KICK IT | JENLISA

3

Jennie

The office's arctic air-conditioning chilled the sweat beaded on my forehead, tickling the baby hairs. Houston offered four seasons: football, hot, tits broiled off, and the current start of Dante's Inferno season. Ticklish slithers of sweat dripped between my breasts and down my lower back. Disgusting.

My co-workers had a sense to scurry into an open path. The coffee boxes bounced against my thighs, with their weight straining my biceps. A few drops sloshed onto my feet. Strings of silent curse words directed at Yang Hyun-suk and Lisa Manoban twitched my lips. With a slam louder than I intended, I dropped the boxes on the conference room's side table. I dragged my fingers over my damp forehead and withdrew my blood-orange moleskin notepad from my purse. My heels clicked on the polished cement floors to the farthest corner. I puckered the front of my shirt, pulling it to self-cool my swampy torso.

Maybe if I hid in the fan-girl section, she wouldn't notice me. I swapped my sunglasses for reading and smiled at Mark for draping my suit coat over a back corner seat. Fan-girl wasn't my first impression of Mark Lee, but that's how the tall, thin man with a man-scaped box beard presented. Veins protruded on his brown fingers as they pressed down non-existent wrinkles in his light blue shirt. The silver stripe in his navy blue 'power tie' shone under the white lights. His dark eyes circled my heated face. "What happened?"

"Road rage." I grumbled as the asshole herself entered.

A collective breath sucked all the oxygen from the room, leaving behind thick, church-service silence as thirty-three employees revered one person. I rolled my eyes and kept puffing my shirt. Puh-lease. She tossed a leather ball between forty-five-second commercial increments and rode the bench for half a game. If one giant ass frame, pro-level muscular physique, and two square, gleaming gold rings didn't give away her identity, then the hushed whispers and giggles wildfire spreading through the airspace did. The slight crook in her right arm was the only slight blemish in her perfect posture.

The accident. Constriction squeezed my throat dry, and an icy shiver trickled down my spine. Abandoning my sweat spots, I tugged the sleeves of my suit coat, high-fiving myself for wearing black. I blended in with the intern herd but choked on my saliva at their sentiments.

"It's her!"

"Woah, Lisa's taller in person."

"She doesn't look injured?"

"Oh my gosh, she's so gorgeous."

I was going to be sick. The idiot already had a parade... err, two. Three, including her celebration. Let's not give her a fourth. While I scanned for the nearest trash can, our boss' chest puffed up. He sucked in his dad-bod gut and extended one hand to our guest-of-honour. "Ms. Manoban." Yang Hyun-suk boomed out. "Welcome. We're so glad that you've honoured us with your presence at today's end-of-year books meeting."

Whelp, Yang Hyun-suk was on the kiss-ass list. Close second behind Jackson, by the look of it. I covered a snort with a coughed-out 'bullshit', eliciting a few snickers and Mark's elbow in my arm. I tucked the corner of my mouth into my cheek and bit down before further sounds of disgust left me.

Lisa's gleaming smile left me questioning fate's cruelty. "Happy to be here."

She deserved one ounce of credit: she held the room's enraptured attention. Her gigantic frame demanded it.

Lumps for shoulders and chest relaxed, steady eyes, and chin lifted, her projected aura of confidence permeated the air. We were dust particles compared to the millions of Houston fans who vaulted her into God-like status. The top of her hair shone with soft highlights from our overhead fluorescents. Her sharp jawline was a blade sharper than our office paper slicer.

I liked it. No, no, no, I didn't.