Julian at last releases me from his gaze. Except when he stands, his body brushes against me to grab the handles of the bag. I can’t be imagining it. He is doing it on purpose. I have a stronger whiff of his woodsy cologne, and his arm drifts far too close to mine. My breath catches, and my body tightens, and it betrays me, too. My nipples react as a result of him being only inches from me. This man has power in and out of the boardroom. I try not to imagine what he would be like in bed. Or is he a table guy?
His body sweeps back. “Ricky, you can put her bill on mine,” he tells the barman.
“Oh, you don’t have to do—” I try to protest.
He is quick to interrupt. “Don’t disobey me. My rules, since you’re my assistant, even if you have to get on your knees, remember?”
I wince at the reminder, and at the same time, I appreciate that we are actually having a casual conversation, though an innuendo is part of the formula to make the evening run smoothly.
“You wish,” I volley back, not even registering what I accused my boss of.
He scans the room before he leans down, and his mouth comes close to my ear, his hot breath radiating on my skin, and my pulse is speeding. “Have fun with my next dry-clean run, but you won’t find a paper with a number. I have a feeling you won’t be finding those anymore,” he whispers.
He leaves without any notice to me. It wouldn’t matter because I’m sitting here speechless.
Probably to cope with the loss of his near touch, which leaves me cold, because talking to him brought his body close.
Or he probably left me without words to process my thoughts.
The one where I am doubting myself about whether I interpreted everything right.
Because maybe his new no-number policy is because he has no interest, and maybe it has to do with me.
7
JULIAN
Watching the view of the Chicago skyline out of the corner window, it’s a shame the clouds hang low today. Gray fits my mood, however. I sit on my chair behind the desk with my feet propped up on the glass and my hands behind my head. It doesn’t exactly scream professional, but I don’t particularly care. I’m trying to regain focus because I’ve been stewing in thoughts of my assistant.
Not going to lie, I’m walking myself straight down a road where I shouldn’t be going. I’ve seen Savannah’s taut and smooth body naked, I’ve talked to her outside of the office, and I’ve learned to notice when she’s about to snipe out an answer directed at me. Yet, this all feels oddly right. But today, I need to go back to being a pain in her fine ass. Otherwise, I’m going to fall down a rollercoaster, and I actually do need her work ethic.
I timed my entrance to the office this morning in the hope that it was her usual 7:50 staff room coffee-and-chat routine.
It was a success, minus the twenty seconds when I noticed she restocked her fruit snack jar, and she left her phone, witha background picture of an older woman with faded blonde hair, whom I would assume is her aunt. They’re hugging at what appears to be a festival.I wasn’t nosy, simply ensuring my assistant is aboveboard. But avoiding her will only get me so far.
I have a potential-client lunch meeting here in my office at eleven, and Savannah might need to take notes. Clark wouldn’t be a significant addition to our portfolio, but still, a big enough fish to consider. He purchased a new minor hockey team in Wisconsin and is looking for someone to handle the logistics for games. Usually, our sports and entertainment division would handle this. I prefer to meet with the big fish, and mostly with our import and export division, but this is a favor to Charles.
My chest lunges when I hear a knock at my door, and I remind my body to get it together.
“Come in,” I say as I swing my feet off my desk and get into serious “man with power behind a $20,000-desk” mode.Quickly, I pretend to be using my laptop and avoid looking up, only for it to fail when I hear the click of her heels.
“Well, well, well… don’t think I didn’t catch you,” she taunts, and my eyes set on her as she sashays my way in her gray pencil skirt with a matching top.
“Enlighten me.”
One arm holds her notebook and folder close, and her other hand, with her perfectly manicured fingers with dark red nail polish, ticks back and forth in scolding, and I want to bite them. “Don’t think I didn’t see you. Giving the nightly cleaner extra work with your dirty shoes.”
I smirk subtly. “Well, well, well, I do remember a certain assistant once mentioning getting down on her knees to shinemy shoes.”Great.Only thirty seconds in, and I’m making a sexual innuendo.
Her face drops. “Funny. Now, shall we focus on your meeting with Clark Gabes? You said you didn’t need any notes or an agenda for preparation since you plan to schmooze with your powerful cursed charm over people, whatever that may be. I did, however, contact his assistant to figure out his favorite lunch choices, and I went ahead and ordered from that sandwich place down on Wicker. Apparently, he really has a soft spot for spinach, a triple shot of ginger smoothie, and a buckwheat-bread sandwich with sprouts and some other rabbit food like that. So, congratulations, you’re going to pretend to love sprouts and tomatoes plucked from the restaurant roof garden that I’m sure has plenty of Chicago pollution raining down on it.”
Ah, damn. I should have known. The man runs marathons and lets it get to his head, both in image and bragging rights.
“Thanks,” I say as she grabs something from her folder, darts her arm out, and tosses a paper onto my desk. “What’s this?”
“I know you believe that you’re the genius in your field, but I did a little extra research for you.”
Of course she did. Efficiency, she always gets points for it. Her elegantly tight dresses are where she loses points on the scorecard, all because it ruins my focus.
