to be kicked out on my ass, but Daryl’s pride wins out. He smiles, shrugging it off. He gives a small laugh that sounds awfully like how Herbie starts in the morning. “I suppose so.”
I stand and drop my coffee, still half full, into the bin, striding past Daryl on the way back to my desk. “Better get to it.”
“Yes,” he says, standing and trying to regain something of his authority again. “I need you to get straight into those Saxon files.”
I’m smiling so hard the corners of my mouth hurt on my way back to my desk. I feel like I’ve just won the lottery.
You have. The ass-kicking lottery, plus you’re engaged to the dictionary definition of a man.
My smile slips as it starts to sink in. It’s done. By enacting my revenge I’ve inadvertently agreed to Gabe’s request. There’s no turning back now, no retreat. I’d never live it down.
I put it aside for the time being and dig into the files. Daryl remains quiet in his office, his door closed, not a single ‘Hey, beautiful’ sent my way. I don’t feel his eyes boring through my back.
It’s a thing of beauty.
Monica, one of the other PAs, bails me up at lunch. “Congratulations, by the way.”
So everyone knows then.
“Thanks,” I reply.
She leans against the kitchen counter while I fork through my salad. “You sure kept that one quiet.”
Ha! If only she knew. “I like to keep my personal life private.”
“Sure,” she nods. “But a Navy SEAL? That’s badass. I don’t know how you kept it such a secret.”
“What’s that?”
“Your engagement, silly! I mean, you don’t even have a photo of him on your desk.”
She’s got a point. “I don’t like to brag.”
“Well, brag you should. Clearly. Is it true then?”
“What’s that?” I ask, the picture of naivety.
“Do SEALs like it extra wet?”
I choke on what I think is a pine nut.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” nods Monica, filling in the blanks. She extends her hands apart. “What about his weapon? This about right?”
I’m hammering my throat with my fist, nodding.
“I bet it’s long, and hard, and always ready for action.”
I finally manage to clear my throat. “I don’t know about that, but it is well loaded.”
Did you even just say that?
Monica’s mouth drops in shock. “Shannon! I had no idea.” She sits, lowering her voice. “Honestly? I thought you might be one of those weird twenty-something virgins.”
“Imagine that.” I reply, trying to feign disbelief.
Monica’s shaking her head. “I’m jealous. My last boyfriend was a,” she uses her fingers to air-quote, “a ‘talent acquisition expert.’ He had ‘thought leader’ written underneath that on his business card. He couldn’t even get it up half the time, and I’ve got strong jaw muscles.”
We have entreated a whole new level of overshare. Until now my conversational repertoire with Monica didn’t extend much further than the weather and what was new in the vending machine, but my sudden announcement has turned her into some sort of sex guru-slash-confidant.
Someone calls for her back in the office.
She stands, still shaking her head. “Your guy? He’s out there saving lives, serving his country. That is a real man.”
“It is,” I agree, smiling on it again while I polish off the rest of my salad.
He is a real man, but he’s not yours, not technically.
Not yet.
Fake or not, maybe this will be good for me, I think, a new experience. It’s about time I got out, even if it is under false pretenses.
You haven’t even told him you’re in.
I head into the copy room and close the door, making sure I’m alone.
I take out my cell and hesitate. Can I really do this? I’m an honest person. This goes against a large part of what I stand for.
Then I see Daryl flirting it up with one of the new interns and my mind is made up.
I dial Gabe’s number and wait.
“Shannon,” he answers, the delight clear in his voice.
“I’ll do it,” I blurt.
He laughs, the tone of his voice smooth and rich. I can almost smell the spicy cologne he wears. “Okay. You sure?”
I nod before realizing he can’t see me. “Yes,” I announce, “I’m sure.”
“Good. Great.”
“I just need one small, itsy-bitsy favor.”