Page 34 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

all booked up…with unwanted emotions

Caleb

“ Y ou send over the recommendations to Chris?”

“I did.” I bob my head at Ava as she sits across my desk, her light blonde hair resting just above her shoulders, her small frame engulfed by the chair she sits in.

It still completely baffles me that this small, soft-spoken, and polite woman is related to Addison Jenkins.

Not that there is something bad about any of those traits.

Addison is just so… scary. Her personality, while introverted, is so large you can feel it fill a room.

But it’s nothing like the way you can physically feel Rosie Garcia enter a room.

Or maybe that’s just me. And maybe it’s that I actively search for her.

I still haven’t worked out why that is yet.

“I like Liza, she has her head screwed on. She has a great face for the company, she’s easy to match up with colors, shapes, and plaster on every sign because she won’t take away from the branding. She’ll blend.” I nod in agreement.

“She also has a good list of authors, which is good for profile, client trust, and all that.” Ava tips her chin in agreement too. “And Daniel?” I push, and Ava scrunches up her nose, reflecting my feelings for the slimeball.

“I was shadowing him for under five minutes before he attempted to grope me.”

“What?!” I sit up straighter, my fist clenching by my side, but Ava raises her hand to settle me.

“Relax, I handled it. Chris was informed and I pulled him up on it in front of everyone.”

“Good.” I’m thankful that the Jenkins spirit runs through her genetics. “Did you tell Matt?”

“I don’t really want to risk losing the deal over assault charges, plus I have kids at home that like their dad there and not in prison.

” A smile breaks across my face, matching the smirk on Ava’s.

She isn’t wrong, Matteo De Luca is as hotheaded as they come when it’s his family and friends. But Ava? That is a whole other level.

“Good point,” I agree. “But make sure you let me know if it happens again. I want to have words with Chris directly.” She just arches a brow with a knowing smirk.

“And Rosie?”

“What about her?” The sudden spike in my heart rate is unusual, and for some reason I can’t look Ava in the eye, at least until she starts chuckling.

“Well…she is also in the running for the position, is she not?”

“Oh…” Duh. “Yes. She’s the obvious choice.”

“The obvious choice, huh?” I look back over to Ava and she has a shit-eating grin on her face, settling back into her chair, crossing her arms, and giving me the look .

“Say what you want to say and then get out.” I wave off her glowing smile like she knows something.

But she’s wrong because there isn’t even anything to know.

Rosie wants our friends-who-fuck situation kept a secret, which I’d be perfectly okay with under normal circumstances.

It just leaves me to rotate my roster on the nights when we are out with our friends—not that I have yet to dial a single number on said roster, but that’s besides the point.

Every time I do something small that tests the waters of maybe not being a secret, or maybe just being acknowledged?

I don’t know, it’s like a tiny kick in the guts when she shuts it down.

Maybe because it’s Rosie, and she’s different…

in some way, to other women. The obvious aside, she affects me in ways no other woman has, and while it’s completely frustrating and I should be working as hard as Rosie is to ignore it, there is a tiny, little, small part of me that maybe doesn’t want to ignore it.

Then every time she shuts me down, that little voice comes back in my head and straightens me out.

Not enough.

Not worth it.

“You smitten, Smith?” Ava’s accusation brings me back from my thoughts and I clear my throat.

“Please. She’s a beautiful woman, I’d have to be blind not to see that.

” I click open my email and start to scroll, opening Spotify and readying my playlist. “But I also know her outside of the client, so I know she would be the perfect fit.” I scroll and scroll and scroll aimlessly through my emails.

“Uh-huh. And that’s why you can’t make eye contact with me?”

I run a frustrated hand down my face, making a dramatic roll of my neck before reluctantly turning in Ava’s direction. She leans forward, resting her arms on my desk and narrowing her eyes at me.

“Ahhh!” She sits up straight, pointing at me with a booming smile, and I fall back into my chair.

“I knew it! You have a cruuuuush,” she sing-songs through a laugh that has her arms wrapping around her stomach as she falls back into her chair.

I just sit there like a chump, waiting for her to get over it.

“That’ll do it, De Little. One more word from you and I’ll tell Matt about Daniel’s bullshit.”

She shuts up at her college nickname. “Ugh, you’re no fun.” She stomps out of my office and closes the door behind her. Just as it clicks shut, I press the space bar on my computer and the song cued up fills my office; “Go Fuck Yourself” by Two Feet.

I am closing out another late night in the office with my general ad hoc for my personal affairs, ending the call to my accountant and pouring myself a whiskey from the bar trolley in the corner of the office.

I could wait until I get home to drink from my more expensive collection, but I am dead on my feet.

I make my way over to the floor-to-ceiling window, flicking the light switch to dim as I go and then letting the lights of the city illuminate the space.

I raise the whiskey and drink, letting it coat its way down my throat, a warm and familiar burn, then pull out my phone.

Littered with messages; Estelle, Summer, Bouncy Brunette, Pops, Girl with Pink Hai—wait, Pops?

I open the message thread from my dad and briefly skim it, ignoring the immediate reaction. My palms sweat and I can feel the frown pulling down my brow.

Pops:

Are you bailing again this time?

It wouldn’t matter the level of my success, how I have outgrown everything he is and how he tried to raise me, disappointment is always there.

And maybe that’s what this feeling is that courses through me when I see his name: disappointment.

And perhaps a hell of a lot of resentment that he makes me feel this way.

I swipe out of the message, not bothering to respond, and click through the other messages.

Empty booty calls, as expected. Women who just want the benefits of the coin I spend on them and to ride on my dick for the short time we’re together, before it’s nothing but silence until they need another pick-me-up.

I guess I have no one to blame but myself, because after all, that’s exactly how I designed my life to be.

I lock my screen and flick my phone onto my desk, trying to ignore the unwelcomed hollowness it brings. This was deliberate. I should be happy—I am happy.

I’m about to swig the rest of the whiskey in one go, but I look down to the smooth brown liquid in the glass, and instead of seeing the drink, all I see are big almond eyes.

A warm brown with swirls of caramel, glinting with so much fire, sass, and beauty, I lose the air in my lungs again for a whole other plethora of reasons.

Because here I am alone, conflicted over women wanting nothing but my body when that’s all I asked for, all I was willing to give. I have let women down and broken hearts over never breaking this rule of mine. I won’t be tied to a woman, I won’t wreck my future and my life in that way.

But…

Then there is her.

Rosie.

And the idea of breaking my rule? Of wanting…

more? More of what , I haven’t got a goddamn clue, but looking at her, hearing her laugh, smelling her and that sweet spiciness, it agitates me again because I’m not wanting to run in the other direction.

I want an excuse to stay in her presence.

I leaped and asked for a date like a fucking moron, and as expected, I was shut down.

Normally I’d quit and rotate the roster—a guy can only stand so much rejection before his ego takes a hit.

I think I’m a pretty solid guy, and I’m not usually one to worry about a letdown by a woman.

I’m used to it, it’s standard, it’s expected; you can’t rely on them or trust them.

But… Rosie .

I heave a breath. Goddamnit.

I need to get out of here. It’s the darkness and the whiskey eating at me, stinging my chest and making my lungs feel tight. I throw back the drink, discard the glass on the trolley, and swipe my phone from my desk, flicking off a quick text and heading straight for Bozzelli’s.

Rosie

“So do you have any siblings?” Ugh. Small talk.

“Nope.” I pop the P and drink my martini, my eyes subtly scanning the bar before they make their way back to Kale. Kyle? Uhh, maybe it’s Kevin. Wait, fuck that, I’d never let a Kevin stick his eggplant anywhere near my palace. A stranger named Kevin; that’s catfishing 101.

Well, whoever he is, I’m over it. He can’t hold a fun conversation to save his life, and the man wouldn’t know flirting if it climbed on top of him and started riding his dick. I look back over my shoulder to the girls at the table I left them at and just turn and head back.

I thought I’d change it up tonight so that the sex pest wasn’t the last person I’d kissed and the only person I seem to dream about, but alas, the pickings are slim and my patience slimmer yet.

“No dice?” Addy asks on a chuckle.

“Nada. Couldn’t even force it if I tried.” I throw back the rest of the martini and gesture that I’m headed to the bar. “Another?”

“Yes! Please,” Casey replies, downing the last of her own drink as Addison does the same.

“Yeah, who needs clear heads for day jobs.”