The Miss Mullen hits me right in the spine.
“No.” I shake my head too quickly. “No, sir.”
His gaze holds mine.
I attempt a neutral expression.
Based on the slight shift of his jaw, I fail.
He grunts, low and rough, then turns toward his office. “Get back to work.”
“Yes. Absolutely. Love work.”
He stops.
I close my eyes.
Love work.
Why am I like this?
He looks back over his shoulder. His expression is still grim, but something in his eyes has warmed by half a degree. Maybe less. Maybe I imagined it because I am a woman in crisis.
Then he disappears into his office and shuts the door.
I collapse back in my chair.
“Love work,” I whisper. “Fantastic. Very normal.”
For the next half hour, I do my best to pretend nothing happened.
I answer emails, organize contracts, and accidentally take a sip of yesterday’s coffee. It is cold, bitter, and startling enough that I slosh half of it onto the carpet.
After a quick rescue mission with the wet wipes in my top drawer, I head to the break room for fresh coffee.
When I come back with a new cup, I gather the Winterglow Heights contracts and the updated lodge launch packet. He needs these before the nine o’clock call, and if I get them to him now, he’ll know that I’m efficient.
Yes, this is professional. This is absolutely not about wanting a second encounter with gray sweatpants.
I knock lightly on the door.
“Mr. Richmond?”
No answer.
I wait.
Still nothing.
Maybe he stepped out while I was in the break room. There is a side hallway near the conference room, and he moves quietly for a man that large. Alarmingly quietly. Like a bear with military training.
I push the door open.
His office is empty.
The room smells like cedar, expensive cologne, and him.
Which is unfair. Offices should smell like paper and toner, not like a woman’s moral downfall.
