Read Online Can't Touch This by Marley Gibson - Free Book Online Page A

Rory.  He’s sexy and a hell of kisser, but I don’t know where I stand with him.  Don’t know where I want to stand.  Wasn’t I merely on a fishing expedition?  Seems like I caught a live one.
    *****
     
    A fter a long day on the tradeshow floor swamped with prospects and interest in The Director, we finally pull our booth down and pack it up.  I struggle to be ladylike in my skirt as I reach overhead for graphic pieces and roll them up into their tubes.  I hear a whistle, but ignore it.  Men don’t usually whistle at me.
    But it is for me.
    Stepping down from the chair I’m standing on, I say, “Hey, Rory.  How’d the show go for you?”  I want so much to sidle up to him and nab another taste of his lips—I’ll admit it, I’m into him—but Kyle is standing there disconnecting his laptop cables.
    “It’s been hectic,” he says, looking around.  “The show go well for you?  How many leads did you get?”
    I haven’t actually counted them yet so I say, “Five hundred.”
    He nodded.  “Impressive.  So, can I get your card?  You know...in case we’re doing other shows at the same time?”
    This is the business equivalent of asking for my phone number, so I dig out my purse and nab an ivory business card.
    Rory glances at his watch.  “My flight leaves in two hours.”
    “Are you headed straight back to Seattle?” I ask, not knowing what else to say at this point.
    Kyle glances over at me and lifts his eyebrow.
    “Yeah, gotta get to work on these leads,” Rory, the ever-dedicated salesman, says.
    I press the cardstock into the palm of his hand.  He takes it and then grasps onto my hand for a couple of seconds.  No words are exchanged, but I understand the look in his eyes.
    He likes me.   He likes me a lot.
    “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Virtue.  I hope to see you again soon.  Real soon.”
    I drop my eyes briefly, coyly, and then say, “I’d like that.”
    “I’ll be in touch.”  Before he strolls out of the ballroom, he turns back.  “Count on it.”

Chapter Eight
     
     
    “O h my God!  What happened to you?  Were you in a car wreck?” I ask Griz on Monday morning.
    “I wish it were something that normal,” she notes.  I brace the office door open as she hobbles in on crutches.  There’s a Band-Aid on her right cheek and her wrist is in an Ace bandage.  I follow her through the office to her desk.
    Helping her ease into her seat, I ask, “Is this story as good as the one about when you parked in a handicapped zone, your wheel got booted, and you tried to drive away with it?”
    Poor Griz has the worst luck of anyone I’ve ever met, always getting into ridiculous situations.
    “Almost, but more painful.”  She tries to get comfortable in her standard issue Compass chair.  “I was walking to the Green Line train when this wicked cute guy jogged past.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt and oh, you should’ve seen the pecs on him.  I turned to watch him and I fell off the curb and twisted my ankle real bad.”
    I wince.  Only Isabella Perry would gawk at some guy and fall on her face?
    “Tell me you didn’t land on your—” I say, covering my mouth with my hands.  “Oh Griz!  You poor thing.”
    “How else do you think I got this?”  She points to her cheek.  “I put my hand out, my wrist buckled and I landed—wham!  Lord, you should have heard me scream.  And here’s the worst part...”
    I sit on the edge of her desk and rub her shoulder.
    “...he didn’t even stop to help me.”
    “Who?  The guy with the great pec?”
    “Yeah.  He saw me fall and kept going.”
    What a jerk.  “Oh, Griz, only you,” I say.
    “There you are, Vanessa,” Jack interrupts.  “Come on, we’re having bagels and coffee for Aislin in the Bobby Orr room.”  The renaming of the conference rooms has gone from bad to worse.  Now, instead of having meetings in Natural Wonders we’re having them inside men...rooms named for famous Boston athletes:  Bobby