Writerly Things

The photo collage for BARELY THERE

   CHAPTER 1

 
    "I hate that man with the passion of a thousand vomiting volcanoes.” Delaney Dupree slammed the door of her office closed, the glass panels enclosing her space vibrating from the abuse.  She rounded her desk and collapsed into her chair, only to bolt upright again and pace back and forth, covering the ten feet of office every five seconds, the spikes of her heels leaving satisfying dents in the carpet, her body aching to burn pent up frustrations only to be further irritated by the confining space.

“He is, hands down, the most obnoxious, most arrogant, most—“ She paused, standing in the middle of her office with her hands stretched out in front of her, her fists shaking as she searched for the all-encompassing word to describe Mitch Parker, the bane of her existence. “Most man I have ever have the dishonor of knowing.”

     “I hate when your voice drops from Screeching Wildcat to Whispering Predator. It worries me. Hugely.”  Jodi Todd, her best friend and co-worker, wiggled through the manic pacing and perched on the edge of Delaney’s desk, totally and completely unfazed. “It makes me think you’re plotting horrible things, which confuses my emotions. I don’t know if I should be worried or amazed, if I want to hear the ideas and dance with you in your gleeful hatred, or ya know, not know a thing so I can use the excuse of ‘plausible deniability’ when his body is found.”

     Delaney laughed. Jodi flashed her knowing grin and Delaney finally plopped down in her chair, the adrenaline rush over. Her head ached, her palms itched, and revenge bubbled to the surface.

     “Jodi, he has to be reminded of his place on the totem pole.” She grabbed a pen off the blotter and resumed gnawing the end of it, the poor plastic already twisted to the point that the cap would never fit again, assuming she ever found the cap. Jodi shifted to sit across from her, her butt moving from the sharp edge of the desk to the cheap stuffing of the visitor chair.

     “His place right now is at the top of said totem pole,” Jodi reminder her as she smoothed her immaculate black skirt into place. “And that is what has you so wired.”

     “No.” She raised her hand to stop Jodi, who had already opened her mouth to debate the no she’d just uttered. “I mean, yes, he is, but that’s not what I mean.”

“Do tell.” Jodi crossed her arms and tilted her head, the sleek bob cut of her blonde hair also immaculate. Jodi had a lot of immaculate going on. Good thing she was on Delaney’s team or Delaney would have to hate her on general principle.

“That was my idea he just pitched.”  Delaney leaned forward, her arms resting on the desk blotter covered with notes and doodles and ideas. “I’m not kidding either. He stole my idea for Cutting Edge Lingerie.”

     “God, Dee, that’s a big accusation.” Jodi turned her head from side to side, looking out in all directions around the glass panels, her blue eyes widening at the idea of anyone else overhearing such allegations despite the see-through walls and closed door. “I don’t remember hearing you even having an idea for lingerie, much less tossed out at any of the meetings.” She lowered her voice even further, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees, erasing some of the space between them as all good conspirators of corporate espionage are prone to do. “So how’d he steal it?”

     Delaney sighed and pressed her palms into her eye sockets, taking careful note not to smear her mascara yet willing to suffer the damage if her head would just clear. There was no way she would voice how Mitch knew her idea. No way in hell. She felt stupid just to think it, much less give it voice. And when you speak something aloud, there’s no taking it back. She wasn’t sure she wanted to cross that unforgiving line, at least not yet. Even with Jodi.

     “Are you still dreaming about him?” Jodi asked.

    Delaney’s head jerked up. “No.” Since when did Jodi learn mind-reading? Totally unfair.

     “Liar.”

     Delaney glared.

     Jodi smirked. “Try it with someone who can’t read you like a kids’ picture book, Dee.”

     Delaney sighed and slumped back in her chair and wished like anything this was her mother. She could easily lie to her mother. Not proud of that fact, but hey, there it was. Jodi, on the other hand, really did read her way too well. Evil twins separated at birth. Or so the office rumor mill believed.

     “Well?” Jodi prompted, eager to hear the newest dream and live ever so vicariously through Dee’s midnight romps of smut and satisfaction, the panic of eavesdroppers over pirated pitches forgotten immediately for something much more enthralling. “Share, dammit!”

     “I hate you.”

     “I know. Spill it.”

     Delaney took a deep breath, held it until her lungs burned, then pushed it out all at once. “There was dancing. A bonfire. A picnic on the darkened beach.”

     Jodi made a sound of disgust. “Yeah, okay, skip to the juicy parts. And by juicy, I mean dripping juice from a peeling orange kind of juice.”

     Delaney made a face. “Nice visual.”

     “Thanks. It’s what I do. Stop delaying.”

     “Ugh. Fine.”  She stood and walked to the window, loving her view of downtown Dallas. She crossed her arms, remembering. Remembering his tenderness, this man who she hated to the core of her being so different in her dreams, being the man she wished she found instead of the nightmare down the hall. Remembering how his kisses literally stole her breath from her body. “There really was a bonfire, and it was a beach. And we were laughing and talking and kissing, blah blah blah, and as he removed my clothes, he commented on my underwear.”

     “You wore underwear to the beach?’

     Delaney turned from the window. “Whatever. It’s a dream. Dreams are stupid like that. I’m just glad the priest from Catholic school wasn’t lurking on a boat offshore, okay?”

     “Kinky.” Jodi pondered that for a minute then said, “So, underwear?”

    Delaney’s brows furrowed as she recalled the sequence of events. “Yeah. And the set wasn’t like anything I really own. I guess my brain created it. I don’t know. Instead of the usual demi-bra and thongs—“

     “Whoa...you wear thongs?”

     “No, but stay on topic.”

     “Right. Sorry. Go on.” Jodi made an odd face of disbelief before burying her mouth in her coffee cup as Delaney glared harder.

     “So I had on these really cute boyshorts, and the bra was more coverage than a regular bra, almost corset-styled down my ribs, but not quite that extreme. And the boyshorts had the corseting ribbons down the outer sides, matching it, making me feel sexier even though I was covered more than normal.” Delaney ground her teeth together, remembering more details than she really wanted to, his whispers of praise than turned to groans of need and finally growling demands. And afterward, the soft touches, the shared secrets, the tender kisses against her hair.

     “Damn. That sounds incredibly hot.” Jodi paused, then jerked her head up and stared at Delaney. “And familiar.”

     Delaney nodded. It was. It was so erotic looking that she’d stopped Mitch in her dream to comment about it. And today, less than 12 hours since the dream, he’d pitched it to the boss. And the boss flippin’ loved it.

     So had Delaney when she’d told him how it made her feel: empowered, erotic, energized. In the dream.

     “So.” Jodi stood up and walked to the window to face Delaney, who was more than content to stare at the Dallas scenery than face her reality because reality suddenly seemed like a far, far away concept. “Mitch somehow logged into your dreams last night, got your idea, and pitched it out from under you?”

Delaney turned and looked at her best friend and slowly nodded. “Yeah.”

     Well, sort of. She hadn’t thought to pitch it because she hadn’t known Cutting Edge was seeking new reps, so she’d done nothing with it but simply thought it. But the premise was the same: she’d dreamed it, voiced it during said dream, and Mitch basically took it and combined it with his knowledge of Cutting Edge he somehow had and flung her under the bus. That empty junior vice presidency seat she’d coveted now seemed destined for Mitch Parker, the dumb womanizer.

     “He said he could have the storyboards ready almost immediately.”

     “Yeah.” We sat through the same meeting, Jo, she thought, but didn’t voice it. No reason to take her anger out on someone trying to help.

     “He’s hoping to pitch it to the client next Friday. A week from tomorrow.”

     “Yeah. Thanks. Didn’t realize that.” Okay, so some irritation leaked through her loose lips. It’d been a bad day.

Jodi tilted her head back in exasperation. “Sarcasm isn’t going to help. You have to steal it back!”

     “Oh right!” Delaney ran a hand through her hair, trying to think, her fingers jerking through tangles as she paced her office again. “There is nothing I can say now that won’t sound like I’m stealing from him.”

     Jodi stopped her mid-stride, her fingers digging into Delaney’s upper arms, determination etched on her usually angelic features. “Then get him to admit it was yours.”

     Delaney laughed. “Yeah, because Mitch the Bitch would absolutely shoot himself in the foot to do the honorable thing? Mitch? C’mon, Jo, you know better.” Mitch was everything she despised in human nature: determination at the cost of anything, at anyone. Selfish to the point of obnoxious. Charming to the point of peeling your panties off in a dream at sunset. Beautiful enough to make the women of the world take a number from the ticket-machine just to have a chance to experience him. He could kiss up the boss and have clients eat out of the palm of his hands. So how, exactly, could little Delaney Dupree get Big Bad Mitch to admit he stole her idea, and from a dream, no less. The idea was impossible and downright laughable.

     “It was a dream, Jo. Coincidence.”

     Jodi shook her. “You’ve been having these dreams for weeks now, and they’re bleeding over to your real life, affecting your job. You have to do something.”

     Delaney was nodding before Jodi finished. She was right. It was time to figure out what was going on and stop it, one way or another, regardless of how deliciously delightful he was in her nightly romps. She would make him see that he somehow took her idea from a dream – ugh, that was so beyond the realm of possibility – and even more improbable than that monumental task, she had to make him admit it.

     Laughter echoed down the hall and they both turned to look out the glass panel just in time to see Mitch and Mr. St. James, their boss, walking past the secretarial cubicles toward the elevator. Jodi released Delaney’s arms and both of them stood there, watching him while the conversation they’d had settled over them like a moth-eaten, suffocating blanket and Delaney remembered who he was last night, in the dream, the man who made her laugh, made her safe to let go completely, to whom she bared her soul, the tenderness, the protectiveness of his arms around her. The incredible, mind-altering, bed-quaking sex that somehow left her satisfied yet longing for more every damn morning.

     Mitch turned as the elevator doors started to slide shut. Their eyes met and for a moment she thought she saw something other than Obnoxious Mitch the Bitch in his silver eyes. Then he winked and did his everyone-loves-me million dollar grins at her and she flung the pen in her hand at the glass wall of her office as he threw back his head and laughed.

     “Tonight, he’s going down.” Delaney’s blood boiled, revenge coursing through her veins.

     Jodi coughed. “I thought he did that last night.”

     “I didn’t mean that, but yeah, maybe so. And while he lies there in a sticky happy man-mess, I’ll make him gargle his own bloody testicles.”

     “Ouch. Too bad dreams don’t come with DVR.”