Samantha
SAMANTHA
W hat the hell was that? I almost kissed Chandler in the elevator. He was looking at me like I was something to be devoured. Or maybe he was thinking about murdering me? No, no. He definitely wanted to kiss me. I may be months out of practice with the whole kissing and sex thing, but I know that look when I see it. Honestly, I might’ve welcomed it. Things have been a little weird between us since… Well, since we met, but even more so since he saw the kind of weird emails my sex-obsessed friend sends me. It might be a good idea to relieve some of these sexual urges I have tonight. After our meeting, maybe I’ll go to the bar and try my hand at flirting. However, I’m out of practice with that, too.
Penny says she thinks Chandler and I flirt, but there’s a difference between flirting and harassment. Looking around the cafe right now, there aren’t many potential takers for a one-night rendezvous, mostly men old enough to be my father or families bustling around. I’m sure that will change when the bar opens tonight; if not, there are plenty of bars nearby. I check the time. The cafe is a little too modern for my taste. The black chairs, marble floor, and a weird fireplace that looks like it was taken out of an alien spaceship. But the coffee is nice and strong. Ken took his time sending us all of the information, so we had little time to prepare for it. I asked Chandler to meet me in the hotel cafe before we had to leave, and he was ten minutes late, which was unusual for him.
Chandler arrives while I review the form and numbers for the meeting we will have with the surf shop owners. He looks like his professional self with his suit and tie, and somehow, his eyes are even more vibrant in his blue shirt.
“Hey," he says as he sits across from me and leans back in the chair, all too relaxed. I won’t admit it to him, but I’m anxious about this meeting. Being a new CPA and not being so familiar with the type of meeting we’re about to have makes me feel a little self-conscious. That, coupled with my major failure at the presentation, doesn’t make me want to jump for joy at the thought of this meeting. Nope. The best I’ve got is self-doubt mixed with a little impending doom.
“So, the clients we’re meeting with today are expanding. That’s why they decided to go with Hal’s CPA. Apparently, they’re glad we offer the best rates with the best service, so they’re willing to give us a shot. I guess we just have to go over their numbers with them and then explain how?—”
Chandler interrupts me before I can finish. “Yeah. I know Sam. I got the email from Ken already. I’m the senior accountant, so just let me do all the talking. I got this.”
I glare at him. So much for a truce. I knew it wouldn’t last long. He wants to undermine me. Two can play at that game, Chandler.
“Good for you, Chandler. Looks like Ken was wrong about you," I say. This gets his attention.
“Wrong, how?” He asks, eyes narrowing.
“Well, he said you were bold and assertive but was worried that it might come off as insincere to our newest client," I say. None of this is true, but I know it’ll get to him.
“He didn’t say that," he says skeptically, crossing his arms.
I shrug. “Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. But either way, the way you’re talking to me right now shows that you need to work on your etiquette. You’re coming off as, well, an asshole.”
“What are you getting at, Sam?”
“What are you getting off on, Chandler? Is it that you like the part of your job where you can boss me around and drive me up a wall, or is it the part where you think you can do and say whatever you want and you think I won’t say anything because I don’t want to lose my job?”
He chuckles at that, throwing his head back for dramatic flare.
“Sam, I could have gotten you fired a long time ago. I didn’t because you catch on quickly. And let’s not forget about your little incident in the office," he says, too loud for this public space, flashing me an arrogant smile.
“Keep your voice down," I say, gritting my teeth.
He flashes me a cocky grin. “Why?”
“You know why, and you didn’t seem too traumatized by what you saw.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. Not traumatized, intrigued. Very intrigued," he says, and that lustful flare in his eyes is back, this time with a smirk. Another instance of him being perfectly aware of how hot he is. I need to stay focused.
“Chandler, we’re supposed to meet these guys in like 45 minutes, and we still have a lot to prepare for," I say. He rolls his eyes. “Like what? We’re not doing inventory until tomorrow, and everything else is laid out clearly in the email.”
“I just," I start. “I just want to make sure I know what I’m doing," I say, feeling embarrassed to admit this to him. He frowns. “Why would you think you’re not doing a good job? ”
“Well, you have me send you all the reports before I send them to our clients, and sometimes you make me resend them to you. And then that presentation went fucking horrible. I just don’t want to screw this up.”
He sits up straight in his chair and reaches across the table, touching my hand, and I’m betrayed when a pleasurable tingling sensation makes its way from my hand between my thighs. Over 7 months without sex, and I get turned on by a guy touching my hand. There must be something seriously wrong with me. “You’re good at your job, really good. If you weren’t, I wouldn’t be working with you anymore. Besides," he says, briefly looking around the cafe before turning his focus back to me. “I have other plans for this meeting with these guys. Just let me do all the talking and keep it between us, okay?”
I frown. “What do you mean, other plans?”
“Just trust me," he says as if it’s something I can give easily, especially to him.
“Chandler, you need to tell me what you’re planning because I am not fucking this up," I demand.
“You won’t. If it all goes well, I’ll make sure you’re good, but you need to trust me with this," he says seriously. I think about this for a moment. A small part of me does trust him because I have to. We work together. But I’m not sure how I feel about being kept out of the loop of whatever it is he has going on. It’s either that, or I try to take over the meeting and hope I don’t fall flat on my face. Even thinking about the last meeting makes my stomach tighten in knots.
“Okay," I finally say. “I’ll trust you.”