Page 5 of Play for Power (Central Sparks #3)

“Get drunk. Anyone worthy? Maybe you can use it as a night of conquest.”

“Ha!” If only she knew. “Not in the slightest, I’m afraid.”

“A shame.” She hums as we direct ourselves back to the escalators.

“A true shame.” But she hasn’t the tiniest idea, the true shame wrapped up in all of this.

“All right, next. Rosie, you mentioned a new pitch, is it ready?” Chris tosses my way, not making eye contact. The poor guy, I think I’ve made him squirm so many times in past meetings he now tries to avoid looking at me altogether.

“Just need another week, Chris. I’ll have it ready for you by the next meeting,” I toss back, never once dropping my confidence.

“Rosie, you haven’t pitched in a month.” Well thanks, Captain Obvious.

“‘Perfection is attained by slow degrees; it requires the hand of time.’” I hear Halle and Jasper choke on their laugh as they try to remain stoic and silent, while blushing Chris finally makes eye contact and looks thoroughly chastised as I quote the prolific writer Voltaire .

“Right, well next week then.” He turns to address the room, “HR is making announcements the following week.” I don’t miss the timing on that statement, or the almost pleased look Dick-bag Daniel throws my way from across the table. I roll my entire soul along with my eyes.

The meeting wraps up and we file out back to our desks, and strangely, we all manage to knuckle down and get an ample amount of work done. I get so lost in my latest edit that I hadn’t realized most of the office had emptied and it was almost dark out.

“Shit.” I pull out my phone to a string of messages.

23A Sluts

Addy:

You on your way Rosie?

Casey:

Ordered you an espresso, see you soon!

I completely forgot that we were all meeting at Bozzelli’s.

We hijacked the boy’s usual catch-up this week and moved it to Bozzelli’s.

There was some sporting game with a finals event…

or something, so Pucks was going to be full of meatheads.

The guys weren’t impressed, but thankfully Addison and Casey wear the pants in their respective relationships, so when they say jump, those little pussies say, How high?

I flick a confirmation text back and quickly pack up my desk. Halle and Jasper are still hunkered down at their desks too.

“Right, I’m out of here. Don’t stay too late. Put your back out for orgasms, not the patriarchy.” I tap Halle on the shoulder as I exit and hear their answering snickers as they go back to work.

Thankfully, Lucas’s bar was on the same block as my work building, so it is only a quick walk, meaning I can obtain some relatively fresh air before I seclude myself inside again.

The streets hum with traffic and the sense that everyone has somewhere extremely important to be as the sun sets over the buildings and that dusk spring breeze tosses my curls around.

“Rosebud!”

Ugh. “Pest. How lovely.”

“Don’t get too excited now.” Of course Caleb has managed to arrive out the front at the same time as me. “The night is only young.”

“Please tell me you’re not so pathetic that you were waiting out the front for me?” I breathe in exasperation. Giving him barely a glance, I continue to stroll past him and into the bar. I hear his quick steps as he jogs to catch up and walks in pace with me.

“You’re not that special, I’m afraid. Just excellent timing on my part.

” His cool, easy charm flows, like not a thing in the world could ruffle those feathers.

Perhaps that’s why I never disliked his company as much as I pretended to.

Attempting to get under his skin and playing this snarky back-and-forth was actually fun.

It was a distraction from my crappy days, and not to mention, extremely entertaining.

We settle into our table, everyone already here and with a drink. “Where’s Stella?” I ask across to Lucas, who I think is her closest friend…I still haven’t quite nailed her down yet.

She kind of merged with the group about a year ago, when she started working for our friend Lucas as the front-of-house manager at the bar where we’re currently sitting.

I’ve seen and spoken to her sporadically on my nights out.

There is something hollow about her that always has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

Not in a way that makes me think I should be worried about her, more like worried for her.

Some kind of instinct. Like I need to be on.

Ready to grab her, and duck and run at a moment’s notice.

Which is strange, because she also looks like the kind of woman who murders people in their sleep… while smiling.

“Stell is working tonight, you’ll see her around.”

“Drinks?” Caleb asks as he takes the seat next to me. Bold.

I throw him a displeased look over my shoulder, which just makes him grin wider.

“You worried you won’t keep your paws off me if I sit too close?” Good lord, he is insufferable.

“I’ll grab the drinks,” I groan. I don’t wait for their orders because, after all this time, I know them like the back of my hand, and I don’t care if they already have their drinks, nothing wrong with being double-parked.

“I’ll join you.” Caleb sighs next to me.

“You really don’t need to.”

“C’mon, what’s a little company among friends.” I couldn’t stop the eye roll if I tried. “So, what games are we playing tonight?” Good God, he sounds like a kid on Christmas morning.

“No games, pest. I just want to have a drink, go home, chat with Viv, and go to sleep.”

“Who’s Viv?”

When we get to the bar, I rest my arms on the top, turning to give Caleb my biggest shit-eating grin. It takes a moment, his body facing me as he leans an elbow on the bar top, tilting his head in confusion before it finally clicks in place.

“You…you named your vibrator Vivienne?!” His face lights up with mirth, standing straighter his eyes bounce between mine, looking for confirmation, but all I can get out is a chuckle and a somewhat innocent lift of my shoulders.

“Wait…” He starts proper chuckling, which is making me nervous. “Hang on… you , oh my god,” he ends on a whisper, his hand covering his mouth. His face looks like he just discovered the greatest secret of all time.

“Relax. It’s just a vibrator. Everyone names their vibrator.” I wave him off, looking toward the bartender to flag his attention.

“Yeah, but…it’s not every day that you find a girl who names her vibrator…you know what, never mind.” He shakes his head, still chuckling to himself. I turn to face him fully, narrowing my eyes and trying to work out what the hell he isn’t telling me.

“What can I get you?” Saved by the bartender, Mr. Smith.

I rattle off our order and he disappears to make them.

“C’mon, seriously. Play with me?”

“Honestly, could you not find any better way to phrase that question?” I look up at him and he smiles prettily back at me.

Sure, it’s kind of weird that the word pretty and a guy go together, but it just does for Caleb.

I couldn’t shake the guy, he’s like a hound stuck on a scent, but at least he’s super pretty to look at.

His dusty-blond hair that’s perfectly styled, his always-perfectly-pressed suit, his deep blue eyes, so blue they could almost be purple, and wide smile that always…

always makes the corners of my lips lift, even if just a fraction. Like the joy he exudes is contagious.

“I’m bored. All of our friends are coupled up.”

“I’m not sleeping with you again,” I remind him, for the millionth time.

“While I counter that there would be less sleeping, more fucking…you’ve made the absence of any future hanky-panky perfectly clear.” He rolls his eyes at me, slumping back into the bar. I take a moment to analyze him.

“So, what do you get out of us playing a game?” He just smiles wider.

“Entertainment. Maybe we could change it in a way we both win. Oh, I know.” He stands up straighter, his eyebrows almost hitting his hairline as his excitement explodes.

I wish I could be exasperated by him. I’d even take annoyed or frustrated.

But instead, I feel an energy pulse through my veins and I find myself fighting a smile to match his energy.

“How about we use our game to help pick up. You know, like wingman-woman each other. A quid pro quo, if you will.” Hmm, interesting…

I sit on the offer, my eyes not able to leave his lit-up smile and sparkling eyes. But before I can question further, the bartender places our drinks down and interrupts, “Here you go.” When I toss over my card, he shakes his head. “Taken care of.”

“What?” The bartender gestures to the opposite end of the bar, and I move my attention to follow the direction.

Caleb whistles from next to me. “Man is confident. He just bought a fleet of drinks for a woman at a bar who is standing next to a guy.” He says it low, just for me, and I feel his body heat as he steps closer. “I could be your husband for all he knows.” That statement makes me laugh.

“Relax, he’s just trying to boost his own ego.” I eye the man across the bar and I pin him in seconds. “Divorced, mid-forties, works in a bank…I’d say mid-level management.”

Caleb snickers, but I throw an unimpressed look at Mr. Fat Wallet before turning my back on him. I wasn’t interested, unfortunately, just a little too old for my tastes.

“And you know that how?” Caleb queries with an undertone of speculation. I give him a bored look in response and we each share the responsibilities of grabbing the drinks and heading for the table.