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Oliver seemed uneasy, too, staring ahead as he fiddled with his donut-winning paper cup. He cleared his throat and broke their silence. “Georgie, there’s something you should know before we go in.” He glanced her way. “Amalia wasn’t pleased about Friday.”
Furrowing her brow, Georgie chucked her almost-full tea in a garbage can. “Why? What’d she say?”
“‘I can’t believe you’d entertain a date in your office after hours.’”
Me and Oliver dating! Georgie bit her bottom lip, curbing a smile. But her amusement dispersed quickly, shunted aside by fears for her credibility and the much-hoped-for reference. She blinked back at him, her posture stiffening. “That’s a bizarre thing to say. It’s not like she caught us kissing or anything.”
Oliver’s throat bobbed. “She saw the wine glasses. And with it being Friday evening…”
“Ohh! Right.” Georgie bristled into a scowl. “Shit.”
“But once I explained, she backed down and apologized.”
Closing her eyes briefly, Georgie rippled with relief. “Ohh, thank god.” She pressed her palm against her pounding heart and exhaled heavily. “Thank. God.”
“I wasn’t going to tell you, but”—Oliver’s eyes widened—“I figured you should know in case she brings it up.”
“I’m glad you did. I hate being caught off guard, and an assumption like that could’ve derailed everything.”
“It’s so unfounded, too.” Trepidation lingered in Oliver’s voice. “We didn’t even know each other then, let alone fancy one another…”
His proclamation sucked the breath from her lungs. Georgie looked away, her smile dying a quick death as she dipped her chin. “Yeah.” She grimaced. “But if Amalia spotted the wine glasses, how’d she miss the muffins? I mean, those two things kinda cancel each other out, right? Nothing screams business meeting more than baked goods. Except maybe a fruit platter…”
Oliver didn’t speak for several beats. “I guess Amalia only saw what she wanted to see.”
A yearning ache overwhelmed Georgie’s chest. Apparently, so did she.
FIFTEEN
GEORGIE
Stood by Oliver’s side, Georgie kept her focus locked on the nameplate affixed to the office door.
Amalia Appleton Eberhart, PhD
This is why you’re here, Georgie. THIS. She drew in a shaky breath.
Unrequited feelings would not ruin this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and as planned, she’d sell their presentation idea like her entire future depended upon it. Shame that future wouldn’t involve Oliver or English mazes or kissing.
Or kissing Oliver in English mazes…
Focus! Georgie clutched her file folder of presentation papers against her black blazer as Ms. Appleton Eberhart’s assistant waved them through. Oliver nudged the door open and entered. Georgie followed, inhaling another slow, measured breath.
Sat behind a hefty mahogany desk with the phone receiver pressed to her ear, Amalia pointed her blood red manicure toward two uncomfortable-looking chairs facing her. The fine features of her face pinched into a furious scowl. “That’s what I’m saying. Get it done! Now!”
Oliver remained standing and toyed with his security pass. Not a good sign.
Amalia slammed down the receiver and culled a scattering of paperwork spread out in front of her. “Sorry about that.” She nudged her red eyeglasses up her button nose and scrutinized Georgie from head to toe.
Under such an obvious examination, her heart pounded without mercy beneath her silk blouse. She curled her fingers around the edge of her file folder as the assistant reappeared with two tall glasses of water. Placing them on Amalia’s desk within easy reach of the two vacant chairs, she smiled and promptly left the room. As the door clicked shut, Oliver meandered closer, and Georgie followed his lead.
“Oliver, great to see you as always. I must admit, I was surprised to discover you’d brought in an outside consultant.” His boss rose to her feet and held out her right hand in Georgie’s direction. “Amalia Appleton Eberhart, Chief Curator of Egypt.”
Reaching across the desk, Georgie responded with a firm but brief shake. “Georgina Law, I teach Canadian, European, and ancient history at Midtown Collegiate Institute. It’s wonderful to formally meet you.”
“Likewise.” Amalia retreated and sat down. “Please, take a seat.”
She didn’t have to tell Georgie twice. Her knees were knocking so violently it would’ve been a miracle if Amalia hadn’t heard them. She laced her fingers on top of the folder in her lap and demurely crossed her ankles as Amalia took a prolonged sip from a plain white mug. The boss’s pause gifted Georgie a moment to snoop. Scanning the office, she spied the Louis Vuitton purse she’d seen previously as well as an antique globe, a framed photo of Amalia smiling in front of the Pyramids of Giza, and several commemorative plaques from Toronto charities all lined up on an ornate credenza. A large window behind Amalia faced south, framing Toronto’s financial district in the distance.
