Twice Smitten (A Modern Fairy Tale) by Melissa Blue

shook her head. She placed the note where he had it on the wall. “You seem so full of ideas, and…I’m stuck. In the next hour I have to go to my team with a brave face and tell them—what?”
    “Desperation brought you in here?” Drew scratched at his scruff.
    “That and nosiness.” She pursed her lips for a moment and shrugged. “And none of your team cracked.”
    Pleasure warmed him. “I bet they didn’t.”
    Abigail made a noise of frustration. At the sound, Drew pulled her closer. She hesitated and then let him position her in front of him. His fingers pressed into warm and soft skin. She’d ditched the suit jacket. Today’s shirt was a vibrant red and had short sleeves. It complimented her beautiful skin.
    And it just felt good to touch her and for her to let him. “Tell me what you see.”
    “Orderly notes only you understand.” She sighed. “Someone who out of the two of us actually knows what he’s doing.” The doubt put a strain in her voice.
    “What I see is a brainstorming board full of gibberish,” he said.
    “You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. “You’re going to win. Goddammit .”
    She put her hands on her hips and shook back her hair. His eyes closed for a moment. The scent of her shampoo rose up from the motion. Cinnamon. What home could smell like. It was pure torture to stand there behind her, space and doubt and their past keeping them apart. Yet he could have stood like that all day: Drinking her in with each breath. Touching her skin lightly. Basking in the heat of her skin beneath his fingers.
    With only a slight regret, he stepped away and went to the wall. He began taking down all the notes until the wall lay bare. Drew stalked to his desk and picked up the pad of Post Its and a pen. He wrote down the word beating at his heart.
    “Put this on the wall,” he said.
    She frowned at the note. “Home?”
    A quick jerk of his head motioned for her to do it. “Put the note in the middle of the wall.”
    She did and then shrugged at the next moment’s silence. “What next?”
    He handed her the pad and pen. “First thought.”
    “Fireplace,” she said.
    “Write it down.”
    She raised a brow, but he gestured for her to write the word. Abigail scribbled and then placed the sticky note next to the first one.
    “Now, you’ve got fireplace. What does that make you think of?”
    She shook her head and laughed. “Bear-skin rug.”
    He lifted a hand with a shrug. “Write it down.”
    She blinked. “This is ridiculous.”
    “Maybe, but this is how I work. Gibberish until something comes together and I can see a bigger picture, until more words and associations come to me. Keep going.”
    She bit down on her tongue and continued the process he usually went through. He stepped back and watched her work and let the scent of cinnamon do things to him it shouldn’t have.
    It was compelling to watch to say the least. Their world was about using tried and true images to tell a story in thirty seconds or less. On a deeper level, their work tapped into people’s baser needs—hunger, lust, love. Everyone felt those stirrings and certain words, images called to them.
    It was both of their jobs to feed that longing and turn it into a yearning and then an action—buying the product. They could do it in smart, clever ways. Subtle and poignant. But it all started as a seed of an idea and watching it come to fruition was compelling . More so because it was watching Abby at work.
    Ten minutes later she stopped, stood back, hands on her hips again. None of the words made sense to him, but from the way Abigail pursed her lips they made perfect sense to her.
    “Huh.” Her gaze had narrowed when she looked back at him. “Why’d you help me?”
    The real answer? The one that beat against his chest and stole his breath? He didn’t know and even if he did, he wouldn’t say. Instead, Drew forced a smile to his lips. “Wanted it