The Dare Read online

  “Ladies!” Miranda says, smiling hugely as she comes tottering over on five-inch heels. Is she manhunting tonight or something? If so, good for her, I guess. She deserves a little happiness, and maybe some steaminess, in her life after losing her husband. Though I worry that she’s hunting at a work function.

  What’s that saying? Don’t shit where you eat.

  Then again, I’m the last person who should offer that advice, considering I’m not sticking to the intention of it in the least by messing around with Colton.

  “Hi, Miranda,” I say cautiously. She seems exceptionally excited to see us, me in particular, considering I defected to the fifth floor.

  She wraps her arms around me, pulling me in tight for a hug though I remain stiff-armed. I mouth at Tiffany, “What’s happening?” But she shrugs, eyes wide.

  “I miss you so much. Tiffany doesn’t have anyone to cause trouble with. I thought I’d like that, but it’s so boring.” Her huff of boredom sounds like a sorority girl in a long line at Starbucks and smells like fruity champagne.

  “That’s because New Girl is about as interesting as plain rice cakes,” Tiffany grumbles.

  My head spins. “You hired someone to replace me?”

  Miranda pushes at my shoulder like I told a funny joke. “Of course we did. You’re all big time upstairs. Megan is perfectly nice. She’s just still settling in.”

  She takes a sip of her champagne and looks around, eyes wide in wonder, and I again consider that she might be a tad bit tipsy already. “But enough on work, okay? Even if I’m surrounded by coworkers, that don’t mean we have to talk shop, right? I mean . . . look at this place.”

  I’ll give it to Allan Fox. When he renovated his estate, he did it right. The back garden’s beautiful, the early evening lit up with tastefully hidden lights and a well laid out drink table.

  “We’ve got a band,” Tiffany notices as music floats over the grounds. “Terrible choice in music.”

  “What?” Miranda asks, humming to herself. “Hazy Shade of Winter rocks.”

  “Yeah . . . when it’s actually done as rock and not jazz,” Tiffany says before clearing her throat and elbowing me. “Incoming.”

  It’s all the warning I get before I feel Ricky and Billy at my back. Billy puts an arm around my shoulders before placing a chaste kiss to my cheek, and Ricky pretty much drools over Miranda. “Hey, cuz, ain’t seen much of you lately. What’s been shakin’?”

  “Just your dicks when you use the men’s room,” Tiffany shoots back. “So not much.”

  “Miranda, ignore them and their unfounded taunts,” Ricky says, eyes roaming up and down Miranda’s curves. “Instead, please tell me you’ve got an empty spot on your dance card for me.”

  I’ve never seen Miranda flirt, but she seems to be jumping right in the deep end and swimming just fine. She runs a red fingertip along her lip, drawing Ricky’s eyes right where she wants them as she tilts her chin ever so slightly. She’s a coy seductress. Who would’ve guessed?

  “Maybe I do.”

  Ricky holds out his hand, dipping down in almost a bow, and she places her hand in his. They merge onto the dance floor, leaving the three of us standing there, gaping open-mouthed.

  “What just happened?” I whisper.

  Billy chuckles. “Ricky’s always good with the ladies, and he’s got the hots for Miranda bad. He’s been waiting on her to be ready.”

  Huh, who’d have thought my cousin could be so . . . nice?

  “Ah, Elle. Pardon me for being cheeky, but you do look rather smashing tonight.” The dark voice comes from behind me, sending a shiver down my spine because only one man speaks like that.

  I turn to meet his gaze but instead find his eyes slowly working their way up from my ass. “Colton.” It’s a greeting and a warning all rolled up in one. Billy is standing right here, after all, along with everyone else we work with.

  He looks smashing himself, if I do borrow his lingo. He’s got on a blue suit, a bit lighter than he wears to the office, perhaps, and his pocket square and tie are navy blue. We look rather matched, which gives me a zing of a thrill until Tiffany points it out and Billy frowns.

  “You do look coordinated. Intentional, Wolfey?” Billy’s sneer is as threatening as ever, but Colton looks entirely unruffled.

  “Just a coincidence.” My attempt at reassuring Billy is wasted, though.

  “Mr. Stryker, while I appreciate relaxing certain behavior standards in favor of the festivities, Wolfey’s taking it a bit far, if you don’t mind,” Colton interrupts, his voice polite and even cheery, but there’s steel behind his smile.

  Great, just great. Colton’s not backing down, but Billy’s not either. And while a battle of wits is a total mismatch, Billy’s smart enough to know when he’s being challenged. Colton, though, isn’t going to swing first, but I’m worried that when or if he does, it’s going to be on like Donkey Kong . . . and I don’t want that.

  A waiter interrupts the guys’ staredown, and I take the golden opportunity to make good on Tiffany’s crazy dare. “Oh, thank you! These puff pastries are utterly orgasmic. Mmm-hmm. Can you bring me some more? What’s in them again?”

  I shove an entire pastry ball into my mouth as two pairs of eyes turn to me. The waiter and Tiffany were already looking at me, him because he’s a bit choked at my over-the-top performance and Tiffany because she knew the show I was going to put on. But Colton and Billy are staring at me now too. Colton with a knowing smirk and Billy in horror.

  The waiter recovers enough to answer, though it’s stumbled and mumbled. “Uhm, the pastries are stuffed with . . . sausage . . . and cream . . . cheese.”

  Okay, that’s even worse. Or maybe better, because now I can’t help but laugh. Unfortunately, I nearly choke on the mouthful and Tiffany has to pat me on the back. She’s a little rough, and I spit the snack into a napkin.

  “It’s okay, girl. Sometimes, you gotta work past the gag reflex and swallow, swallow, swallow, but it takes time. It’s okay to spit if you need to.”

  She says it faux sympathetically, but we all know exactly what she’s talking about.

  Billy’s chest is rumbling, but it’s not a purr. It’s more of an animalistic growl, and when he straightens his jacket, it’s a little too forceful, and I think I hear a seam give way.

  “Excuse me for a moment.”

  He spins on his heel and stalks away. I estimate that I have approximately two to three minutes before he’s back with Dad.

  Tiffany gives a quiet golf clap. “Well done, Miss Stryker. Don’t forget part one of the dare.” And with that reminder, she’s off, leaving me alone with Colton.

  His lips do that twitchy thing where I think he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “Well done, indeed.” He copies Tiff’s words, but where she made me smile with the praise, Colton makes me want to preen a bit. “I missed you yesterday evening. I had hoped you’d be in my office after my meeting so we could complete our twenty-four hours with a bang.”

  “Do you mean that literally?”

  Instead of answering, he grabs two flutes of champagne and offers me one. He clinks his to mine. “Here’s to exciting times, Miss Stryker.”

  We both sip, eyes looking over the rims so that we don’t lose sight of one another. “Did you wait the entire time then?”

  This is important—a testament to his willingness to play, the truthfulness of his word.

  He hums. “Unfortunately, I had to wait significantly longer than the time assigned. I had some work to do and wasn’t able to take matters into my own hands until later at home. Alone, which was not nearly as satisfying as what I’d hoped the evening would hold.”

  “My evening was lackluster and battery-operated as well.” I speak quietly behind my glass. No one is listening, and I don’t think anyone can read my lips, but it feels naughty to be discussing our night of masturbation at a work party. Actually, it doesn’t just feel wrong. It is wrong. And doesn’t that make those butterflies in my gut dance around
like they’re doing the Macarena?

  The rest of his words hit me. “What were you working on so late? We had everything on the list completed.”

  His smirk worries me, the light in his eyes scary. “You’ll see. I have a surprise for you, one I think you’re going to enjoy.”

  It takes me a full two rounds of breath to realize he means something work related because my sex-hungry brain went right back to surprises like him tying me to his bed. I don’t get a chance to ask for clarity, though, because I’m interrupted by Dad, of all people.

  “Elle! My goodness, look at you! Billy, thanks for finding Elle. I was caught up chatting with Mr. Fox. Colton, it’s good to see you.”

  Dad’s dropping Mr. Fox’s name like bait, hoping to trigger Colton, but Colton offers his hand and Dad shakes, the two of them squeezing maybe a little hard in a test of manhood, but not overly so. They at least look like they’re going to get along, which is good for me. My head’s getting ping-ponged so much since arriving that I’m going to have a migraine, and Tiff doesn’t know how to drive a stick.

  Still, even through the muted throb behind my temples, I notice that Dad looks handsome himself in a black suit with a floral tie for the seasonal theme of the party. I’m not the only one who notices, either, as Tiffany reappears from somewhere.

  “Daniel, good to see you!” At least she doesn’t call him Daddy to his face.

  “You too, Tiffany.” He kisses the air beside her cheek in greeting, perfectly reasonably, but a warning gong goes off in my head. “You’re keeping this one in line, aren’t you?” Dad’s eyes cut to me. He’s teasing like I’m some wild child, but I’m done with it.

  Big, brass balls, Tiffany said. Don’t let them push you around.

  “You shouldn’t be sending the goon squad after me,” I chide him after Billy excuses himself to find Ricky. “I would have found you, and Colton’s been a perfect gentleman. This isn’t the homecoming dance in high school.”

  The reminder is sharp. That dance had been all I’d talked about for weeks, and within an hour of arrival, Billy and Ricky had scared off my date. I’d spent my first real dance, my first real date, sitting sad and alone on the gym bleachers. And it’d been Dad’s fault for siccing the boys on me. He’d apologized, but apparently, that scab hasn’t fully healed for either of us.

  “Elle . . . excuse me, Colton, may I speak with my daughter alone?” Dad asks.

  “Of course, Daniel. Elle, it was nice to see you this evening. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

  Once upon a time, Dad’s biting proclamation would’ve had me backing down. We’re the home team, the two of us against the world. But these growing pains were always going to happen, maybe not like this, where there’s a competitive edge, but I was always going to have to stand my ground with him. Repeatedly, if necessary, until he sees that I’m fine on my own two feet.

  “Dad, it’s fine. I am fine. Other than my father stomping around and pissing off my new boss. If I worked anywhere else, would you walk up to my boss and start shit with him? No, you wouldn’t. I get that this is different because of the HQ2 thing, but I need you to look at me. Really look at me.”

  I hold my arms out a bit, and Dad glares at me like he doesn’t get it. “You look beautiful, baby girl. Which is another thing . . . I don’t like the way Wolfe is looking at you.”

  I put a hand on Dad’s arm. “Dad, I get it. I’m not your little girl anymore and that’s scary. But it’s okay. I can handle this project, I can handle Colton Wolfe, and most importantly, I can handle myself. If you’ll let me. You taught me well. Now it’s time for you to gloat over how good of a job you did raising me.”

  We’re a veritable nine o’clock drama show on NBC, all up in our feels and on the verge of tears when Dad finally looks at me.

  “Shit. I’m botching this up, aren’t I?” I nod, and he sighs heavily. He covers my hand with his, though I know he wants to hug me. I appreciate that he’s holding back because of the professional surroundings we’re in because I know it’s killing him. “I am proud of you, and I do believe you. It’s just hard for a dad to let go of his little girl. Especially when . . .” He stops himself, though I know he was about to say something else cutting about Colton. It’s progress and I’ll take it.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  Guess Tiffany was right. I do have big, brass balls after all. That actually went pretty well, and hope blooms in my belly that maybe I can do it all. Work on Colton’s HQ2 project, have a little fun with the dares with him, make Dad proud, and ultimately, who wins the HQ2 race will be out of my hands. We can all just do our best and let the chips fall where they will.

  Inside, I’m doing a giddy dance of accomplishment accompanied by a choir singing, ‘Get it, girl!’ and I barely refrain from letting the music raise my hands in celebration. It’s a good thing, too, because the actual music the party band is playing ends.

  “Dinner is ready. If you’ll please make your way to a seat. We encourage you to mix it up too. Please don’t sit with your own department, if possible.” Mrs. Fox is holding a microphone on the stage, inviting us all to sit at the numerous round tables spread throughout the garden.

  Dad takes my hand and leads me to a table. “At least we’re not in the same department, so I can sit with my daughter, right?”

  It’s an olive branch, one I take gladly as I sit beside him.

  Tiffany reappears, taking the seat on the other side of Dad. “May I?”

  “Of course, you’re always welcome, Tiffany.” Dad even stands slightly, pulling her chair out for her. He’s such a gentleman. I really need to find him someone. Other than my best friend, who’s making goo-goo eyes at him right now.

  “Thank you so much, Daniel. Such manners, a kindness sadly lacking in so many these days.”

  I swallow the groan, knowing I literally just told my dad that I’m an adult and to back off and now wanting to pinch my nose and say ‘gross’ like I’m ten again.

  The rest of the table fills up and introductions are made. I’m honestly surprised when Colton doesn’t come to sit with me, but with Mrs. Fox’s decree of not sitting with your own department, it makes sense. And I’m honestly glad to not feel like Gumby for a little while with Dad and Colton pulling on either side of me. Though maybe it won’t be like that anymore with Dad realizing that I’m okay, even if this is awkward with us on opposing sides of the HQ2 thing.

  The waiters begin bringing around salads. A hand reaches over my left shoulder, setting down my salad. But then a throat clears from beside me and I turn. “Ma’am?”

  Oh, God. It’s the waiter from the hors d’oeuvres dare. My eyes go wide, and he looks down to the small bread plate in his hand that holds three more pastry puffs. “You asked for more of these?”

  “Oh, uh . . . yes. Thank you.” He sets the plate down on the table, and I force down the laugh, not daring to look at Tiffany because I know she’ll make me break.

  “If there’s anything else, please let me know. I’m Jeff, by the way.” His demeanor is completely professional, his eyes locked on my cleavage.

  "Thanks, Jeff. That’s it, though. These are just so good.” I pop one in my mouth as a way of ending the conversation, and he walks off to continue salad service.

  When I do manage to look around the table, every eye is on me. Once I swallow, thankfully not spitting this time, I try to explain. “These were just so good and I was only able to get one during the cocktail hour. Wasn’t that nice of Jeff?” The other people at the table nod politely, and finally, I chance a glance at Tiffany. Yep, she’s grinning wide and biting back laughter too.

  Bitch. Good thing I love her. If only she’d stop chatting up my dad.

  “Everyone, if I may?” Mr. Fox says from the stage, interrupting my train of thought and thankfully pulling everyone’s attention as I stuff another pastry in my mouth. Dare aside, they really are that good.

  “Please continue with your dinner, but I want
ed to say a few things tonight.”

  Mr. Fox goes on to rave about how we’re a family at Fox, all working together for one goal and a bunch of other rah-rah pep rally speak. But he truly means it, so it comes off as genuine, not false at all.

  “In closing, as everyone knows, the HQ2 project has been the cornerstone of our growth plans for the past year, and we’ve had several excellent proposals.”

  The entire room goes still. Is he going to announce which plan they’ve chosen? Next to me, Dad sits taller, sets his napkin on the table, and brushes off his lapels.

  What’s happening? Did Dad’s plan get selected?

  Emotions roil through me—excitement for Dad, sadness for Colton, and even disappointment for myself at having only gotten out of the clerical pool for a week. Megan had better get out of my chair if I’m getting shipped back downstairs to Miranda’s team.

  “We’ve narrowed it down to two plans that hold the most promise, Daniel Stryker’s and Colton Wolfe’s.” Mr. Fox begins the round of applause and the room follows suit.

  “I’ve asked them both to take teams to their prospective locations, and tonight, they’ll be announcing those teams. Daniel?”

  Dad gets up from his seat, eyes on Mr. Fox as he makes his way to the band stage. He takes the microphone and holds court over the room.

  “Thank you, Allan. I’m honored that the Tennessee location is being considered and thrilled to take a research team for a more in-depth analysis. I thought hard about this, about what skills I’d need on the ground and who best to fill those shoes . . .” Dad goes on to list a team of six members, from legal to manufacturing, engineering to his assistant. It’s a big crew, but it’s a big undertaking.

  Dad finishes his speech, and everyone claps politely, chatter breaking out at the tables. I hear someone whisper not-too-quietly that they hope they’re on Colton’s team. “Can you imagine a week in London with him?”

  I frown, the shot of jealousy hot in my veins.