“Mr. Jones, as I’ve said repeatedly, Mr. Sullivan is not available at the time you requested. I don't have the power to change his schedule to suit your whims.”
Tapping my foot, I glanced at my watch again. As Jolie repeated herself—for what seemed to be the millionth time, based on her frustration—I snagged the phone. “Bob, why are you harassing my employee?”
Bob Jones tried his best to explain why it was so dire he needed to meet with me at a time I wouldn't even be in the country, much less the office, but I interrupted him. “Listen, Bob, this isn’t going to cut it. If you want to continue a very beneficial business relationship with Sullivan Industries, you’ll have to cut the crap.”
I hung up, staring at Miss Adkins. She stood, her chair spinning behind her, and pushed her dark hair behind her ear. “I swear, I tried not to be rude.”
“I believe you. He’s an asshole.”
“Then—”
“Where’s my lunch?”
Her lovely violet eyes widened. “Shit—shoot—I forgot to order it. I don't even know what you like or where to get it from. Or, for that matter, how to pay for it.”
Sighing loudly, I opened the middle desk drawer. Withdrawing an envelope, I extracted the company credit card inside it and handed it over. As she watched, I opened the bottom drawer and pulled out a handful of takeout menus.
“See these circles?”
Mute, Jolie bit her lip and nodded.
“Pick something and don't forget to feed yourself. I can’t have you fainting out here because you eat like a bird or skip meals to watch your weight.”
Disappearing into my office, I slammed the door and had difficulty not picturing her large, wet eyes. Or her bitten lip. Yes, I was setting her up for failure by not properly training her.
And I felt like an asshole for it.
Cussing under my breath, I went back out to her desk. She was on the phone, card in hand. I let her be until she’d finished the order, then stepped in front of the desk.
“There’s a calendar icon on the desktop. Open it.”
Though her shoulders tensed, she obeyed, clicking on the mouse.
“That’s my schedule. Maybe you figured that one out since you knew I couldn't meet with Dickhead Jones.”
She smothered a giggle, and I refused to allow it to go to my cock.
“Your schedule goes on the desk calendar. If you need to jot something down, if you have an appointment, whatever it is. There’s a supply closet by the elevator where you can find whatever you need.”
“Okay.”
“My pens are on my desk in an engraved wooden holder, and you will never touch them unless I specifically hand one to you.”
“Uh, yes, sir.”
“Also on the desktop is a folder marked clientele. If you need phone numbers, names, company info, whatever, it’s in that spreadsheet.”
She clicked on it, studying the screen for a second while I absolutely did not smell her hair.
“My coffee is not the break room coffee. Bring me that swill and I will fire you.” Heading into my office, I presumed she would follow me. I was correct.
“Mr. Sullivan,” she began.
I interrupted, deciding that being an asshole would keep her at arm’s length, and then neither of us would be tempted to do something foolish. “Here.” I showed her where I kept my expensive coffee, then figured I could relent at least a little. “The break room is too far for you to run down there every time you want to refill your coffee. Feel free to drink this, as long as I don’t run out because you’ve gotten addicted to drinking ten cups a day.”
“Yes, sir.”
And there went my cock again. Jesus Christ.
