“It’s her job, Jacqueline.”
Fuck, I love the way he says my name.
“Yes. And I can help with the setup. It’s fine, it won’t take long.”
“To build an entire dashboard?”
I glance up at him. “Yeah. I am really fucking good with Excel.”
“Oh, god, don’t tell anyone else that, they’ll all be after you.”
I chuckle just as my cell starts to buzz on my desk. Ordinarily, I would have it in my bag, but with everything happening with Scott lately, I’ve kept it close by, just in case.
“No personal calls at your desk,” he mutters darkly.
“Is that an order?” I ask in a low voice as he pushes off the doorjamb.
“It can be. Why don’t you come in here after you’re done, and I can make sure you remember for next time?”
I pick up the cell as he goes back into his office, undoing his tie as he goes.
Fuck.
I finally look at my phone screen, and my stomach drops at the sight of eight missed calls from Scott. I push answer immediately.
“Scott? You okay?” I ask, standing and walking away from my desk, keeping my voice low.
“Jax? Thank God.”
My heartbeat roars in my ears at his voice. As far as I know, the deposit drop went fine yesterday, but maybe Monroe’s demanding more money again.
“What’s the matter? Do you need me to come home? I can leave right?—”
“No, Jax, listen, something’s up with Flynn. I don’t know what’s going on, but he’s on his way to your building. I’ve been trying to call you for like an hour!”
“Flynn is cominghere? Why?”
“He was ranting about something, some email he’d found or whatever.”
“What email? Scott, you’re not making any sense.”
“He said the name of something. Like British money? He went totally ape shit.”
“British money? What…” My fingers grip the phone tighter. “Was it Sterling?”
“Yeah! Do you know what that is? He was ranting about Sterling House, how he was going to kill your boss. What boss is he even talking about? Where the hell do you go during the day?”
“Scott, is he on his way now?”
“Yeah, I bet he’ll be there any minute.”
“Fuck.” I hang up and run toward the elevators. “Vince, Vincent!” I say, sprinting to the reception desk, and almost toppling over it.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” Vince asks, looking up at me as he continues to type on his keyboard.
“Vince, have you seen a guy, 5’9, gray hair, looking pissed?” I ask in a rush.
“Uh. No. I would remember a silver fox like that.”
