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She’s stiff, sitting erect. One leg crossed over the other. She can feel the tension in this room, too.
And this time around, she’s not happy about it.
This morning, I didn’t yet have my guard up. Rolling out of bed and greeting a woman while still half-asleep, fresh from a hot shower, will do that to a man. The same goes for being only half-dressed. The entire situation was disarming.
I sense that right now, both of us miss the informal setting of my home and the added distraction of the dogs.
In here—in this professional space, closed in with her—the tension has skyrocketed.
She keeps pulling at the collar of her sweater. Her pale, slender neck has faint blotches. “Maybe you should call her,” she says quietly. I think she’d like to talk to you.”
“Gwen.” I bite back another sigh.
The clock on the wall ticks.
I like that ticking sound. When I work, it reminds me that every second counts.
Right now, Gwen—beautiful and sweet as she is—is wasting my time.
“What?” she asks.
“I don’t need advice about my sister.”
“Well, she’s going to be in that hotel in Anchorage all on her own until Thursday afternoon, when his boat gets in. She says she’s going out of her mind with nerves, and she’s got no one to talk to about it. I just think if you could call her one time and just chat with her for a few minutes, it’d mean the world to her.”
“Fine. Maybe I will.” Probably not. I won’t elaborate on the odds with the bleeding heart before me, though.
Gwen leans forward over the tablet on her lap and swipes busily. It’s very becoming when her hair falls over her eye like that.
I shift in my seat and draw a deep breath through my nostrils.
Cool it, Brock.
“Next?” I bark.
“Sorry… I’m getting there. There was an email about some letter thingy from your accountant…”
“Letter thingy.”
Her vocabulary was sweet when used last night with the dogs.
Here in my office?
I’m not sure.
Yes, my heart feels ticklish. Strangely happy, when she uses these silly words. But, that part of me has never made millions.
“Yep, letter thingy,” she murmurs. “I just can’t remember the letters. API? AIP? KTI… Oh, never mind, nowhere close. Here it is”…
She’s asking about the newest ‘KPI and Metrics report.’
“Am I supposed to know what that is?” She looks up at me.
Those blue-green eyes…
I blink a few times.
“I mean,” she lifts the tablet, “it’s probably on here somewhere… I just don’t know where. Dropbox or something?”
