I turn on my heel before others notice me escaping before five o’clock on a Wednesday. “Have a good night.”
Jimmy and I walk down the corridor of the office toward the exit. When I open the door to our waiting room, the receptionist stands, seemingly startled just as a woman on the other side of the tall counter shifts to stare at us. There’sa chill in the air between them despite interrupting what feels like a heated conversation.
I’ve never seen this receptionist before, so it’s safe to assume she doesn’t know who I am either. Heading out the door is not the time for introductions. Eyeing me and then Jimmy, she says, “Hello.” There’s an impatience to her voice, and her eyes appear frantic from the angular dip at the corners and the way they search between us for help.
“Hello,” I reply, sweeping my hand over my hair. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Fine. I was just letting our visitor know,” she says, referencing the other woman, “that she can’t just show up expecting to see someone. She needs to make an appointment.”
I glance at the other woman. Her lighter blue eyes are set on mine as if I’ll give her a different answer. She moves closer, the skirt of her dress not moving under the small step. “It’sveryimportant,” she says much quieter as if I’m the only one here. The plea has me weakening, but my employees are trusted to do their jobs.
I don’t need to step in to handle it, but guilt coats my gut. I’m shirking responsibility. My father would be disappointed. I take a breath. Knowing the right thing to do is stay and deal with her inquiry, I open my mouth. “How can?—”
“Elevator is almost here,” Jimmy says with a not-so-subtle hint.
Stay strong and leave.That’s all you have to do, Landers.Walk to the elevator and leave with Jimmy, the friend I’ve been blowing off for months to work more than I should. “I’m sure . . .” I glance at the receptionist again. Since I don’t know her name, I say, “She’ll make sure the message is delivered.” When I glance at her again, she nods. I’mintrigued by what could be so pressing, but I refrain from asking. “Have a good day.”
Jimmy grins when he sees me coming. “Almost lost you.” Stopping beside him, I glance back at her and overhear her tell the receptionist, “Please. You don’t understand?—”
“There’s nothing I can do,” she snaps. “I’ve already left a message with Mr. Landers’ assistant.”
My shoulders fall. Fuck. There’s no familiarity when I look at her, but the attractive woman has piqued more than my curiosity. I debate again if I should get involved, introduce myself, and ease the tension between the two women. She is desperate to see me for some reason. “Surely we can spare a minute or two.”
“Or thirty to an hour like usual,” Jimmy replies under his breath. The elevator dings, making the decision for us. When the doors slide open, I’m bumped as Jimmy steps around me. “Leave it at the office, man.”
He’s right. I don’t need to involve myself. More importantly, a drink with him takes priority. Maybe that’s a careless decision, but I’m willing to take the heat later for it. I get in the elevator after him, settling into the corner and leaning against the wood-paneled wall. Just as the doors begin to close, a hand—no rings, specifically not on a certain finger—waves between the doors, causing them to part again. The woman steps on with a hand stuck to her hip and a smile plastered on her face.
“Thanks for holding it, guys,” she says, the sarcasm hitting like a Mack truck, making me realize her smile isn’t so genuine.
As we’re met with her back, she double taps the lobby button that’s already lit up and then crosses her arms over her chest under heavy exasperation.
The doors close as if she made a difference, which causes me to grin to myself.
Not sure why this is entertaining. Too many late nights working and exhaustion finally kicking in, I’ve officially lost my sense of humor? Not enough fun in my life so something basic is a highlight? Maybe entertaining is the wrong word. Mildly amusing works better, but I still chuckle, even knowing it would be wiser if I kept my mouth shut.
I study the shape of her body and the way her shoulders meet her neck in a graceful curve, the small straps loop over them as if that could possibly drag my attention away from that face. Even her profile is sharp at the chin, giving it a heart-shaped tip. Does she want a job? She’s not dressed for it, though I appreciate how her dress cinches in at the waist and then blossoms to the span of her hips. She’s quite beautiful. Tempting fate, I ask, “Bad day?”
She glances over her shoulder, not making eye contact. Her gaze still takes full advantage of the opportunity and slides down my body, even lingering below my waistband. “You could say that.” I’m struck by her acidic tone and sharp glare. It doesn’t suit her or the fine features of her face, the gentle slope of her nose that I’d bet money crinkles when she laughs, or the way her beauty isn’t overshadowed under the bad lighting.
It’s the fire that flickers in her blue eyes, carrying the weight of her anger that is most prevalent, making her even more fucking gorgeous.
Unbothered by the icy demeanor, just as she turns away from me, I reply, “I did say that.” The demand in my own tone causes Jimmy to glance over and glare at me like I need to shut the fuck up. I could listen to the silent warning, but where’s the fun in that?
Her head whips sideways on her neck so fast I wonder ifshe needs a doctor. “Excuse me?” Her eyes narrow under arched brows as the flames grow bigger inside the blue. There’s no dousing them now. The woman can’t hide her rage.Why is that so sexy?
I’m surrounded by yes people in my professional and personal life. It’s boring and predictable. Doesn’t matter how pretty a date might be, disappointment always sets in when I’m being used for connections, money, even sex. I’m not so bothered by the latter, but the former has me tired of dating altogether.
Under her fiery attitude, I know the only way this woman would say yes is if she meant it.
She huffs, not letting the chance pass her by to show off her irritation, and tightens her crossed arms. “What is your problem?”
Jimmy sighs, drifting back until he’s leaning against the side of the elevator farthest from us. Unfortunately for him, we still have fifteen floors to go.
Pushing off the wall, I stand upright before her. The short little thing full of ire and defiance can’t be more than five-two, five-three on a good day. Apparently, it’s a bad day, though, or so she alludes, so I’ll hold off on granting the extra inch. “I don’t have a problem, but it seems you do. Back in the office, you were demanding to barge into someone’s office despite being told he’s not in?—”
“I wasn’t demanding. I was begging. There’s a difference.” Her arms return to her sides, but her hands ball like kitten fists just past her hips.
“Why would you beg?”
