Tempting Temps: Vol 2 PRINT

Excerpt From: Temporary Fix

The blue screen of death flashed on Kelli Cornwell’s flat twenty-seven-inch computer screen.

"Son of a bitch, shit-fire, damn it to hell, you son of a frog-lover!" she cursed, slammed her palm on the monitor and shoved away from her desk. The force of motion pushed her plush, leather, wheeled chair halfway across the spacious office. Her harsh words echoed through the large, expensively decorated room.

It took a lot to summon the deep-woods Texas accent she’d done her best to banish, but watching two weeks of work disappear into a blue hole of nothingness had driven her over the edge.

"The last day, last batch of invoices and you, you hideous POS, choose to blow your circuits on me?" She narrowed her eyes at the seemingly innocent machine as it sat there glowing its happy but deadly blue. Smacking the expensive machine, beating the fancy monitor with her umbrella or shoving the entire useless hunk of plastic and wires out of the window sounded like a great plan of action. However, as pleasant as the thought of mass PC chip destruction sounded, Kelli knew she couldn’t allow herself the gratification. Somewhere in the midst of all those circuits, black plastic and glowing things, hid her fourth quarter spread sheet.

Without bothering to look, she grabbed her iPhone and automatically hit number two on her speed dial. What it said about her life when she had her IT company as the second most important number in her contact list, Kelli didn’t even want to guess. Too much thinking about such a depressing thing sent her straight to the chocolate, wine and whipped-cream vodka, which in turn went straight to her ass. Her ass had enough problems without adding delicious but empty calories to the roster.

So long as a certain someone didn’t answer the phone, her night might proceed without any further disasters.

"Douget, Inc."

Relief flooded through her as she recognised the chipper young male voice. If a touch of disappointment was mixed with the relief, she ignored it. There were enough problems crowding her plate without asking for more.

"Hey, Walker, it’s Kelli over at Cornwell’s. The expensive paperweight on my desk has gone to the great circuit board in the sky. Either get someone over here to fix it, or I’m going to teach it to fly."

Youthful, masculine amusement floated over the line. "Kelli, honey, you call with death threats to your computer at least once a month. What’s the poor, innocent, hard-working machine done to you now?"

A snort of disbelief escaped her even as some of the tension eased from her shoulders. "Aughh, it’s the blue screen of death. This thing is possessed by demons, imps or possibly evil frog minions."

Excerpt From: Temporary Truce

The first shot took me high on the thigh, coming uncomfortably close to unmanning me. Next came the jolt of agony and, with it, a pleasurable rush of adrenaline. A red stain spread rapidly across my trousers, shockingly vivid in the sunshine.

I called out, but there was no offer of help, nor any reply from the hunter using me for target practice. Nothing, except for the menacing crunch of footsteps in the undergrowth. Heart pounding, I lifted my briefcase as a protective shield and headed up the driveway, but the safety of The Lodge was still a hundred metres away.

I’d requested this location on the outskirts of Richmond because I’d guessed it would be as far from the centre of London—and all the city’s distractions—as my notoriously difficult new clients would be willing to go. But, now, isolation seemed like a very bad idea.

I managed no more than a dozen limping steps towards the house before my would-be assassin stalked out of the woods, barring my way. She was a stunning redhead, wearing jeans that fitted her like a second skin. Suddenly, worrying seemed redundant. What was the point when the sight of her alone was already enough to slay me?

Bobbed hair fell across her serious expression. "Your leg looks painful." With a practised jerk of her hands across the pommel of her gun, she reloaded. "You’ll have to use your tie as a tourniquet."

There was something so business-like about the way she said it that I was tugging at my half-Windsor before my startled laughter caught up with me. The assault weapon she hefted so casually read ‘Paint and Play’ on the barrel, while most of the ‘blood’ coating me with scarlet had already gummed to a peelable latex.

She didn’t quite manage a smile. But she didn’t shoot me again either, which, given her reputation, was more than I’d expected. I found myself feeling sorry for those poor sods who crossed her path in the courtroom.

I collected my bags and dignity from where I’d abandoned them on the drive. "Actually, I was saving the paintball until Sunday," I told her. "You arrived early, I take it?"

"Not early enough. He was already here. Sorry for ruining your suit."

Scots. I’d always found the accent intriguing. But any pleasant speculation about how her voice would sound in the bedroom was ruined when she tempered her apology with, "Your fault, though. You really should have worn casuals."

Says the woman in the flak jacket, I thought, irritation and attraction warring within me. My conflicting feelings must have been blindingly obvious, because her lips twitched against a smile as she said, "So, you do have balls."

"Might have been a different story if your aim was better," I grumbled.

At that I got the full smile, the lighter expression softening the subtle lines on her face. It wasn’t reassuring, however, not when coupled with the laser intensity of her attention. "Oh, I always get my man."

Her relish gave me a sinking feeling. "Will Mr Swift be armed and dangerous as well, then?"

As if in reply, a murder of crows flew out of the trees in front of us, chattering as they were startled into flight by someone just out of sight. She aimed in that direction and blasted off a shot, exploding paint everywhere. When she immediately reloaded, searching for my still unseen second client, it was with a discomforting eagerness—especially given why we were all there in the first place.

My briefing had been to get two top barristers from opposing firms to cooperate long enough to win an important libel case. I hadn’t guessed, however, that I’d have to stop them from hurting each other first. The fact that the guns were toys made me feel only marginally more confident about the task ahead of me as a corporate facilitator. I made my living helping to smooth out difficult working relationships between colleagues—parents weren’t the only people in life that you couldn’t choose—but this job already looked like it was going to be an even bigger challenge than I’d imagined.

I sighed, thinking I should probably intervene. But when I turned back to her, my mouth went dry with lust. She was on high alert, every muscle in her tall body quivering with tension as she watched for her quarry. She was scowling, yet I didn’t believe that she was angry...she wanted this fight.

Excerpt From: Temporary Position

Three months ago I attended a staff dinner dance too far from home to make for a comfortable, quick drive back. Besides which, I wanted to have a drink, so I opted to book a hotel room for the night. That way I could taxi back and fall into bed within minutes of leaving my work colleagues if I fancied.

I hadn’t had too much to drink—only a few glasses of wine, and white, at that. Even one glass of red was enough to send me loopy. I’d thought I was playing it safe. Cue a casual conversation with Sebastian, a suggestion that, as he and Tyler were carpooling, they could drive me back to wherever I was staying...

Before I knew it, I was in a car with the two best-looking Pearson’s employees in the region, desperately chanting to myself, Don’t say anything stupid, Jess. Don’t say anything stupid.

Turned out Tyler—the Manager of his store no less—was the one to take that step. And he was the designated driver, stone cold sober.

After pulling up outside my hotel, he looked over his shoulder and smirked. "Here we are."

"Yeah." His smile was infectious—I couldn’t help returning it. "Here we are." I’d not yet laid my hand on the door handle. It would have seemed rude to just hop out and go upstairs, but by the same token I had no idea how to wrap up the conversation.

"Would you think I was pulling rank if I mentioned a goodnight kiss?"

I knew I hadn’t had that much to drink, and alcohol always seemed to affect my balance and speech first of all, anyway. Not my hearing. Three glasses of white spread over the whole evening, with a meal and soft drinks, too... I definitely wasn’t tipsy enough for my ears to have stopped working. "I...what?"

"Jesus, Ty." Sebastian, who worked in the same store as Tyler, as his menswear manager, play-punched him on the arm. "You’d take advantage of a drunk woman?"

"I’m not drunk."

"See?" Tyler held up both his palms in a perfectly-executed gesture of innocence. "She’s not drunk."

"Yes, because that’s exactly what a sober person would say."

"Are you accusing me of...?" I began, but the look on Sebastian’s face halted me in my tracks. God damn it—I’d been talking to him all night and never seen him in that light before. The half-light as it was, from some nearby lampposts and the neon sign of my hotel.

He was leaner than Tyler, but in no way less of a presence. There was a quiet intensity to him that I’d noticed during our conversation that evening, an ability to make me feel like the only woman in the room. It wasn’t that he’d stared at me while we conversed—that would have been too aggressive. But he’d paid attention and made me feel witty, urbane, like the sort of woman who stood a chance. I’d not had much to do with him up until now—we worked in different branches of Pearson’s—but this evening had thrown us together, almost like it was meant to happen.

Like it was planned.

Excerpt From: Temporary Insanity

I’m not really a temporary kind of girl but when needs must you just have to get whatever job you can to keep you going. My dad taught me that. So when I left university with my degree and aspirations in hand I did the sensible thing.

And here I am three years later still working temp jobs. I took a communications degree with grand ideas of becoming a journalist. The closest I’ve come to an actual job in the profession is writing my own personal blog and no one pays me to do that. So here I am, at the local Forbes and Richardson office making coffee and photocopies. Oh, and occasionally I get to type something up and answer the phones. Such a thrilling job.

Actually, it’s not all bad. I’ve been in some offices that have been pretty fun. I’ve made friends and the time with the company has flown. Last job I had I found myself a boyfriend, Thomas he was called, and he led to some tasty daytime distractions, I can tell you. If you’ve never had sex in a stock room, don’t knock it. I know it’s cliché but damn, it’s sexy. All rushed and urgent with hints of ‘someone might catch us at it’. Very addictive indeed.

Unfortunately when I moved on to my next job Thomas gave up on me. Apparently I wasn’t relationship material, just workplace distraction. So maybe this office job isn’t as bad as I think it is, but I’m too heartbroken to see it.

No, I think they’re all bitches, even the blokes.

"I want this done by lunch." Andrew Johnson forced a pile of papers into my hands. "Twenty copies of each."

No ‘please’, no ‘thank you’ and certainly no acknowledgement of me as a human. I felt like just a piece of the machinery. I had felt like that for all of the five days I’d worked at Forbes and Richardson. I was ready for this assignment to end but I had been appointed to cover a maternity leave of absence and knew I‘d not be moving on any time soon.

I contemplated begging someone for a transfer. There’s only so much loneliness and mind-numbingly dull labour I can take, but any job is better than no job and who’s to say the temp agency would have anything else suitable for me anyway? No. I decided that I’d just have to dig my heels in and stick it out.

The photocopier lived in a small room at the end of a long and little used corridor. I rarely saw anyone else when I am in there since I seemed to be the copier slave of choice.

So I was surprised when I heard voices as I walked down the corridor. Some women you can hear coming a mile off because of their high heels but not me. I wear sensible shoes with little to no heel. I'd be crippled if I tried to wear tall footwear all day when I was so often on my feet.

So maybe they hadn’t heard me approach, which explains why they hadn't stopped.

But I should have made my presence known instead of gawking like some inquisitive pup.

Two men, hot young men I might add, guys I had never seen before were eagerly making out just in front of the copier. I could hear it whirring so they must have been passing the time until it finished their copying.

I expected one of them to look up at any moment and rumble me, and my stomach churned. I stood to one side of the doorjamb and so was not immediately obvious to a casual glance, but I was pretty certain that if I could see them, they could see me.

I should have walked away or coughed or something but I just watched. I'd never seen two guys kiss before. The one time my mates and I attempted to get into a gay bar we weren't let in because we looked too straight.