Geek Girl's Romance: Love in the Workplace Read online

  Geek Girl’s Romance

  Sierra Brave

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  Geek Girl’s Romance

  Sierra Brave

  Graphic novel artist and author Mary Allison is a lot like the famous candy that melts in your mouth—a sexy, sassy outer shell hides her sweet and creamy, geek girl center. Holden, her strict, uptight editor, would personify nails across a chalkboard if he weren’t so good looking. She finds herself attracted to him but is certain they could never mesh romantically.

  Unbeknownst to Mary Allison, Holden has been enthralled by her from the start, even going so far as to stall his career to continue working with her. On the verge of becoming lovers, they’re impeded by interruptions and misunderstandings. The geek girl and the stuffy editor must learn to communicate and connect before fear and confusion keep them apart forever.

  Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  Mary Allison Applegate sat at her drafting table, busily pouring over her storyboards and adding detail to her sketches. She glanced at the calendar and bit down on her bottom lip. Ugh, second Wednesday of the month—if I don’t make deadline, Holden will be all over my ass again. She pictured the side glance her sexy editor would shoot her way if he saw how behind she was. Fuck…he’d be so damn good looking if only he’d keep his mouth shut! As she put a few finishing touches on her heroine’s Glock 26, she heard a knock at the door.

  Mary Allison recognized the distinctive three raps, a pause, and then two more—her editor’s signature calling card. She sighed, perturbed by his love of showing up whenever the hell he wanted to start riding her like a Russian racehorse. She glanced at the door and then back at her illustrations from the next volume of her bestselling title, Nemesis’s Bedtime Story. Her tale of a female pickpocket who worked with the mafia as she tracked down her twin brother’s killers had struck a chord with a desirable demographic, selling enough copies to provide her a comfortable living. Unfortunately, a little over a year ago, her previous editor retired, sticking her with Holden. She loved the way he looked, even in his ridiculous stanch and stiff business suits, but he could be a major pain in the ass.

  She called out, “Just a minute,” before running to the bathroom and checking herself out in the mirror. Damn! He has to come when I look like crap. She yanked off the elastic band holding a messy ponytail on top of her head and ran a brush through the tangle of red hair tumbling past her shoulders. I’m so pale! She splashed some cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks to bring up a little color before applying some Chapstick to her lips.

  She stood back from the mirror, frowning at her threw on clothing. Oh well, it will have to do. She ran out of the room before heading toward the front door and unlocking the deadbolt but leaving the chain as to allow a crack about four inches wide.

  “Good Morning, Mary Allison.” Holden looked as polished and perfect as ever.

  “What are you doing here?” She winged an eyebrow, staring at him suspiciously. “I don’t owe you any work until Friday.” How Holden always knew when she was running behind, she would never understand, but he seemed to materialized right when she was on the verge of turning things around but not quite there.

  “I just wanted to check on your progress.” His innocent tone annoyed her while his accent set her heart thumping.

  “And why should I let you in when you barge over here without calling ahead?” She continued to block the entrance, peering at him through the small opening.

  “Because I brought you an iced coffee and your favorite treat.” He smiled holding up a bag from her favorite donut shop.

  Mary Allison sniffed, taking in the aroma. “Coffee, huh?”

  “Double light, double sweet.” He smirked while lifting the cup in his other hand.

  She sucked in a breath and then pursed her lips before huffing. “Oh, all right.” After releasing the chain, she opened the door wide.

  In his usual polite manner, Holden wiped his feet on the porch mat before entering and handing over the goodies. He made himself right at home, walking straight through the small foyer and across the living room into the small nook where Mary Allison had set up her work station in front of her home’s only bay window. As he stood there, pouring over her work, she hung back, enjoying the view.

  Standing over six feet tall, Holden had stayed fit for someone who jockeyed a desk. Originally, she had pegged the attractive brunet as a pretentious elitist but as time passed, his kindness and thoughtful manner had begun to wear a grove into her resolve to dislike him.

  He was different from any man she had ever known—well-traveled, intelligent, and even quite elegant. Three-piece suits and impeccably styled, light-brown locks polished his professional appearance. As he leaned forward to study her work, her gaze glided over his firm ass, making her pulse react, and her breasts tingle.

  She noticed his posture change and rolled her eyes, creeping up behind him until she was standing beside him. He turned to her. “Where’s the rest?”

  Anger filled her belly, but as she stared at his face, the man’s gorgeous blue eyes softened the blow. He was a dreamy, unobtainable ideal for a laid-back, creative type like her, but she still fantasized about him. Pushing back her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “That’s it.”

  He furrowed his brow. “I thought you would be up to the scene in the basement by now.”

  “I was working toward it, but then someone interrupted me.” She motioned her hand toward him. “Don’t you have any other artists to harass? Why is it always me?” She pointed at her chest before taking another bite of lemon-filled doughnut.

  As he tilted his head, catching her gaze, her heart fluttered. If he wasn’t wearing his glasses, those beautiful blue babies might have brought her to her knees. “This is what I’m talking about when I say you’re getting too caught up in the details.” He pointed to the drawing she had been working on when he arrived. “What’s important is Reggie has been shot, but you’ve been stuck on the gun.”

  Mary Allison’s nostrils flared and her short nails bit into her palm as she balled up her fist, wishing she could deck him for his nitpicking. She lifted an eyebrow and glared at him. “The devil’s in the details, and I want my readers to know exactly what kind of devil Kat is. There’s no way she would carry anything but a baby Glock. She doesn’t give a damn that it isn’t the prettiest gun on the block—reliability is key. Doesn’t matter if it’s wet, dirty, or even muddy—if you pull the trigger, that bitch is going to fire! How will the readers know it’s a baby Glock if I don’t show them?”

  The corners of his lips turned up slightly. “I do enjoy your passion and dedication, but you’re going to have to finish it up and move along. The readers need to know why she shot Reggie too.”

  Her lips thinned into a crooked frown as she furrowed her brow. “Alright, alright.” He wasn’t wrong so she opted not to argue for the sake of pointless pride. “Scoot.” She waved him away from her stool and then took her seat.

  “And what’s with all this gore?” He pointed to the panel depicting Reggie’s demise. “Do we really need to see the b
rains oozing out of his skull? It’s macabre.”

  Mary Allison’s nostrils flared as she folded her arms across her chest, throwing him the nastiest look she could muster. Questioning her vision and trampling on her artistic freedom with such ease took things a tad too far. “How can a graphic novel about bloody revenge be anything but grisly? The bleak tone is kind of the point!”

  His eyebrows raised and he even took a step back. “Mary Allison.” His calm tone and sexy voice sent a shiver down her spine. “You know how much I respect your work, but…if the tone is too dark…” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Well, I just don’t want to have to insist on revisions before we go to print. Dig deep. The ability to find the perfect balance is within you.”

  Her jaw dropped and her nostrils flared as the room went silent. She cut jagged little holes into Holden with her glare, but he stood there quietly, most likely carefully contemplating his next words. She raised an eyebrow, sucking in a breath, preparing to let him have it, but then, he broke the spell; he smiled. Motherfucker! Here I am ready to chew him to bits and as usual, he’s completely unflappable.

  Turning her attention to her work, she barely listened as he calmly and clinically presented all of the statistics and documented trends proving he was right and she could suck it. When she tried to argue, he never so much as raised his voice while he bulldozed over her. Damn, he pisses me off! “Just be quiet!” She gripped her pencil so hard it cracked. “The oozing brains stay.”

  “Mary Allison.” His voice remained tranquil.

  She slammed the broken pencil into the trash. “I got it. I’ll plug some comedy into the next panel, but this scene isn’t changing.” She gritted her teeth as she grabbed another pencil. Can’t he understand how much this means to me? This is my work, a story I pulled out of my heart and my head and breathed life into with my own breath. She’d given Kat’s journey as Nemesis her blood, sweat, and tears. Who was he to tell her to take it down a notch?

  “Don’t clutch the pencil so tightly or you’ll break another.” He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Now you’re going to tell me how to draw?”

  “Certainly not, but I wouldn’t want my star artist to injure her hand.” He reached over and gently unwrapped her fingers from around the drawing instrument.

  Her chest tightened as her heart swelled. Damnit! Once her blood pressure returned to normal, she worked through the better part of the day with him over her shoulder. At least he hadn’t embarrassed her by coming on a day when her part-timers were there to help with shading. She worked straight through lunch so by the time Holden left her house, she was back on schedule but starving to death.

  As her stomach growled, she grabbed her phone and ordered a pizza before tottering into the living room and collapsing on her couch. While waiting for her four cheese and veggie delight, she stared up at the ceiling and rubbed her arm, reminiscing over the tingle she’d felt shoot all the way to her shoulder when Holden touched her hand. Fuck! I’m really starting to get pathetic!

  Chapter Two

  Twirling her chopsticks around inside a carton of pork fried rice, Mary Allison munched on takeout as she sat on her cozy, red couch, wearing only her pajamas and a hideously ugly pair of black-rimmed glasses, a throwback from her high school days.

  In order to relax and reboot, she decided a Saturday consisting of chilling out in front of the tube was in order. No shoes, no makeup or contact lenses, and no company were expected. She hadn’t even bothered to run a comb through the jumble of flaming red strands hanging limply from her scalp. She stretched and rubbed her stiff neck, wishing the pain had been caused by something fun like dancing and drinks, amorous activity, or full-on debauchery instead of leaning over her desk.

  Determined to wallow in a puddle of irrational bitterness, she directed her hostile feelings at Holden. After badgering her in person Wednesday, he’d called her no less than three times with “suggestions” on Thursday and showed back up at her house again Friday afternoon. His follow-up ideas had kept her chained to the drawing table until he finally accepted her work well after nine at night. Damn him. She groaned. “Fucking Holden.”

  If she were in the mood to be sensible, she’d acknowledge her editor had only been doing his job, but after declaring maturity overrated, she plunged into a metaphorical vat of self-pity while chowing down on spring rolls. Why do I like him? She glanced up at the ceiling and sighed. He’ll never see me as anything but an artist he has to handle. The most juvenile part of her subconscious wanted Holden’s revisions to cause a stink on her Twitter feed so she could throw his failure in his face, but the part of her that liked to make money and eat regularly had better sense.

  Getting up to grab her iPad and a plush blanket, she ran through a small checklist in her head before parking her rear back in front of her flat-screen television to hunker down. A full series Firefly marathon topped off with a showing of her favorite movie, Serenity, would purge Holden Carter from her brain faster than a fist full of antidepressants.

  As the first episode played, she felt relaxed for the first time in days, putting her feet up and snuggling in her blanket while enjoying the show. After a scene showcasing Gina Torres faded off to the first commercial break, Mary Allison opened her iPad cover and logged on to Facebook.

  Pictures of her dressed in a Seven-of-Nine costume for a friend’s Halloween party had garnered some attention. Also, of note, the chatter from former high school classmates had increased as their ten-year class reunion loomed closer.

  From a sociological standpoint, Mary Allison found social networking sites fascinating. Somehow virtual meeting places like Facebook and Twitter managed to urge people who hadn’t wanted anything to do with her back in school to seek her out online and constantly exchange niceties with her. She chalked up the puzzling phenomenon to idle curiosity.

  Many of these Facebook “friends” were the same kids who’d tormented her during parochial school with taunts of toothpick, chicken legs, homo hag, and her personal favorite, BCG. For the longest time, she had no idea what BCG meant, but so many of her classmates had been referring to her by the three letters she had started answering. Eventually Melvin Tame, an unpopular, four-eyed loser himself, told her the letters stood for birth control glasses. Mary Allison might have been appreciative if Melvin had broken the news to prevent her from continuing to answer to the insult, but he had been bored and thought it would be fun to see her reaction.

  Determined not to give him the response he wanted, she had shrugged his revelation off. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Since she hadn’t gotten upset enough, the jerk had followed up, “Those damn things make you look so ugly no one would fuck you even if you were giving it away.”

  Having Melvin spell out the humiliating insult pissed Mary Allison off to no end but not because of the rudeness or cruelty. She had grown to expect those things. What drove her insane was his assumption she was too dumb to understand the slur without his help. Worse, any rebuttal would have given Melvin some degree of satisfaction so she had been forced to keep her mouth shut and pretend she wasn’t seething. Being thought of as unfuckable would not have been nearly as bad as being bested by a sniveling crybaby whose mother still walked him to school every morning.

  Those painful memories and the anger, resentment, rage, and loneliness she felt during those days inspired and fueled a lot of her works. Adversity had helped her become a better writer and allowed her to make a living doing what she loved so in the end, she’d won.

  As she scrolled through some of her current photos, her memory flashed back to her Sophomore class photo—she’d been a gangly teenager with buckteeth, braces, and Coke-bottle glasses. A pit sat heavily in her stomach, and her insecurities closed in on her until her gaze fell on a recent pic of her in a sexy green dress her best friend, a talented designed, had tailored for her to wear to a party, fitting the garment to show off her large breasts and a plump, round bottom. Thank God for that late grow
th spurt during my first year of college!

  Smiling to herself, she remembered the old proverb about revenge being best served cold. Hugging herself, she quoted the Klingon equivalent, “bortaS bIr jablu’DI’ reH QaQqu’ nay’.” She relaxed against the couch cushions, clutching her remote as she regarded the television with interest.

  Just as a commercial break ended, she posted an obscure reference from Firefly on her Facebook page to see if anyone lurking out there was awesome enough to get it: Status is we need some Gorham air support!

  By the time the scene where Mal and his crew were being interrogated for some of the Reavers’ handiwork was playing, her comment had garnered some responses. Most of them were question marks but a few of her friends, who she knew got the reference, had liked her comment. The only surprise was a comment from her editor: Great show, I’m watching too.

  Her jaw dropped and her heart rate soared. Say what? Holden Carter was not a man she expected to be even remotely familiar with Firefly, much less catch the reference. She palmed her heaving chest, attempting to settle the drumming beat within. Have I misjudged him? Her mind jumped back to their first meeting when he looked like someone who had just stepped off a yacht with his expensive clothes and perfect hair. She pictured him as old money, a person who drank fancy coffee, grew up golfing at a country club, and regularly attended the symphony.

  By the time she’d been introduced to him, the scuttlebutt among the other editors and artists was Holden threw a tantrum after being transferred out of the literature department because he didn’t think the graphic novel grotto was good enough for him. She reread his comment. Maybe the rumor had been false.

  She tapped her fingernail against her two front teeth as she admitted her assumptions about the man were based on flimsy evidence. A pang of guilt hit as she realized she judged him by his accent and vocabulary. Holden’s use the word “rubbish” instead of saying garbage or trash annoyed her though she wasn’t sure why. His occasional use of the words “bloke” and “knickers” didn’t do him any favors either, and she hated when he said “rubber” instead of eraser or “pissed” to refer to someone as drunk rather than angry.