S H A D E S

Man Candy

"That's not going to work for me," I tapped my pen against the edge of my desk, then circled large areas of the financial spreadsheet in ruthless red. "These numbers are unacceptable. You've got to come back to the table with something better than this, Herb."

Herbert Miller, Iconic's corporate controller and Sr. VP of Finance shifted uncomfortably. Flabby and fleshy fingers tugging anxiously against the knot of his tie. "I've tried to work within the projected budgets," he argued, "but the Directors are pushing hard against cutbacks."

"Leave them to me," I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose, "do what you can to rein this back in. I want to see your revised figures in the morning."

A finger pushed at the bridge of his glasses, fixing them back in place over a wide, bulbous nose perched over pinched lips. "Sure."

As he left, I set a hand to my neck, rolled my head on my shoulders and winced. I was wound tight as a drum and wanted nothing more than an hour to soak in a hot bath, but my day was young. A weekend of wild and wicked playing with Tristan had lead to a couple of kinks in a few undesirable locations. Sharing a bed with him had taken a bit of a adjusting to, as well.

The sound of heavy breathing, the press of another body, the tangle of arms and legs...were all things I wasn't accustomed to.

I'd slept with men and shared a bed for a few nights, here and there, especially while in a relationship, but I hadn't realized just how much I'd kept to myself. I'd never 'lived' with anyone, at least not completely. We'd always had our respective places and spent almost as much time apart as we did together, but this agreement with Shade eliminated that entirely. When we weren't at his place, we would be at mine.

Starting tonight, in fact.

Herb was barely out the door before my assistant Paul popped in.

"Morning, Ms. Pierce," he sang, flopping in the seat Herb had just vacated. "You're glowing."

"Am I?" I pushed a wayward wisp of hair behind my ear, smoothing a hand over the coiled French twist.

Paul pursed knowing lips, crossed a leg. "You got laid."

"Excuse me?"

"You got laid," he repeated, entirely unabashed.

"I don't see how you could possibly know whether or not—"

"Sex does wonders for the skin, Ms. Peirce, and yours hasn't looked dewy since Anthony. Although, he didn't make you look this good. So whoever you've got now must be working some serious magic."

"Paul," I said, drawing on my warning tone instead of laughing the way I was on the inside. "I am not discussing my sex-life with you. You're paid to assist, so," I waved a hand at him, "assist."

"Cool. Calendar?"

"Yes." I attempted to settle into my chair when my back twinged mutinously forcing me straight as a flagpole. Well, I thought miserably, if I had to be uncomfortable, at least I was going to have impeccable posture.

"You've got five meetings today," Paul continued after taking a second to smother his smirk. "The boys from Cassels Brock and Blackwell will be here in a half hour to discuss the Alloy Corp matter."

"Hm," I nodded, reaching for my Starbucks, cold at this point, but I didn't give a damn. Coffee was coffee, cold or otherwise. Removing the lid, I gulped down whatever was left. "Good. And did you get a hold of Tim from Apollo Corp?"

"Yes," Paul continued, running his pen down the length of his notebook. "His assistant, Becky, confirmed that he can bump down to one thirty, that leaves your eleven wide open, as you'd requested, giving you a buffer before your lunch meeting with Kathleen Singh at twelve thirty."