“You should see the boardroom,” Sawyer called to her.
“Is the carpet better?”
“It’s marble.”
“Of course it is.” Nellie came to a stop at the near end of the desk—Sawyer’s end, the commanding end, the end that faced the door for reasons that were both architectural and psychological—and looked down at her. At the desk. At the view from this precise angle. At the way the leather chair sat, and how Sawyer sat in it.
“Come here.”
Nellie smirked. “Why?”
“Because I have an idea, and it requires your presence.”
Nellie came around the desk slowly, stopping a foot away. Sawyer reached out, took her gently by the hips, and drew her in closer.
Then she patted her own knee.
Nellie simply stared. “You want me to sit on your lap?”
“I want you to sit where the CEO of a billion-dollar company sits,” Sawyer said calmly. “Educational opportunity.”
“You are such a—” Nellie laughed despite herself, a reluctant, helpless laugh, and then, with her cheeks flushing a faint pink, she sat.
“Hm,” she said, in a tone of mock assessment.
“Well?”
“The view is good. The chair is… Frankly, the chair is outrageous, and I need to know who made it.”
“I’ll have Martha send you the information.”
Nellie swiveled, very slightly, left and right, testing the motion. Her hand drifted toward the desk surface, and she picked up a pen, examined it, and set it down again. Then she found the computer mouse and gave it a small, experimental shake.
The monitor lit.
Nellie looked at the screen. Sawyer looked at Nellie, at the line of her jaw and the tilt of her head and the small smile that was beginning its slow, private escalation at the corner of her mouth. She recognized that smile. That smile was cause for mild, affectionate alarm.
“What are you doing?” Sawyer asked.
“Nothing,” Nellie said.
She clicked, navigated, clicked again. Sawyer watched over her shoulder as she opened Sawyer’s email application—entirely without invitation, and entirely without shame—then created a new message with a small, triumphant tap.
TheTofield:[email protected].
Sawyer pressed her lips together.
Nellie typed.
She typed with one finger, then switched to two when she got into her stride, and the message took shape in the draft window. Sawyer bit her lip as she read it over her shoulder.
Congratulations, Nellie Fuller, for defeating the one and only Sawyer Alburn in the deal of the century. This is toformally confirm you have won. P.S. You’re also sexy as fuck, even if the receptionist thought you looked like a homeless person.
Sawyer lost the battle with herself and dropped her head back with loud, unrestrained laughter.
“The deal of the century?”
“The deal of the century,” Nellie confirmed, making a small editing pass. She changed the period after “won”to an exclamation point. “I was going to put the deal of the millennium, but I thought that might be overstating it.”
