Water Under the Bridge (Perks & Benefits #1)

by Kels Stone

To my burnout, you almost won, but not this round.

Sometimes you have to grab life by the neck and choke it real good. My dad used to say that often; he always cut straight to the point. Except, right now, I’m the one being choked. And not in a good way.

“You!” I gasp when I meet his brown eyes. A pair of thick, dark eyebrows rise in amusement, and his lips curl into a subtle smirk. A sharp jaw complements his masculine features. He’s very, very manly.

Like, the kind of manly they’d cast to play a brooding villain in a film. Maybe that’s what he’s here to do: film a commercial for ORO where he’s the bad guy, like one of those big oil lobbyists, and Joanna gets to take him down with one of her motivational speeches. I’d love to see that.

He lets out a small chuckle, and for the first time, I notice a hint of warmth in his dark eyes that reminds me of the maple trees back home in Vermont.

If not for the blatant arrogance in his features, he would be somewhat attractive.

Okay, who am I kidding? This man is handsome in a way that screams he never tries too hard before a woman falls for his mysterious, smug act.

The man stands beside me as though he has nothing better to do with his day than watch paper come out of a printer. It seems he actually fixed this darn thing.

Another brief laugh escapes him. “Not even a thank-you?” Is he mocking me? “Not for a heartless suit,” I whisper, hoping my words are out of earshot.

If karma exists, all the times I paid it forward weren’t enough because the heartless suit walks across the room and sits next to Ms. Benbart.

Then she told me about a guy she was seeing who brought her an annotated book every time they hooked up.

I try not to think about how long it’s been since I even considered dating, let alone found someone who would put in that much effort. But why would I need a boyfriend when I have a best friend like Lily? We’ve chosen to be there for each other through the best and worst of our adult lives.

But the worst part of my day was how little of Joanna Benbart’s attention I’d been able to capture with my pitch. Her partner chewed through everything in my presentation until it was bare bones, yet I’m confident I held my ground against him. It was like he had fun trying to get under my skin. Even if he was ruthless and made me want to pull my hair out, it was kind of thrilling to answer each question without pause.

Avery Soko may disregard punctuality, but that suggests she’ll fit in at ORO perfectly. She thoughtfully researched her ideas—precisely what the company needs now—and she can stand her ground with me, unlike many others here.

Apart from the occasional spur of impatience, Avery Soko was an exceptional candidate. Her edge reminded me of a lesson Papi taught me when I became a lawyer: People reveal their most significant character flaws under pressure.

I survived years of legal debates riddled with meticulous arguments, yet after a brief conversation with this woman, I’m suddenly defensive.

It should be a crime for handsome men, especially those with fine suits and pointed glares, to make life-changing decisions for hardworking women.

If an organization like ORO would even hire such a galling, fretful, and obnoxious human being, do I even want a job there? Of course I do. Hundreds of Luca Navarros could charge at me, and I would fight them all off for the opportunity to work there.

I would trade this ridiculous date for another conversation about a new fundraising strategy any day of the week.

Coffee has a magical way of making everything better.

She looks like some kind of ocean deity.

The group shifts uncomfortably at her truth, each face turning into a subtle frown. I can only focus on the fact that Avery Soko is spectacular, and she has impressive storytelling tactics.

Her gentle scent lingers in the air, warm and inviting. Something about the fragrance reminds me of my summers at the beach.

My body draws closer to her, each footstep intent on bringing me near. When those vivid eyes finally land on me, they quickly roll into the back of her head.

Her peeved expression is growing on me more than I’d like to confess.

“You’ve been thinking about me,” she says plainly. “Obviously.” That came off more sarcastic than I intended.

Now the woman I’m eager to impress tonight, as much as she dazzles me, refuses to see the person I want to become underneath my ornate wardrobe.

The charge building between us leaves no clear escape route. We stand in the heavy silence, watching the gala attendees swarm through the hall like ants.

Her scent melts into my senses again, that unique hint of ocean and sweetness causing my skin to flush.

An urgency arises in me to repair this petty spat between us. What person becomes this bent out of shape over a measly job rejection? It’s not as though she’d be missing out on a substantial salary. Let it go. Leave her alone for the evening. But I want to fix ...

A small lock of golden hair escapes her neat hairstyle, and I want to tuck it behind her ear before fisting the remainder of her tresses in my fingers.

I don’t know why I’m desperately seeking her approval, but I can’t seem to control myself.

Her eyes meet mine in a combative stare. I work tirelessly to memorize each speck of honey swimming within them.

The room feels like it’s a few degrees hotter. The desire to discover how her smart mouth would feel on mine overwhelms me. In a world where she is my employee, my direct charge, this kind of behavior would require a visit to a therapist. We stand on opposite sides of the same battlefield tonight, and I ache to discover where the confrontation will take us.

Disappointment settles in my chest. We’re barely acquaintances, but the disdain in her expression shallows my breathing.

Without a goodbye, she abandons us at the bar. Her words replay in my mind. I don’t date.

My curiosity betrays me when I notice Luca Navarro staring back at me. The corners of his lips quirk up as he raises his champagne flute to me in salute. Game on.

His dinner proposition echoes in my head. He has some nerve to assume I would ever want to spend an evening with a suit who ripped my dream job from my bare hands. No amount of curiosity will convince me to join him. Nor will his striking, boyish grin.

My annoyance with him still refuses to budge. Why am I letting him get under my skin?

“Only the people I’m close to get to call me Ave.” “Well,” he whispers against my neck. His callused fingers press deeper into my flesh. “What do you call this?” A current of electricity runs through me from his touch. That shock is from panic, right? It has to be. It can’t be anything else.

“I bet you were looking for me, waiting to fall into my arms at my dinner invitation.” “You wish.” I manage to gain control over one of my stuck limbs. “I do,” he exhales.

The knot of his tie hangs loosely from him, offering glimpses of his veined neck, and a part of me wants to wrap my hand around the fabric and pull his face into mine. To yell at him up close, of course.

For two weeks, I tried to force him out of my mind, my existence plagued by his rejection call and the new career trajectory it had sent me on.

I catch Luca Navarro standing beside my car. He watches me drive out of view. Was he behind me the entire time?

She’s become a stain on my thoughts. A piece of lint that refuses to leave the fabric of my mind. I’ve caught myself veering toward her on more than one frustrating occasion.

I need to spend more time around her, pick her brain and watch her take each of my pointed words in stride. Now that we’re competing for the same grant, I think I’ve lost my shot at a smooth relationship with her. It’s okay, though. If she wants a rival, a rival she will get.

I’m entertaining this encounter for too long, especially since it might cause me to miss a meeting with one of ORO’s international teams, but there’s a pestering need brewing inside me. Stay beside her. Talk to her. Don’t let her run off again.

Why do I even care what she thinks? But here I am, chasing after her like a fool.

If my loss means she’s happy, I’ll concede it.

I try to get my bearings, my head peering toward the streetlight in search of the source of my distraction. That woman will be the end of me.