Page 77 of Skins Game

KINGSTON MOORE

In the warmer air of mid-May, the Last Chance company jet landed at the John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana, California, at seven o’clock Monday morning, a red-eye flight in the wrong direction.

Kingston’s customary BMW rental was waiting for him on the other side of the airplane hangar, so he arrived at Sidewinder Golf HQ two hours later. Even wealth can’t solve the problem of SoCal traffic.

The first waves of regret didn’t hit Kingston until he had paced past the front admin’s desk with a cheery “Hello!” and was heading toward the elevator in the back of the building.

The last time he’d ridden in that elevator, he’d had Nicole in his arms and up against the wall, kissing the living daylights out of her.

He only had to go to the second floor, to the larger conference room for today’s pre-trade show meeting.

That slow elevator was crap.

Kingston turned right and headed for the stairwell.

Two flights of stairs joined each floor, and he was between floors when the metal fire door directly above him clanged shut and footfalls joined his on the staircase.

Sidewinder Golf had over fifty employees. The chance that the person up there was her was less than two percent. That was just statistics.

Kingston continued running the stairs, his leather-soled dress shoes tapping like eighth notes.

The footsteps above were light, delicate, and his heart sank just as Nicole turned the corner.

She stared down the stairs at him, her hands clutching both the handrails, her dark eyes full of shock.

Her presence was a gust of wind that blew back Kingston’s hair and stung his eyes.

“Hi,” he said.

Nicole spun, her ponytail on the back of her head whipping around her shoulder, and she fled up the stairs.

Kingston watched as she disappeared and waited for her to slam the door on the landing above before he resumed his trudge up the stairs.

Yes, running into Nicole Lamb was inevitable, but why did it have to be so damn soon?

He was quiet in the meeting, his mind returning to the shock in her dark eyes and furtive retreat. A few quick comments about sales figures and population dynamics kept him from being sullen, but his fingers, which had caressed Nicole’s hips and breasts, twined on the table in front of him.

32

The Downstairs Break Room

NICOLE LAMB

There were no Snickers in the lab techs’ break room, and Nicole wanted a darned Snickers bar.

It had been a long, really long day, and no matter what she did, the materials specs wouldn’t line up right. Just freakin’ frustrating.

Thus, a Snickers would soothe her soul.

Kingston Moore was in the building. The sales reps had had a trade show in Dallas the week before, and the orders taken had been astronomical. When Nicole had hunted through the company intranet to see which clubs were being ordered, Kingston had sold half of them.

Half.

He’d sold more than Meghan and Morgan put together.

That was crazypants.

Huh, maybe he really was a sales guy.