The Dare Page 7

  “Hey, glad you remembered my name,” Ricky jokes, taking a step back. “Daniel wants you to head upstairs, wants to see you in his office.”

  “But I—”

  “Tiff can handle the desk. Can’t you?” he says, leaning over to look at Tiffany, who nods, but her brows are knotted together as she looks from me to Ricky. “Daniel said he sent a request to Miranda to borrow you for some work, so come on,” Ricky says amiably, gesturing with his head for me to follow him.

  Oh, fuck. I hadn’t thought of this option. I’ve imagined Colton firing me, blackmailing me, seducing me . . . okay, well, that last one might not be so bad.

  But never did I think of him narcing on me.

  If he’s told Dad, then Dad’s going to go through the roof. He might fire me himself. More importantly, though, my secret of being a daredevil junkie’s going to be exposed to my father . . . and that’s one conversation I definitely don’t want to have.

  It’s stupid, but he thinks I outgrew that craziness long ago, grew up to be a responsible, productive member of society and all that jazz.

  And I am. Mostly.

  I just like a little walk on the wild side every once in a while, and there’s no harm in that . . . most of the time.

  Dad’s the straight and narrow type, though, and won’t get that at all. I can already feel his disappointment in me, painful and heavy.

  Miranda comes up, looking none too pleased to be pulled out of her office to help Tiffany. “Go on up, Elle. Tell your father hello.” It’s a slight jab, snarkiness that I’m only going upstairs by request because of my relationship with Executive Daniel Stryker, regardless of what official task Dad mentioned in his email request.

  Even though I’ve already ruled her out, I mentally draw through Miranda’s name on my list of potential dates for Dad with a thick, black permanent marker. No bitchiness allowed.

  “Hey, Miranda,” Ricky says, making big goo-goo eyes at her. “Anyone ever told you that you look just like a prime-time Shania Twain?”

  What in the hell is Ricky talking about? I swear his tone sounds flirty, but that is the weirdest compliment I’ve ever heard, and I once actually had a guy tell me that my eyes were lickable.

  Even eyeball licker had better game than Ricky.

  Miranda blushes, flipping her hair and batting her heavily made up eyelashes. “Well, why, yes. Yes, they have. But not in years, you flatterer! Seems some people don’t even know who she is or what good music should be.”

  She doesn’t look at Tiffany or me, but it feels like she’s talking about our recent discussions of Lizzo. For the record, I love her and her positivity. Tiffany is Team Cut a Bitch and prefers Cardi B and Nicki Minaj. I don’t turn the station for any of them. But Shania? Nope, you can keep that man of yours and his boots.

  “Nineties country is the best,” Ricky says in all seriousness.

  “Holy shit, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Tiffany mutters under her breath. “Prime Shania Twain, my ass!”

  “I heard that!” Miranda says, her smile fading slightly. “Don’t be mad our handsome Richard here’s got a good eye.” Miranda reaches out, patting Ricky’s bicep in a way that says she’s quite blatantly taking his measure, and I swear he flexes for her.

  If I weren’t embroiled in an HR-worthy situation of my own, I might be a little concerned about this scenario playing out in front of my very eyes.

  “Oh, please.”

  “I just know a fine woman when I see one,” Ricky says. He looks Miranda up and down, licking his lips slightly. “The good Lord knew he was making something special when he created you.”

  Miranda seems as if she’s about to faint from Ricky’s outrageousness, but Tiffany isn’t amused.

  “Someone kill me now,” Tiffany mutters, fishing around on the desk to find a letter opener. “Here, just put it through my ear so that I don’t have to listen to this any longer than necessary!”

  Despite my being anxious, it takes everything in me not to laugh. “I don’t think we need to go that far. Right, Ricky?”

  “Sure, sure,” Ricky says, laughing along while giving Miranda a wink. “Okay, let me walk Princess Stryker up, and I’ll be back to see if I can still sweep you off your feet in a few, how’s that sound?”

  In the elevator, I look over at Ricky. “You know she’s forty something, right?”

  “And?” Ricky asks, not ashamed at all. “You might not see it since she’s your boss, but Miranda’s a total MILF. She’s the sort of woman who can teach a man things about things.”

  I can’t. Ricky and Miranda and sex all in one sentence. Just no. So I make a hardline play I already know the outcome of.

  “You trying to learn things, Ricky? Here’s the best two tips you need . . . one, when you think there’s been enough foreplay and you’re ready to move on, you’re halfway there. And two, make best friends with her clit. Pet it, pat it, lick it, suck it, and then do it all again. You need to worship that little button and things will be A-Okay.”

  Ricky makes a strange sound, like he’s choking on the words trying to get out of his throat. Finally, he manages to say, “Don’t say shit like that, Elle.”

  I smile pleasantly, wearing my innocence like the sweetheart I’m not. “What? You were talking about having S-E-X with my boss. I think that warrants a bit of birds and bees talk. Wanna discuss the G-spot or prostates next?”

  He rolls his eyes and the rest of the elevator ride is silent.

  Except in my head, where once the distraction of giving Ricky shit is gone, my brain goes into hyperdrive imagining all sorts of worst-case scenarios about this meeting with Dad.

  We get to the top floor, and I let Ricky escort me down to Dad’s office.

  My first thought as I step inside is that it’s a half-step down from Colton’s. Not that the view’s any worse. They’re almost equally arranged on the long hallway that makes up the fifth floor of the Fox Building, and they’re equal in size.

  But there’s just a little difference in their choices. Dad’s gone for more functional furniture, the opulent oak and brass replaced with the blacks, whites, and steels of a more modern aesthetic. All of it’s high end. It’s not like the decorator Dad hired went to IKEA, but still . . . it feels cold compared to the warmth of Colton’s office.

  “What’s up, Dad?” I ask as I sit down nervously on the couch at his behest. At least it’s soft leather. But that doesn’t mean this is a warm and fuzzy ‘check in with my baby girl’ situation. No, I’m certain he’s about to unleash an unholy ass chewing upon me. I just know it.

  He closes his laptop and stands up, going around to the minifridge by the window and taking out two bottles of his latest obsession, some nasty tasting, healthy green juice. “Nothing much, honey. I just wanted to see you and figured you could use a juice break at the end of the day. How’re you doing?”

  I’m so surprised that I freeze, and Dad shakes the glass bottle in front of me before I remember to take it. “Uhm, fine, Dad. You know, busy but . . . fine, I guess.”

  I’m so confused. On one hand, I certainly don’t want him to ream me out over this whole thing with Colton. I don’t even want him to know about it. On the other hand, if he’s really calling me up for afternoon juice chats, we need to have a serious discussion about boundaries and professionalism at work.

  “Oh,” Dad says, slightly disappointed, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to shove me off.

  Just yell at me already, I want to say.

  But Dad’s nonchalant as he says, “I know you’re busy these days, but do you think you could squeeze me in for a cheeseburger down at Frankie’s Burger Hut?”

  Frankie’s . . . it has been ‘our place’ for what seems like ever. And Frankie does make some damn good burgers. But more importantly, Dad and I have always shared Frankie’s, never going alone or taking anyone else there, for some reason.

  “Oh, uh . . . sure. How about lunch one day this week?” I offer.


  Dad nods and takes a sip of his juice. How he manages to keep a straight face, I don’t know because I can smell it from here, like freshly mown grass and pepper and something . . . bitter. Blech.

  “How about you? How’s everything?” I inch my toes off the cliff, tempting fate but wanting to get this show on the road.

  “Well, I’ve got some potentially bad news there,” he says sullenly.

  Oh, shit.

  “Uh . . . what?”

  Dad fidgets with the label on his bottle, a nervous tic from a man who doesn’t have them, which only makes more anxious. Good Lord, by the time he gets to yelling, I’m going to have an ugly case of the stress-induced shits.

  “Remember how I’ve been telling you that I was pretty sure I had the HQ2 program sewn up? Looks like there may be a monkey wrench in the plan.”

  Phew . . . I mean, I’m not doing backflips that his long held goal of running his own HQ is facing a setback, but it sounds like he at least doesn’t know about what I did in Colton Wolfe’s office. “I . . . I’m sorry to hear that. I know you’ve really been putting in a lot of work on things. So did they go with another plan?”

  “No . . . no, just a delay right now,” Dad admits, smiling a little. “Guess I can thank my lucky stars for that. One of the other proposals was actually really good, and Mr. Fox wants to put a delay in the whole process so that he can hear more.”

  “Oh . . . whose plan?”

  He looks up at me, and I can feel the answer even before he opens his mouth. “Colton Wolfe.”

  Karma . . . you really are a coldhearted bitch, you know that?

  “I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize before shutting my mouth.

  “No, no, it’s okay,” Dad says. “But I could use a little help, honey. I know you work for Miranda, but Miranda works for Wolfe, so you’re sort of in his chain of command. Can you do me a favor? If you hear anything, can you pass it along to your dear old dad?” He smiles as he says it, small crinkles popping beside his eyes, but he’s definitely nowhere near the old man he’s making himself out to be.

  “Dad . . . are you sure? This doesn’t sound like you,” I ask, worried. I mean, I guess there’s nothing wrong with it. We’re all on the Fox team, but I’ve always seen him as Super Dad, and that includes a deep moral streak. This, though, seems like a gray area.

  He leans toward me. “It’s fine, honey. Look, Wolfe is probably plotting against me as we speak. It’s only natural that I keep my eyes open. And I’m not asking you to go out of your way to do anything. I don’t want you snooping around or doing anything shady. I’m just saying if there are any hijinks coming out of his office, you let me know. I just want the best proposal for the company to get the vote, and I truly believe that’s my plan.”

  “Okay. I’ll keep my ears open, and we’ll hit up Frankie’s soon?”

  I realize that I think my dad just played me, at least a little bit. The check-in juice, the guilt-trip date, all to ask me to tell tales about whatever Colton Wolfe is planning. As if I have any clue about that.

  No, my plan is to stay far, far away from Colton Wolfe so that I save my sanity and my job. Maybe if I stay out of his sight, I can stay out of his mind, and he’ll just forget yesterday even happened.

  “Sounds great, honey. I love you,” Dad says, standing up. I follow suit, and he hugs me tight, still my Super Dad but a little more human, I realize.

  Smiling, I set my unopened juice down and leave Dad’s office. I head down the hallway toward the elevator, knowing Tiffany’s gonna pump me for every morsel of the play-by-play of my conversation with Dad.

  I’m almost there. I can see the buttons clearly against their metal plates when a distinctive British voice calls out to me.

  “Miss Stryker? My office, please.”

  My heart jumps into my throat, and I stumble slightly as I turn to see Colton Wolfe leaning against his outer office door, his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk on his face is pure arrogance, a display of ‘I know something you don’t’ that does not bode well for me.

  Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

  But where the fly in the infamous poem initially refused to give in to the spider’s welcome, I do not have that luxury because he’s both my boss and holding all the cards. Even without false flattery, I go into the spider’s parlor, hoping it’s not the last time I’ll be at Fox Industries.

  Chapter 7

  Colton

  Watching Elle swallow down her fear sends twin tingles down my spine. On one hand, I should feel guilty at what I’m about to do, using her this way. I should feel like a heel for scaring her.

  On the other hand, watching her lips and throat work leaves me thinking about other, very unprofessional, things. I know I shouldn’t, but Elle’s so sexy that she’s got me off my trolley a bit.

  Which might be an issue, but it’ll be a rather delightful one, I predict.

  Things get even more amusing when she follows me into my office and I turn to watch her long, well-shaped legs cross as she sits down where I silently order her to with a pointed finger. She looks up at me with those big eyes, trying to show confidence and not her fear. I can admire the attempt.

  “Mr. Wolfe?” she says, breaking the silence first. It’s a small give, but one I’ll take. I get the feeling that her every submission to my authority will be hard won, so I’ll take an easy one with satisfaction.

  I’m not going to torture her. Yet.

  But that doesn’t mean I can’t devil her just a bit.

  “Miss Stryker, you have been a major pain in my arse the last twenty-four hours,” I declare without preamble, perching on the corner of my huge desk mainly to hide my crotch just in case. “Instead of working on a very important project, I’ve spent my valuable time thinking long and hard about what you did. It takes either stones or stupidity, and I’m still not sure which you have.” I glare at her questioningly.

  “Sir . . . if you’re going to fire me, just get it over with without the speech. Put me out of my misery.”

  Elle’s outburst surprises me. Oh, so my little daredevil has a bit of fire in her belly.

  “It was a stupid thing to do. Actually, stupid doesn’t even begin to describe it.” Her confession is bitter but self-directed, and honestly, rather accurate.

  I sit at my desk, contemplating her. She seems rather settled on the outcome she expects. “Hmm, well . . . it is a fireable offense, for certain. But if that were my plan, it would not have taken me all night to decide what to do with you.”

  It had actually taken me that long to play out each and every angle, measuring for maximum impact and conclusion. I had ultimately decided on my present course of action.

  Daniel and I are adversaries in this race for HQ2, against each other but for the company’s ultimate good. Evaluating everything I know about Daniel leads me to believe that he will be set off-kilter by having his dear daughter work with me, especially on this project.

  There’s a chance she could play me and serve as the insider spy for Daniel I’d originally thought she’d been, but I feel certain I can protect against that. And massaging this situation to my best benefit seems worth the risk.

  And there’s a small niggling seed that says I’m intrigued by the woman who could have the world handed to her on a silver platter but refuses it in favor of making her own way, the woman who does seemingly crazy things just for the adventurous high of it, the woman whose mere photo had me rock hard and coming fiercely in record time.

  “And what, exactly, do you plan to do with me?”

  I detect the faintest hint of heat in the words, like she’s consciously saying them neutrally but unable to control the tightness in her throat.

  “Move you up here, to be my dedicated assistant on the HQ2 project.” It’s a simple statement, but it causes all the air in the room to be sucked out.

  “Excuse me?” Her glare could slice a lesser man.

  “It’s rather straightforward. You will be on my team, and th
at is not a request. The very placement will be a communication that you support my proposal, so to be transparent, I am using you for your last name.”

  “You want to use me against my own father? Against his proposal?” Her mouth gapes in fury. “And if I refuse?”

  I am glad that she at least knows of the bids for HQ2 placement. Keeping Elle between Daniel and me is one thing, but it’s not fair play to use her without her even knowing that there’s a competition going on.

  I shrug. “You won’t. Your talents are many. I looked at your corporate file, and to be honest, you are wasted on Miranda’s team. It seems your father is right that you should be at least a junior analyst, if not a more senior one if you’d gone into his department as he requested. This is an opportunity for you to move up as you wanted.”

  I don’t give compliments lightly, but she doesn’t so much as acknowledge the comment about her talents. “And if you weren’t so bored and underutilized, perhaps you wouldn’t feel the need to get up to such useless pursuits as yesterday’s incident.”

  She repeats tightly through clenched teeth. “And if I refuse?”

  “If we do not come to some sort of understanding, I will be forced to file charges with HR and have you terminated. The circumstances would, I’m sure, be rather embarrassing to your father.”

  “You’re blackmailing me?” she snaps.

  “No, I’m daring you.” My lips quirk as I sense her attention perking up at the language. “You like dares, Elle.”

  I bait the trap, and I await her response eagerly.

  “I . . . I don’t like them,” she weakly replies even as her hands clench on the arms of her chair. “I just—”

  “Can’t resist the rush that comes with them,” I finish for her, making her nod gently. “But let’s face it, Miss Stryker. Doing schoolgirl dares simply because your best mate challenges you must get rather boring after awhile. So I’ve decided I’m going to give you a refreshing new challenge.”

  “A . . . challenge?” she asks, swallowing again.