Play Smart: An Enemies to Lovers Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Work For It Book 5), page 3
“You didn’t get me a job. You sent me through a wormhole to Hell,” I say, strumming through the progression I’ve been working on. Even that cool variation on the 6 isn’t cutting it tonight. I play through the minor chord a few more times, hoping there’s magic in repetition. Nope. Still can’t erase images of swimming tree nuts.
Marcos snickers and drops to our armless armchair.
“You must have met Chad,” he says. “He was my intern opponent when I was there. Who’d you get?”
My gaze snaps to him in surprise. “Wait. Chad Smith?”
He nods.
“That’s my boss.”
Marcos’ eyes widen three sizes as his jaw drops. “No…” he whispers. He shakes his head as if he just lost the ability to comprehend words. That is, until he abruptly awakens all sleeping hellhounds with a burst of exuberant laughter. I’ve heard the word “chortle” before but never witnessed it until this moment.
“No… no way,” he gasps out. Yep, he’s legit laugh-crying. “I’m sorry, man—just… one sec.” He wipes his eyes, trying to catch his breath. “Oh my god. Does Eva know?”
“As in your girlfriend Eva who got me this job in the first place?”
He nods again.
“I don’t know, Marcos. Does she?” I clip out, returning to my music. Seems like something he would know. Probably did know when he hooked me up. I’m not buying any of this ignorance bullshit. Or a birthday present for him next month.
“Dude, I’m sorry,” he says, clearly trying to regain control. “I shouldn’t have laughed. I mean, having Chad as a boss… I can’t even… wait, is he still obsessed with nuts?”
I look over in surprise. “When you say nuts...”
“As in, actual nuts. When I was there he based his entire creative campaign around edible nuts. The dude was obsessed.”
I let out a breath, shaking my head. “Great. So, want to explain to me what the hell a Mer-Nut is?”
Wrong question.
Marcos loses his shit again, and I roll my eyes through another round of hilarity as I wait for my best friend to finish relishing in my misery.
“Wait… you’re…” He coughs and wipes his eyes again. “You’re telling me that stupid Mer-Nut campaign got greenlighted?”
My sardonic look tells him exactly that apparently, and he blows out a shaky exhale. “Shit, Nash. I swear, I had no idea Chad was going to be your boss. I just assumed it would be Eva like when I worked there.”
“Well, guess what. It’s not,” I say dryly.
Marcos is obviously trying to suppress his amusement. It does nothing to mitigate the situation.
“Who’s the other intern? Are they cool at least?”
I legit grunt as I start through the verse chords again. “Nope. Try a smarter, cuter version of Chad. So yeah, I guess the female equivalent of you.”
I sense his attention and look over to find a disturbing grin on my roommate’s face. Clearly, he heard something different than what I said.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs with an even wider smile, and my eyes narrow. “Nothing. Just, you kind of love me, so by the transitive property, that would mean you love her.”
I don’t know why I even asked. There wasn’t going to be an answer I would have liked.
“Um. No. Check your math. This girl is all the things I don’t like about you.”
Why is he still grinning like he knows something I don’t?
“Okay,” he says.
I arch a brow. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
I huff and turn back to my strings. Doesn’t he have important business shit to do? “I’m serious, dude. It goes both ways, trust me. Hell would freeze over before that woman would give me a second look. I’m everything she hates about everything.”
“You know what they say about opposites.”
“They end up killing each other? Wait, what are you doing?” I ask when he pulls out his phone.
“Texting Eva to find out what the hell is going on.”
“About Paige?” I ask in alarm.
Marcos crosses a triumphant look to me. “Paige, huh? So our corporate siren has a name.”
I make the executive decision to change the title of this song to “Ode to Roommates Thrown Out of Windows.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I mutter.
He snickers and settles back in his chair. “Speaking of ridiculous, did you meet Reed Reedweather yet? He try to get you to smoke a cigar and drink scotch at his desk?”
My gaze shoots to him again and maybe the slightest hint of a smile threatens my dark mood. That question shouldn’t have made any sense to me, and yet strangely, none of those words came as a surprise.
“No, but I might have convinced him to get his eyebrow pierced.”
Marcos smirks. “At least he can probably pronounce your name. Nash is pretty hard to screw up. He could never get mine down. Still hasn’t, even though I’ve been dating his daughter for over a month now.”
“Oh, you mean, Nash. El. Is? I keep picturing seashells every time he says my name for some reason.”
His eyes widen again, and yep. Cue the obnoxious merriment.
“Have I mentioned I hate you?” I mumble, turning away to pick through a lead line I’m thinking about for the intro. I’m definitely not asking him about the “bike boy” thing.
“Oh hey,” he interrupts a few seconds later. “Good news. Eva says not to worry. They’re pivoting tomorrow.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Pivoting? What’s that? It doesn’t sound good.”
He grins. “It is. Unless you were really looking forward to immersing yourself in Mer-Nuts for the next two months.”
Lottery players everywhere, take note. I did show up the next day. Mostly because Marcos told me he’d kick my ass if I embarrassed his girlfriend by quitting on day one and Nate said he’d join him because I’m already three months behind on my portion of the bills.
Besides, I’m dying to know what “pivoting” is.
It doesn’t take long to find out when I approach my workspace and see Paige seated at her side of our conjoined desks with a stiff back and a grave expression. I’m thinking she just found a crease her iron missed, until I hear the heated voices coming from Chad’s office.
“They’re mine! I trained them!” he hisses.
“They’re not yours. This isn’t a dodgeball team,” Eva replies in a bored tone. “Besides, you wasted an entire morning teaching MBA grads how to use a toilet.”
“It was one chapter!”
“No one over the age of three should need any training on flushing, Chad.”
“Well, it makes that loud noise and can splash on your pants if you’re not careful!”
“None of that changes my previous statement. Also, you can stop yelling.”
“Besides, pretty sure that Nash guy isn’t MBA material,” Chad grunts.
I’m strangely flattered by that.
“Yeah? Pretty sure he’s still qualified to use a toilet.”
“I’m going straight to Reedweather.”
“Please do. Actually, while you’re there, let him know I finally got the budget from Sandeke Telecom and I’ll be pulling Nash and Paige off the Mer-Nut campaign to put them on the band partnership project.”
Band partnership? Okay, now she has my attention.
“This isn’t right! You know how hard I worked on that proposal. It’s what got me this job!”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t brag about that if I were you.”
Two seconds later, Chad huffs away from his own office, his light blue polo shirt flapping in the wind as he storms by. I noticed yesterday how the sleeves of his shirts seem unusually wide while the waist is unusually tight. It’s like he asked the tailor to make his clothes fit as awkwardly as possible.
Paige and I watch him disappear toward the bathrooms he so loves before turning back to find Eva hovering in front of us. Her gaze passes over me briefly in recognition before she resumes her professional demeanor. You’d never know I just saw her in her sweats making out with my roommate three days ago. Marcos always says she’s a badass in the office, so I’m not surprised. Paige looks like she’s ready to make out with her as well.
Wait.
I shake my head to force away the inappropriate image.
Well, maybe just tuck it away for later.
“Nash?”
I blink up at Eva who’s giving me an impatient look. Paige is looking plenty glib with her laptop and weird binder clenched under her arm.
“You coming?”
“Oh. Right.” I push my chair back and get up as well.
Eva hesitates when I start toward them and directs her gaze to my desk in an obvious message. Shit, my laptop. I pull it from the charger and then grab the handle of my messenger bag that has my personal computer. Eva looks surprised that I have anything besides that one broken pen I brought yesterday. She clearly doesn’t understand what I’m willing to do for top-of-the-line recording equipment.
“This way, please,” she says, waving us behind her.
We follow her through the maze of cubicles and desks, past the Accounting Department, through the Copy Department, and around some dude who definitely just minimized an active game of solitaire. I can’t tell which department he is because he doesn’t have a smarmy “World’s Best Whatever” mug on his desk identifying it.
We finally reach another office similar to Chad’s, and she motions us inside. After closing the door, she waves us toward a table by the wall. We’ve just taken our seats when we’re interrupted by a loud knock.
“Excuse me,” she says, crossing back to answer the door.
I’ve never seen a human deflate the way this one does when she pulls the handle.
“Eva,” a familiar voice says in a low, solemn tone. “May we join you?”
She sighs and steps back, and even Paige frowns when Mr. Reedweather and Chad enter the office like we’ve been impatiently awaiting their arrival.
“I brought Chad up-to-speed on the Redwood campaign, so he’s ready to take point on that.”
Redwood campaign? Is that in the “band” or “nut” category? Could go either way.
Eva pales, her gaze settling on the two men in what I can only describe as alarm.
“Actually, I was thinking it’d be best if Chad focused on his… Mer-Nuts… while Nash and Paige worked on the band partnership campaign. And remember, we’re not calling it the Redburn campaign. This has nothing to do with them.”
Redburn? What the…? Now I’m really confused and glance around for hidden cameras. Do they know I’m buying Redburn’s equipment? Wait. I vaguely remember something about this from a few weeks ago when Marcos and Eva were pestering me to hook them up with my friends Abram and Kaitlyn. It had something to do with…
Fu-uck.
Corporate espionage!
Please tell me that shit isn’t still going on and that’s why I’m here. If these people think I’m using my connections to help them be cheating douchebags, they’re in for a rude awakening. When Eva crosses her gaze to me, my heart rate picks up. Marcos is so getting a pop in the jaw tonight. Wait, um, a kick to the groin. Much safer for my hands.
“Right, right. Of course,” Reedweather says, waving her off. He starts toward the table and pulls out a chair. “Except not, because I want him on this project instead.”
Chad shoots his hand in the air, and I think he’s swatting an invisible wasp until Reedweather points at him. “Yes, my boy?”
“We could combine both into one super campaign!”
All life drains from Eva’s body. “I don’t think—”
“Well! What a fantastic idea,” Reedweather says. “Such an excellent example of Fused Amalgamating, as they say.”
Fused Amalgamating? Whoever “they” are shouldn’t be in charge of saying things. In related news, Eva seems to have less enthusiasm for amalgamating when it involves fictional ocean communities.
Her gaze crashes into mine, pleading, but I’m not sure what she wants me to do. Trust me, her boyfriend’s strategic business genius did not rub off on me. I rock spreadsheets and reports about as well as Marcos adjusts the EQ on a keyboard plugin. To clarify, that’s a step above “I don’t even know what that means.”
But she’s persistent, and despite previous grumbling, I happen to kind of love her boyfriend like a brother, so…
“Can Mer-Nuts sing and play instruments?” I ask. “I mean, there’s the terrible underwater acoustics issue and… lack… of… arms,” I explain when Eva’s eyes widen in silent reproach.
I shrug. Seem like valid arguments to me. Are there rules for Mer-Nut debates? Chad and Reedweather must agree when the excitement leeches from their faces.
“Excellent point, my young friend,” Reedweather says in a grave tone. “Perhaps—”
“Whales sing!” Chad interrupts. “Dolphins too!”
“Do they, though?” I ask, tilting my head.
“Yes! They do that sonar whining thing!” He shoots a look to Reedweather, who nods with all the confidence of the marine biologist he clearly is.
“So… we’re thinking the way to sell our internet service is through blasting consumers with… sonar whining?” Paige asks slowly.
Her gaze brushes mine with a flash of understanding and possibly… encouragement? Hang on, are we actually vibing right now? Also, how is that scenario harder for me to accept than singing Mer-Nuts?
Two days in, and this place has already effed me up beyond repair.
“Another excellent point, my dear,” Reedweather muses, even adding a dramatic chin stroke. I don’t miss how Paige tenses at the patronizing address. It kind of makes me want to stroke our boss’ chin with my fist on her behalf.
Because that’s not patronizing.
Whatever. I’d do it anyway.
“Paige is right,” I say. “I’ve been a musician most of my life, and I’m almost positive the market for sonar whining is non-existent outside of the marine wildlife community.”
Chad perks up. “We could—”
“No,” Eva snaps, staring him down. “We are not recognizing marine biologists as a consumer subset just so swimming peanuts get their day in the sun.”
“They’d die in the sun,” Chad mumbles, glowering at the floor.
Reedweather smacks his palms on the table, drawing this unnecessary argument to a long-overdue end. “Great! Then it’s settled. Best of luck to you all!” He offers a broad, encouraging grin before pushing up from his chair and crossing to the door. “My dream team,” he adds, twisting on his heels to finger-gun each of us.
Hold up. Is that pivoting? Can’t be…
Business shit is so confusing.
4—SMOLDERING
PAIGE
His leg keeps brushing mine. His arm too as our chairs inch closer and closer for some reason. He also taps a pen on his full lower lip when he’s thinking which may or may not be kind of hot. Okay, very hot because it turns out Nash is as intelligent and gifted as I suspected. Just, not in a way that was remotely helpful until now.
I could kick some universe ass for miring us in the one project that requires all of his expertise and none of mine. How the hell am I sitting at a particle board desk watching this guy own the planning meeting? The worst part, every annoying thing about him is turning me on. I clamp my legs together like that’s suddenly going to make him not smell like a sexy temperate rainforest and look like the freaking Greek god of irresistible bad boys. He’s even wearing a tighter t-shirt today, and let’s just say his previous plaid button-down wasn’t because he had anything to hide. The boy is… achingly beautiful. Also, exasperating. Exasperatingly beautiful.
“For the hundredth time, Tek Tonik is not an option,” he says, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. I’ve seen a lot of that too. It’s a known symptom of working in close proximity with Chad Smith.
“They’d be perfect for this,” Chad continues, completely ignoring any voice that isn’t his. “Huge name, international appeal—”
“We don’t even offer this service internationally. Warp Speed is only available in U.S. metropolitan regions,” I point out, if only to keep the two men from going to blows. I don’t think my girl parts could handle watching Nash dominate in a street fight right now. Unless… would he take his shirt off to fight? Strictly a logistical consideration.
“And Tek Tonik is not a band,” Nash repeats for what I count as… yep, he’s right. The hundredth time.
“So how were they playing my cousin’s wedding?”
Does incompetence explode brain cells? We’re about to find out as I hold in my snort while Nash holds in his desire to punch our boss. I reach over and place a soothing hand on his knee before he ends up in jail. Except… crap.
Nash flinches at the contact, his gaze shooting to mine in surprise. Sparks rip through me when his frustration morphs into a different kind of heat. The way he shifts closer makes it clear he felt that surge of electricity too. That he enjoyed it. The side of his thigh is now completely fused to mine, triggering invisible, forbidden currents neither of us seem urgent to tame. I pull my hand away with a protective eye-roll, but the haughty smile lingers on his lips.
Fine. You’re freaking gorgeous. Can we move on?
“I guarantee he wasn’t playing your cousin’s wedding,” Nash says to Chad, while still looking at me. Probing me. Exploring and daring me to… what? Smack him? Sure. I’m game.
Focus, Paige.
But now my blood seems to think a corporate office is the appropriate place to throb in inconvenient body parts. Where is his pooling right now? He taps his pen as his gaze drops to my chest which means… he’s concentrating. Hard.
Gah!
“I have video!” Chad argues, drawing us back to reality. Thank the heavens for Chad.
(Well, there’s a phrase for the record book of firsts.)
Nash finally seems to refocus as well and directs his attention to safer targets. “I don’t doubt you have video of a wedding cover band playing some of Tek Tonik’s catalog. He’s an elite producer and DJ with credits on half the dance tracks blowing up the clubs right now. But I’m telling you, your friend Kyle is not going to hook us up with a dude who could build a house out of his platinum records.”
