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Elliott jumped up from his desk immediately, but did not go to her. The look on her face prevented him from going over. She had that look, that look like if one wrong word was said, she might start crying. He had nothing but wrong words.
She just stood there frozen for a moment, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open as if she were silently saying "oh", but nothing came out. Then, in a flurry, she dropped to her knees on the floor and started pulling the broken ceramic pieces into a pile in front of her, ignoring her soaked shirt and the burns which were surely forming on her skin beneath.
Hannah couldn't keep a thought in her mind for more than a second. She was an idiot. An idiot! She needed to look where she was going for chrissakes. She made a complete fool of herself in front of not only her boss, but his associates. She actually ran into something. They must have thought she was a complete klutz.
Whatdidshe run into?
Just when the thought formed into her mind and she thought to look up and see, a man knelt down in front of her, grabbing her hands and stilling their frantic cleaning. It was then that she realized she ran into a person. This man.
The other Mr. Michaels.
The younger brother.
He looked nothing like Elliott. He had light brown hair and laughter lines. His eyes were a darker blue and his face wasn't as sharp as his brother's. His cheekbones were prominent, but softer. His lighter eyebrows, less severe and his mouth seemed perpetually turned up at the edges. He was wearing, she almost laughed, blue jeans and a white t-shirt with a gray blazer on top and an absolutely out of place tie. He was even wearing sneakers.
EM must have been furious. That thought was almost enough to make her smile. Almost.
"Well," he said, his voice calm and sweet, "only employees of my brother would give themselves third degree burns and cuts on their hands at the mere sight of him."
Hannah made a sound in her throat, something close to a laugh and a snort and a groan all at once and she dropped her gaze away from his so he wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill over. It was then she realized he had her hands in his.
Just as she started to try to pull them away, he held them tighter and pulled her to her feet. "Well now," he said, turning her toward the door, "why don't we go get you looked after and make some new coffee? I'm sure they can do without me for a few minutes. I am just here for beauty purposes anyway." He smiled and she laughed.
He steered her out of the office, holding onto one of her arms and guiding her toward the kitchen. "So what might my brother's new victim's name be," he asked.
"Um... ah... I'm Hannah."
"Hannah. Lovely. A palindrome. So, my dear Hannah, how long have you been working here? I haven't seen you before, but that doesn't say much as I try not to show my face here unless under the threat of termination."
"This is my second day."
He laughed deep in his throat in a mocking, yet not unkind way, "You must feel really awful right about now, huh?" Without waiting for her to answer, he stepped closer and picked up her arm, rolling up the sleeve to reveal her skin. "Does it hurt?" he asked.
"Yes," Hannah answered honestly, looking at him as he bent over her arm. He was, well, he was every bit as lovely to look at as Tad kept insisting. And probably every bit as charming.
"Well, I am afraid there is not much to be done. It has to come off. Wait here, I'll go grab my saw," he gave her a grave look then smiled. "But here," he said, turning on the faucet and pulling her arm under it. She pulled away immediately. "Yeah, I know it's cold. But you will feel a little better for a bit if you just let it take the sting away."
They stood there in silence for a few moments. Her arms took turns under the running water and the other Michaels brother standing entirely too close, just behind her hip and looking over her shoulder. He was tall. Like his brother.
"Quiet, aren't you?" he asked when the silence drug on and on.
"Not usually," she answered, turning off the tap and drying her arms carefully with paper towels.
"I see," he smiled, "this is not the first time a woman has been struck silent by my magnificent good looks. Don't be embarrassed. It is only natural. I am, well," he laughed, making his speech much more humorous than arrogant, "I am just... beautiful."
Hannah laughed. "And very humble it seems," she quipped, making him chuckle.
"Alas, humility has never been a strong suit of mine." He looked at her for a long second. "I imagine you never figured when you were getting dressed for work today that you would be starring in your very own wet t-shirt contest."
"Oh, for God's sake," she blurted out, remembering her choice of a thin white work shirt for the day.
"Oh, no no no. No, don't worry darling. I have a plan," he said, stripping off his jacket and loosening his tie, making her truly worry for a second if he thought she was about to have a quicky with him in the office kitchen. If, perhaps, he was the rake everyone accused him of being. But he stepped closer, encouraging her to put her arms in the sleeves and he buttoned her up. Then he took his gray tie and wrapped it around her waist, pulling it tight so the lapels wouldn't accidentally pull open.
"Don't you know Elliott likes his women with flesh on their bones?"
Hannah snorted, "Luckily, I couldn't care less what type of women he prefers."
James shrugged off the topic, "Well," he said, stepping back and eyeing her up, "it certainly isn't high fashion but it is better than seeing your bra."
