Second Chance Fling: Office Fling, #2

By Elisabeth Staab

He wants her back. 

He needs to buy her father's company. 

He can't have both.

Victoria is hanging on by a thread. Her father is ill, her job is on the line, and she kind of, sort of, still loves her ex-husband. She has a chance to help the first two, but only at the expense of the third. 

Dave measures success by how hard he works. His software firm needs to expand fast, and his ex's dad just happens to be selling a company that would fit his needs. But Victoria hasn't forgiven him, and her dad will never sell to the man who broke his daughter's heart.

What Dave needs is a second chance, but he only knows one way to win. This time, working harder won't get him what he wants.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ellis Carrington
• Release date: Apr 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733605410

Elisabeth Staab

Elisabeth Staab took a long time to find her passion. After trying many jobs, she realized that nothing beats romance. She digs coffee, saucy stories, and sexy things that go bump in the night. Once, she ate dinner in a jail and liked it. She lives in the Washington DC area with her incredible family and does her best to juggle life while ignoring the laundry.

Book preview

One

Victoria Limly-Hale had a shiny penis waving in her face. After the day she’d had, this was not improving her mood.

The penis in question was clad in some sort of glittery animal print pouch complete with fringe, and the bar’s disco lighting cast shadows on it in all the wrong ways. What she could only hope was maybe a sock or other form of athletic wear had been added to even things out. At least, she hoped for the penis owner’s sake, because if the bulge in front of her nose wasn’t caused by a tube sock? Someone had a serious medical issue.

Maybe also some dating issues.

Then again, she had problems of her own.

What do you think that thing is? she asked her friend Rose, who perched on the barstool to her left.

Her friend fed singles into another star-spangled pouch—whose owner had sashayed up next to them armed with sour-shot holsters—as if speed won her a prize. You’re not serious, are you?

Rose flicked her gaze over to Victoria before returning her attention to the six feet or so of mostly-naked male in front of her. If you honestly have to ask what’s in the banana hammock, then I think I know why your marriage ended.

Vicky smacked her friend on the arm. Look at the way it’s bent.

Feeling creepy for pointing at a stranger’s package, she glanced around the club Rose had convinced her to duck into after their failed business dinner. The industrial-style space threatened to burst at the seams thanks to a packed crowd of mixed-drink-guzzling kids. A swinging spotlight nailed her in the eye when she dared to look toward the dance floor full of patrons so hot and sweaty that several had removed articles of clothing.

She fanned at her face, tempted to join them in cooling off. Except everyone in this place was probably at least a decade younger. Yet she felt as if she were up past her bedtime.

The young man dancing on the bar before her could have easily been her little brother, if she’d had one. Despite how handsome he looked, it was tough to muster interest in a guy who’d clearly covered his entire body in something oily. The mere thought made her worry he’d slip and hurt himself. Proof she was too old. And in the wrong place.

You know, when you said you had an idea to cheer me up after the investor meeting went bad, this wasn’t what I pictured at all.

Her best friend laughed. You’ve been stressed all week. You’ve hardly slept, and your meals recently consist of nuked noodles in a cup like we’re still college freshmen. Which is just God-awful, Vicky. Seriously. What you needed was to have some fun. At least keep an open mind, huh?

With a sigh, Vicky pulled some cash from Rose’s proffered wad and reached up to stuff it in the young man’s sock—the one covering his leg, thank you, and the only clothing he wore aside from his leopard-print pouch and a pair of red Pumas.

Here, sweetie, she shouted over the thump of dance music and the din of voices. By the way, your package looks larger at the top and it’s bent all funny. Maybe you wanna straighten that out?

There. She’d done her public service for the day. The boy gave her a blinding grin and jumped down from the bar, dimpled butt cheeks flexing as he went.

"Well that was interesting. Rose leaned over and took a sip of Vicky’s drink. You told him his dick looked funny, and he seemed all grateful and excited like a puppy. You might have a shot with that one."

God, she hoped not. I’m not taking home a teenaged go-go dancer. He’s young enough to be someone I babysat, which is kind of gross. Besides. She scanned the crowd again. I think we’re in a gay bar. He might be, you know, gay?

She’d gone on a date with a younger man once, shortly after she and Dave signed the divorce papers. The two of them had shared an enjoyment of Prince (My mom listens to him all the time!) and Bombay Sapphire, the latter of which had resulted in a round of frenzied but lackluster sex back at her townhouse. The entire affair had taken less time than she’d have needed to microwave a bag of popcorn. With a little garlic and sprinkled cheese, the popcorn would have been more fulfilling.

The popcorn wouldn’t have made that mom comment.

Rose poked at her arm. I get that you’re stressed, but you’ve been in a funk since the divorce. Today is the one-year anniversary of said divorce, and that’s far too long to stay so closed off. Today sucked plenty even without Dave hanging over your head. Some mindless, sweaty fun would help you blow off steam. Just saying.

If you’re trying to distract me from the divorce stuff, you’re doing a terrible job. I’ve got bigger concerns right now, anyway. Last thing I’m worrying about is Dave. Okay, so she’d thought of him a little. Like how it still bugged her that Dave had handed over the pen she’d bought him on their honeymoon to sign the papers. People held grudges over silly things. Not a big deal. Even if I were interested in He of the Leopard Penis, mindless sex isn’t going to solve my problems. And would you please stop drinking my gin rick— She grabbed at the beverage, but her friend twisted out of her reach to take another sip.

Rose puckered her lips. This place makes terrible drinks. Too much lime in here. Anyway, it’s a fair trade. You used the rest of my ones.

I don’t think people come here for the drinks. And if you’d warned me banana hammocks were on the menu tonight then I’d have come prepared. You certainly seemed to have plenty. Do you just walk around armed for the possibility that you’ll need to tip a stripper?

That’s a good idea! But no. I asked the bartender for change. For added illustration, Rose gave the guy a little finger wave.

Wow. Her best friend would flirt with anybody. Really anybody. The man—older, bald, and only a little more conservatively dressed than the dancers in a belted pair of jeans and no shirt—gave a wink and nod before returning to the thirsty horde gathered before him. Vicky would love to have a little of Rose’s confidence.

Vicky cleared her throat. Okay. Seriously. Is this little side trip supposed to be about cheering me up or did your porn subscription run out and you were hoping to see some man-on-man action? Because I have to tell you, I think one’s more likely than the other.

Rose was the queen of multitasking. She could give Vicky a look of distain even while signaling the bartender for another drink. "What I think is we’ve been pushing a boulder uphill at work all month, we had a rough meeting today, and you need an hour or twelve where you are not thinking about Dave. You split up over a year ago. Time to get back out there."

Out where?

"Anywhere. You’ve had—what?—a tiny handful of dates since your divorce? You’re turning into a hermit. What are you going to do after the company sells?"

Victoria pushed her Taryn Rose wedge against the sticky floor, giving the barstool a swivel. Tricky, what with the hundred or so people currently closing in. At least half of whom were ready to pounce if she so much as looked like she’d vacate her spot. After the company sells, I need to focus on helping my dad. Between work and helping him, I’ve been too busy to meet someone. I’m not even sure I want to. Besides, you think I’m going to meet a guy in this place?

"You’re not going to meet one anyplace if you never take a break from work. You’re too picky. I served you up several decent men on a well-garnished platter and you thumbed your nose at all of them."

Yeah. About that… I love you, but those guys were all varying shades of crazy. One of them brought his mother to dinner.

Which shows he’s not afraid of commitment! Miriam in HR dated a guy for six months before he introduced her to his parents, and they turned out to be actors. Guys can be skittish. Count on Rose to look on the delusional but sunny side.

Victoria sighed. "These days, I think I have more in common with my vibrator than I do the area’s single prospects. Doesn’t matter anyway. I really don’t have the time."

Her father’s health had been failing. Slowly at first, but faster in the past year. Client complaints skyrocketed accordingly as her father’s penchant for customer hand-holding bit them in the ass. Victoria had tried to fill the gap, but some clients weren’t appeased. Now, people were jumping ship at the worst possible time, and the board was getting nervous. Anything else was more than she could manage.

Anyway, Vicky toyed with her straw, I didn’t leave Dave because I wanted to date other men. I left because I felt… Inconsequential. Swept aside. Forgotten. Well, you know. It wasn’t working.

Hard to work things out with a cheater.

That too. Though Dave denied those allegations right to the end, and part of Vicky still wondered if maybe he had been telling the truth. Did that make her compassionate or simply naive? She couldn’t decide. She also found it difficult to trust him once the doubt had entered her mind.

What you need to do is get into some dating apps. It’s easy once you learn how to weed out the creepers. Pro tip: the words ‘I don’t believe in monogamy’ are definite red flags, as are guys who ‘travel a lot’ or lead with a dick pic. Rose shrugged. Or don’t worry about any of that stuff and just have fun with them, like I do.

Rose had practically turned trolling perverts into an art form. Vicky wasn’t sure she knew how to have that kind of fun. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

I don’t think I can have fun pretending the reason I won’t send naked pics to a guy is because the fictional religious commune I grew up in never let me have a camera. But thanks for the tip all the same.

Rose popped a maraschino cherry into her mouth. "Baby, I am full of wisdom. You don’t like suggestion A, I’ve got the rest of the alphabet to go through. Then, with another wave at the bartender, she grabbed her purse from her lap. Come on. Let’s stop by that place with the yummy vegan gelato. I think what we really need is to put on sweatpants and watch romantic comedies until we have no choice but to roll each other across the floor to the bathroom."

The mere thought made Vicky tired. I think I just want to go home and go to bed. But her friend was already heading for the door. "Rose. Rose."

Boy, that girl could move in a pair of six-inch heels. It was poetry, really.

Ro— Ooh, get back here, you. Rose! Wait up.

Her friend turned at last, once they’d made it out to the bustling, muggy DC sidewalk. You want to do something else? I’m up for whatever, but I’m telling you the gelato place has this new spicy chocolate flavor and it’s as delish as that bartender’s ass, so—

I know what you’re trying to do. You can stop.

Rose’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows rose in pretend surprise. I’m trying to get gelato.

Victoria crossed her arms in front of her chest. I’m fine, okay? You don’t have to babysit me.

Honey. Rose waved a hand and turned to flag a taxi. Of course not. But it happens to be exactly a year since you and Dave divorced, and we just had the most depressing meeting ever with another buyer who wants to fire everyone and sell your dad’s company for scrap. You need to cut loose for one night. If I were struggling, you’d be there to get me wasted and then hold my hair back.

"I did do that. On your sixteenth birthday. And your twenty-first. And then after you and Josh—"

"My point is, I’m returning the favor. You do see my point."

I suppose I do. Thank you. She gave her friend a grateful smile.

Rose smiled in return. Not one of pity, but more like the eager grin of a friend who was determined to get her way even if it involved emotional manipulation. At that moment, Victoria was willing to go along for the simple excuse of forgetting that her father might die. And that she’d likely be out of a job by next quarter. And that yes, today happened to be the anniversary of her divorce, and she couldn’t quite seem to let Dave go.

The cab pulled up and Rose held out a hand. "So, what do you say, sweetie? Tiramisu and Trivial Pursuit? Limoncello and Little Shop of Horrors? Amaretto and Alan Rickman? Gianduja and gay porn?"

Vicky laughed. She didn’t give a damn about any of that stuff, but none of her problems were going anywhere tonight. Gelato with her best friend would be a nice distraction, and more comfortable than sitting in a bar.

I do love Alan Rickman, she said.

As did Dave. It startled her that her eyes got a little misty out of nowhere. Really, when was she going to learn to let go?

Rose pulled her into the cab. I love Alan Rickman, too, sweetie. Let’s do this thing.

As the cab pulled away, her friend poked her in the side. Hey, if you’d rather, we could have this guy swing us by Dave’s place and we could key his car? Let the air out of his tires? TP the weeping willow in his yard?

You’re a good friend. And always so professional.

Rose pressed against her shoulder. Damn right I am.

God, Vicky couldn’t even picture showing her face at their old house. Dave had most definitely moved on, especially if those rumors she’d heard around the office held any truth. What if he had company? She’d rather eat bugs than witness him cuddling with some other woman in front of what used to be her fireplace.

Let’s stick with salted caramel, Vicky said. Maybe the spicy chocolate, too. Just in case.

Sure, honey, her friend murmured. Always good to have a backup plan.

Two

Somehow a party had gathered in the executive-floor lobby, right outside Dave’s office. Clinking glasses and the savory scent of canapes wafted underneath his door. His stomach rumbled but he remained steadfast in the face of what smelled like those tiny egg rolls he loved. He’d promised to send a project writeup to their software director. As usual, he was behind.

Neat but too-tall piles of printouts and files covered his heavy mahogany desk. The small conference table to the left of his window held several sticky-tabbed books and periodicals he hadn’t had time to read. One of them had slid off and knocked over a chair, which in turn knocked over the fake fern in the corner. He hadn’t had time to pick any of it up yet.

The din rose as his brother Michael strode in and slapped him on the back. Jesus, what happened in here? Forget I asked. Come and have some champagne.

Dave slapped him in return, perhaps harder than necessary. This went on for a few rounds, each escalating in severity until his brother’s contract manager announced his presence with a loud throat clear.

While I enjoy a good brotherly pummeling as much as the next person, I’d like to remind you we have people out there. Save the physical violence for later.

Dave scanned the crowd beyond his office door. It contained a handful of upper-level managers from HaleStorm Engineering, a few significant others, and a waiter standing by the elevators in case anyone needed anything. Dave eyed Tom, who’d delivered the request so dryly, wondering if the man might be an automaton.

When the hell did all these people show up?

I sent the notice out a week ago, Michael said with a disapproving scowl.

Dave leaned back in his seat and gave his brother a look that hopefully told him to go fuck himself. Since when do we have time to throw parties?

Right. Michael held out a glass for Dave and raised his own. What we really need right now is a toast. He looked around and then back at Dave. Come on, man. Everyone needs a break once in a while. Take a breather. Celebrate with us. Call that cheerleader you’ve been dating. Invite her over for some shrimp rolls. What was her name?

Dave shrugged. "Lacy. And we’re not dating. We went out twice, after which she decided I was too serious. I decided she was too twenty-three, so that was the end."

Lacy was a great catch on paper. An NFL cheerleader who was studying to get her real estate license. While extremely personable and unquestionably attractive, they’d only met because they had the same eye doctor. Once they’d talked about her laser surgery and his frustrations with finding the right reading glasses, they’d run out of material.

Funny, but I don’t recall you going on more than two dates with any woman in all the time you’ve worked here, Michael said.

Dave picked up the pen on his desk simply to have a use for his hands. None of them were a good fit. Doesn’t matter, because the last thing I want in a relationship is anything serious.

He’d done serious. He’d tried marriage and had been a shitty husband. Which he really should have expected. His parents had both been barely present. The only solid relationship he’d personally witnessed ended in tragedy. Victoria had left like everyone