“What?” His head snapped up, but Mandy didn’t wait.
She dropped to her knees and stuck her face under his desktop. As she tossed her tea and toast onto his discarded coffee in his trash, it occurred to her that she had followedCaroline’s instructions. Her friend had told her to make a knockout impression, and this was certainly that.
Weak and horrified, Mandy lifted her head and found herself face-to-face with Damien Sharpton’s crotch.
“Oh, dear, God,” she whispered.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t sure why he had hired her.
Maybe it had been desperation. There had been no other candidates even remotely qualified.
Or maybe it had been admiration. She had hung in there until the bitter end, finally halting the interview by heaving into his trash can, right smack between his legs. He respected that kind of grit.
Plus, prior to that, she had handled the interview well.
And she was very nice to look at when she wasn’t throwing up, not that appearance had any bearing on his decision.
Of course, he never saw her, so that was irrelevant.
Besides, regardless of the reasons why he had hired her, she was working out quite well. She was a stellar assistant, even if she was as elusive as a taxi in the rain.
In the two months since she had started, he’d seen her approximately four times.
It didn’t seem to affect her job performance. She was a whiz at every task he threw at her, and very efficient, often responding to his messages in less than a minute. She did everything he asked of her on time and cleanly, and had even gotten to the point where she was anticipating his needs.
Like now. He was sitting at his desk, and suddenly a guy from the deli had knocked on his door and brought him a turkey sandwich on whole grain.
So he DM’d her.
Is this turkey sandwich for me?
Before he could even get it unwrapped, she had replied.
Yes, it is. Enjoy.
He should let it go at that. Really, it didn’t matter. He had the sandwich. He could eat it and not worry about being interrupted in the middle of his twelve-o’clock video conference call regarding the updates to the product roadmap at First Financial. Yet this conference call was taking three times as long as was necessary, and he found he couldn’t stop himself from messaging Mandy again.
How do you know I would want turkey?
You always eat turkey on Tuesdays.
He wasn’t sure if he was pleased or annoyed. Probably annoyed. Because he found that for all the hiding she did from him, it didn’t stop him from wasting a great deal of time thinking about Mandy Keeling, trying to figure her out.
Which puzzled him first, pissed him off second.
Maybe next Tuesday I’ll have pastrami.
You don’t like pastrami.
How did she know if he liked pastrami or not? She never even spoke to him, hiding in her cubicle like she was afraid to come face-to-face with her ogre boss. Maybe he loved pastrami.
He didn’t, but that wasn’t the point.
He bit the turkey sandwich with more force than was necessary and nearly ripped through his tongue.
How do you know I don’t like pastrami?
