The Slot (Rochester Riot #1)(3)
Once a jock, always a jock.
Even hope of a friendship had already been trampled by her habitual, know-it-all attitude that she just couldn’t help spewing forth like an errant geyser.
Her mother would be so proud. Not. She could almost hear her mother’s words, dripping with censure and dashed hopes of cute grandchildren as she chastised Eloise for putting work before love. Before everything.
“Thank you for a lovely dinner,” she said, “and the ride.”
“No problem,” he answered, sounding laid-back and aloof. Pouting. Eloise added that to the long list of things she didn’t like about him.
“Goodnight,” she said, grasping the door handle, fully intending to tumble out of the car under her own power.
“Wait a sec,” he said, jumping out of the driver’s side.
Eloise didn’t wait. She opened the door and stepped out onto the curb. He arrived on the passenger side of the car just in time to see her close the door and head for the steps leading to her building. He took her by the elbow and escorted her up the stairs.
“I’ll be fine. I don’t need human GPS to find my way to my own door, thanks.” It was nice to see a little chivalry, misplaced as it might be. His tall, confident body felt good to hold onto, and he looked damn good in a suit. She couldn’t help but picture him in his jock, dumping water over his sweaty head after a hockey game. Too bad she didn’t really want to take a bite of the yummy image knowing it would have a bitter aftertaste.
They reached the landing, and he let go of her arm. “Thanks again,” she said, flashing the polite, PR smile she’d perfected. Ryder smiled back, not so politely. His grin had “invite me in” all over it. “I had a great time. See you at the office.”
His grin grew wider. “I’m not convinced you had such a great time. Let me make it up to you.” He took a step closer. “I’ll bet you have some really nice wine up there.” His eyes flicked upward to the floors above them. “And music.”
Eloise winced inwardly. This is going to be awkward. “All out of wine, sorry. And I doubt you’d care for my taste in music.”
She narrowed her eyes as she imagined him saying, I doubt it. The only music of yours that I want to hear are your screams of pleasure as I drill you. It was almost like she could read his baser thoughts as Ryder moved in closer and reached over to fondle a lock of chestnut brown hair that draped over the shoulders of her coat. “Well, like most things, you never know until you try,” he said, his voice lowering to a suggestive whisper. “And I’m sure we could make do without the wine.”
“You want to come up?” she asked. He smiled full-on this time, the effect like a brilliant sunrise. Wow, Ryder Martin was hot as hell. Why did all the good-looking men have to be douche bags? She felt even shorter than her own five-foot-three as he towered over her, staring down at the valley between her full breasts. She knew she should have opted for a turtle neck.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah, baby, I do.” His hand dropped from her hair to her sleeve, rubbing her arm suggestively.
Eloise sighed and shook her head. “That was a question, not an invitation. I can’t believe what you just said, and the way you said it.”
Ryder straightened and pulled back, a look of surprise on his face. “Aw, c’mon, El. We’re friends, aren’t we? What’s a little… friendliness… between friends, huh? We just ate a two-hundred-dollar dinner. I deserve a little more than thanks for that, don’t I?”
Oh, that’s it. This ice monkey is going down to Chinatown.
Eloise’s eyes narrowed as she pushed his arm away and started digging through her purse. “Ryder Martin, how dare you! You are a presumptuous, unenlightened, self-pitying, overgrown high school jock with all the romantic finesse of a baboon scratching its ass. We may have to work together, but I don’t have to like it. Or you. Goodnight.”
Before he could open his mouth again, she thrust a hundred-dollar bill at him before bolting inside and swiping her card key in the inner door lock. She stalked to the elevators without a backward glance. When she reached her unit, she slammed the door shut and leaned against it, tears streaming down her face.
“I knew it, I knew it,” she said aloud as she stomped her stiletto into her hand-scraped mahogany floors. “I knew better than to accept a dinner invitation from a guy from the office. How stupid can I be?”
She’d come too far in her career to let it be ruined by one stupid mistake. What was she thinking by going out with Ryder? It could only end in disaster. Getting involved with a co-worker was the biggest no-no in the book, and she’d let a pretty face and a ripped body turn her head. Well, never again. Her job was too important to risk on romance. It might be difficult, but she was enough of a professional to be able to work with the man, in spite of what just happened. She only hoped Ryder could do the same. If Mr. Murphy found out, it could spell pink slip for both of them.
Chapter Two
“Oh, damn it,” Eloise cursed as she hit the brakes. She knew she should have taken a different route to the TV station, but it was too late now. The construction zone where Sheehan’s whiskey bar was going up alongside Rochester Arena had traffic jammed up both in front and behind her with no escape route. As the line of cars inched ahead, she could see the holdup. A group of people were on the street, waving and shouting, some carrying placards as though they were on strike.