“It’s only a little cold. She’s still as sassy as ever, so she must not be too sick.”
“Takes after her aunt, huh?”
“You could say that.”
“I need to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Do you mean during the day or night?”
“Both. Good night, Kelli.”
“Good night, Mr. Greyson.”
This pattern went on for the two weeks he was gone. I almost found myself looking forward to the nightly calls. We never talked about the past, though he skirted the issue a few times. He seemed almost desperate to talk about it, which I couldn’t understand. One thing he would never talk about was why he was in Colorado. All he would say was he was working things out and he would get back to Nashville as soon as he could.
Every night he had a new question for me. One night it was, “What was the best concert you’ve seen in the last ten years?” Every question centered on the ten-year mark. The answer to that was easy, Jake Owen. Now there was a fine-looking man. So that night we talked about music. He admitted to me that his favorite concert was Kenny G. I laughed so hard at him, but he wasn’t ashamed. He was impressed with a man who could hold a note for forty-five minutes. That was impressive.
Then there was the best vacation and my favorite restaurant. It was weird, but our conversations gave me hope that maybe when hecame back, things wouldn’t be so tense in the office. I figured that was why he was calling me “socially.” He wanted a better working environment.
I was still curious, though, about what was keeping him away, but let’s just say I know why they say curiosity killed the cat. I thought after almost two weeks of phone calls, that all would be better when he came back. I drove in the Monday of his return looking forward to the week ahead after a glorious weekend of basking in the sun by the pool, and swimming with Court and Sam. I even smiled when I saw the white Infiniti in the parking lot on my way in. I knew he had gotten in late the night before.
I looked at my reflection in the glass door before I entered and thought,not bad. My skin was glowing from being sun-kissed all weekend, and my peach dress looked like at least half a million bucks on me, so I was feeling pretty darn good about myself as I walked up those stairs. That, however, all came to a crashing halt.
I walked through the executive level entrance door to find Delfia in a dither, which was completely uncharacteristic. She was throwing papers around her desk and muttering to herself. I looked around trying to find the source of her agitation, but all I noticed was Mr. Greyson’s door was closed. I could hear voices, which was odd, considering I only saw his car and Delfia’s in the parking lot.
Delfia finally noticed me and in hushed tones she spoke, “Heads up, Mr. Greyson . . .”
She didn’t get to finish her thought. Mr. Greyson came out of his office. He was smiling, and he was wearing something, or rather,someoneon his arm.
“KEL— I MEAN MS. BRYANT.” Mr. Greyson looked surprised to see me, though I’m not sure why. I did work there after all. Maybe he was disappointed I interrupted his interlude with his arm accessory. Wow, did he like women with voluptuous chests and painted on faces. I think this one may have done her makeup in the dark, it was awfully thick. He definitely had a type, and it wasn’t me.
“Mr. Greyson,” was all I could manage. In fact, I turned back to Delfia, flustered by the scene in front of me. “Um . . . Delfia can you please pull the Bergman file for me?”
Delfia nodded and went straight to the file cabinet.
“Thank you,” I said quietly as I turned to walk to my office.
“Ms. Bryant,” he called. “I want to introduce you to . . .”
I took a deep breath without trying to make it look like I was taking a deep breath and turned around with the fakest smile I had ever conjured up plastered on my face.
“This is Alexa Manselle.” He shook her off him.
I put out my hand to shake hers.
She took mine, but hers felt like a limp noodle.
I couldn’t stand people who couldn’t give a good, firm handshake. I tried not to roll my eyes.
“Alexa,” he called her, “this is Ms. Bryant. She’s the Regional Manager.”
She let out a high-pitched noise before saying, “Oh, of course.”
I resisted putting my finger to my ear to stop the ringing. Who squealed like that?
She took ahold of his arm. “Ian told me I would be redoing your graphic designs.”
I didn’t even hear what she said after that. My head flew up and met Mr. Greyson’s wide eyes and beet-red face. He pulled away from her grasp and stepped forward.
