Read Online Her Favorite Rival by Sarah Mayberry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Mayberry
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It was late; she was tired and hungry. It was time to go home and pretend she had a life.
* * *
Z ACH SPENT THE bulk of his spare time for the rest of the week working on the competitor analysis. He pulled company reports from Mathesons off the internet, paid for a media search, and spoke to various suppliers and industry bodies. He spent Saturday pulling all the information he’d gathered into some kind of shape, staring at his laptop until he was bleary-eyed. The only upside of any of it—apart from the potential payoff at the end when Whitman was blown away by the report—was knowing that Audrey was in the trench with him.
Three o’clock. Sunday morning found him tapping away on his laptop, driven from his bed by restless thoughts. He swore out loud when the email notification pinged loudly in the quiet of the living room, startling him, then shook his head when he saw it was from Audrey. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
What’s wrong, Mathews? Did you wet the bed?
He was tired enough that he’d hit Send before it occurred to him that even though their working relationship had improved since their little cards-on-the-table chat the other night, it might not be up to incontinence jokes just yet.
“Good one, smart-ass,” he told his computer screen, scrubbing his face with his hands.
A second later, another ping.
Had to get up to see Sven and Lars out. Crazy night. Think we might have broken the bed.
He barked out a laugh at her bold response.
That’s the problem with the Swedes: too enthusiastic, he typed back.
He stared at the screen, waiting for her response.
Is there such a thing as being too enthusiastic? I’m not sure. Speaking of...I’ve finished my first draft. Want to correct my grammar?
Thought you’d never ask. Here’s mine, just so you don’t feel left out. In an attempt to preempt any ridicule, I freely admit that spelling is not my forte. Have at it.
Thanks for taking all the fun out of it. I was going to print off your worst offenses and show them to Megan on Monday.
Feel free. I’ve already posted your comments about Whitman’s sausage fingers on Facebook.
I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned Whitman’s freakishly overinflated digits to you before, so I’m not sure what you’ll be posting...oh, wait...
He laughed out loud again and pulled the laptop a little closer to the edge of the coffee table.
Your secrets are safe with me, he typed.
Seriously, though...Those sausage fingers. Megan and I thought we were the only ones who’d noticed.
Dude, you’d have to be hard of seeing not to notice those puppies.
I haven’t been called “dude” since the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were big in primary school.
My pleasure.
There was a short pause before the next message appeared.
Hey. I just realized Can’t Stop the Music is on. And they say insomnia is bad.
????
You haven’t seen it? Dude, you are missing out. Let me sketch a few details for you: Steve Guttenberg, roller skates, New York City. And if that doesn’t clinch the deal for you, it was a movie vehicle for the Village People.
Sold.
He grabbed the remote, flicked the TV on and changed the channel. Cheesy music blasted into the room, while the screen filled with a cityscape, complete with a man in white jeans roller-skating down the street, Walkman clutched in one hand.
Wow, he typed.
I know. I’ll leave you to enjoy in peace. My gift to you, fellow workaholic.
He stared at the computer screen, only now registering how much he’d been enjoying their exchange. How engaged he’d been, imagining Audrey sitting up in bed tapping away at her laptop, wearing nothing but one of those tight little tank tops and a pair of lacy panties....
Yeah.
Maybe it was just as well she’d signed off, before he let lack of sleep and the
* * *
Z ACH SPENT THE bulk of his spare time for the rest of the week working on the competitor analysis. He pulled company reports from Mathesons off the internet, paid for a media search, and spoke to various suppliers and industry bodies. He spent Saturday pulling all the information he’d gathered into some kind of shape, staring at his laptop until he was bleary-eyed. The only upside of any of it—apart from the potential payoff at the end when Whitman was blown away by the report—was knowing that Audrey was in the trench with him.
Three o’clock. Sunday morning found him tapping away on his laptop, driven from his bed by restless thoughts. He swore out loud when the email notification pinged loudly in the quiet of the living room, startling him, then shook his head when he saw it was from Audrey. Nice to know he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.
What’s wrong, Mathews? Did you wet the bed?
He was tired enough that he’d hit Send before it occurred to him that even though their working relationship had improved since their little cards-on-the-table chat the other night, it might not be up to incontinence jokes just yet.
“Good one, smart-ass,” he told his computer screen, scrubbing his face with his hands.
A second later, another ping.
Had to get up to see Sven and Lars out. Crazy night. Think we might have broken the bed.
He barked out a laugh at her bold response.
That’s the problem with the Swedes: too enthusiastic, he typed back.
He stared at the screen, waiting for her response.
Is there such a thing as being too enthusiastic? I’m not sure. Speaking of...I’ve finished my first draft. Want to correct my grammar?
Thought you’d never ask. Here’s mine, just so you don’t feel left out. In an attempt to preempt any ridicule, I freely admit that spelling is not my forte. Have at it.
Thanks for taking all the fun out of it. I was going to print off your worst offenses and show them to Megan on Monday.
Feel free. I’ve already posted your comments about Whitman’s sausage fingers on Facebook.
I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned Whitman’s freakishly overinflated digits to you before, so I’m not sure what you’ll be posting...oh, wait...
He laughed out loud again and pulled the laptop a little closer to the edge of the coffee table.
Your secrets are safe with me, he typed.
Seriously, though...Those sausage fingers. Megan and I thought we were the only ones who’d noticed.
Dude, you’d have to be hard of seeing not to notice those puppies.
I haven’t been called “dude” since the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were big in primary school.
My pleasure.
There was a short pause before the next message appeared.
Hey. I just realized Can’t Stop the Music is on. And they say insomnia is bad.
????
You haven’t seen it? Dude, you are missing out. Let me sketch a few details for you: Steve Guttenberg, roller skates, New York City. And if that doesn’t clinch the deal for you, it was a movie vehicle for the Village People.
Sold.
He grabbed the remote, flicked the TV on and changed the channel. Cheesy music blasted into the room, while the screen filled with a cityscape, complete with a man in white jeans roller-skating down the street, Walkman clutched in one hand.
Wow, he typed.
I know. I’ll leave you to enjoy in peace. My gift to you, fellow workaholic.
He stared at the computer screen, only now registering how much he’d been enjoying their exchange. How engaged he’d been, imagining Audrey sitting up in bed tapping away at her laptop, wearing nothing but one of those tight little tank tops and a pair of lacy panties....
Yeah.
Maybe it was just as well she’d signed off, before he let lack of sleep and the
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