“That big account we’re going to win,” he corrected her.
She nodded. They would win it, she knew. Because the pitch they were working on was nothing short of brilliant. She and Turner had been at Englund for five years now, long enough to have won some small seniority as account reps, but they still weren’t in line for any major promotions. At this rate, they’d be stuck in Cubicleville until retirement. Winning this account for Englund would speed them much more quickly up the corporate ladder. They’d be headed straight to Officetown.
“And once we win the account, we’ll be stressed to the max,” she pointed out. “Whenever we have to work that hard, we smoke like a pit barbecue for a Kennedy family reunion.”
This time, in reply, Turner only studied her in silence and thrust out his lower lip like a pouty child.
Becca had to hide the smile she felt threatening. Not that she would ever tell him, of course, but there were times when Turner was just so damn cute. Sexy, even, if you went for the tall, dark and saucy type, which Becca most certainly did not. She’d always been drawn to the shy, tame and bookish type, and Turner was none of those things. Of course, the sex with such men had always been rather shy and tame, too—and bookish, she couldn’t help thinking, since her last boyfriend had insisted that if they were going to consult the Kama Sutra as Becca wanted, then it must only be from a literary standpoint, because he abhorred people who only looked at books for the pictures. So maybe she ought to alter her outlook on the opposite sex….
At any rate, she didn’t think of Turner McCloud in any way other than as a friend.
Okay, okay, so maybe they did do a little sexual experimenting as teenagers once or twice. But that was to be expected, since they’d grown up in a small Midwestern town and were overcome by hormones at the time, and besides, nothing ever came of it, since Turner never got past second base. And he’d barely made it there.
And okay, okay, so maybe once, a couple of years ago, they did imbibe a little too much at the office Christmas party and ended up almost horizontal. But that wasn’t so unusual because everyone that night had been feeling festive, and lots of people ended up almost horizontal, and besides, nothing ever came of it. Turner never got past third base. And he’d barely made it there.
And okay, okay, so maybe she did sort of have dreams about Turner from time to time. And okay, okay, so maybe they were, um, naked dreams. And okay, okay, so maybe he made it all the way home—and then some—in those dreams. Like the one she’d had a couple of nights ago, for instance, where Turner was bathing in a moonlit desert hot spring, with steam rising up all around his—naked—body, and water was sluicing over his brawny—naked—shoulders and arms, winding through the dark hair on his muscular—naked—chest and sparkling like diamonds in the black hair slicked back from his face. And then suddenly, she’d been in the hot spring with him, and she’d been naked, as well, tracing with her fingertips the little rivulets of water as they wound down his—naked—arms, licking away a drop that clung precariously to his lip, then reaching slowly, slowly, oh…so slowly beneath the water to drag a finger along his strong—naked—thigh before closing her hand over his—very naked, very large—
Uh, where was she? Becca suddenly wondered. She seemed to have gotten off track….
Oh, yeah. Now she remembered. She’d been thinking of Turner as just a friend and nothing more. Which was how she always thought of him. Always. Really. She did. Honest. It was true. Hey, why would she think of him any other way?
But not all women thought of him as a friend, she knew. For instance, that brazen redhead Englund had hired just last month. Lucy somebody. Yeah, that was an appropriate name, all right. Except that it should have been spelled Loosey. Talk about hot to trot. And obvious? Please. She was all over Turner like white on rice. The tart. Honestly. What some women would do to attract a man’s attention. Not that Becca cared, of course. Or even noticed, for that matter.
Um, where was she? She seemed to have gotten off track again….
Oh, yeah. Now she remembered. She’d been thinking about her good buddy Turner. Yep, that was all he was to her. Her good buddy. And at the moment, he was her agitated good buddy.
“I’m tellin’ya, Becca,” he said as he began pacing again, “we need to go into business for ourselves. Just you and me. A partnership. This place isn’t suited to us at all.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But we were lucky to both get hired here. The pay and benefits are good. Well, except for the lousy health care plan. And this isn’t exactly a good time to be looking for work somewhere else. The economy sucks. The holidays are coming. It’s an even worse time to try and start up a business of our own. I mean, where would we get the capital?”
“Small business loan,” he said readily.
Becca shook her head. “It’s not a good time to start a business,” she reiterated. “But it is a good time to quit smoking.”
“Becca…”
They’d had this discussion before, a million times, in fact, about how they needed to quit smoking if for no other reason than that it was unhealthy. True, they were only twenty-seven and feeling immortal, but they’d both be better off if they quit. And now, with their jobs at stake, they finally had the motivation. If they took the vow to quit smoking together, maybe they’d be successful this time. They could do like in those twelve-step programs and call each other whenever they were at risk of falling off the wagon. Lighting up the wagon. Whatever.
“Turner, this is a sign that’s it’s finally time for us to quit,” she said. “The habit is unhealthy, it’s expensive, it’s socially unacceptable these days, and now it’s about to cost us our jobs. We have nothing to lose by quitting, and everything to gain. And if we both make a pact to do it together, we can succeed this time. I know we can.”
“We’ve tried before without success,” Turner reminded her. “We’ve tried going cold turkey, we’ve tried the patch, we’ve tried the gum. Hell, we’ve even tried smacking each other upside the head every time we saw each other light up. But none of it has worked, Becca.”
“We haven’t tried hypnosis,” she said tentatively.
He gaped at her and for a moment said nothing. Wow. She’d never seen him speechless before. But maybe this meant he was at least considering it.
Then, “Oh, no,” he said. He shook his head forcefully, settling his hands on his hips. “No, no, no, no, no. No way. No how. Nuh-uh. Nein. Nyet. Non.”
Okay, so maybe he wasn’t at least considering it.
“I am not going to let someone hypnotize me,” he added unnecessarily. “That’s a load of crap.”
“It could work,” Becca said, a bit less tentatively this time. “It’s worked for other people. My aunt Louise stopped biting her nails after she was hypnotized.”
Of course, what Becca didn’t add was that Aunt Louise went in to be hypnotized for her phobia of eggplant, and these days she still broke into a sweat whenever she saw ratatouille. Even as a side dish. Hypnosis had been beneficial for her aunt in one way. Just, you know, not the right way.
Becca repeated, “It could work for us. We won’t know unless we try.”
Turner covered the short distance between them in three long strides and dropped into the chair beside hers. He sat the same way now that he had in high school, all sprawling limbs and masculine confidence. These days, though, he took up considerably more room than he had back then. Funny how he’d gone through that second puberty while they were in college at IU. He’d always been so skinny as a kid. Now he was solid rock.
Becca shook off the observation, almost literally. “We could at least try it,” she said more softly.
He met her gaze levelly for a moment, and Becca thought again what nice blue eyes he had. Maybe she couldn’t blame Loosey for being such a tart around him. The tart.