Page 126 of A Matter of Time

I squinted at him, and his smile lit his face. “How is that a good deal for me?”

He reached out and grabbed the lapel of my coat as he had earlier, drawing me close.

“C’mon, I’m sorry already. Jesus, I never work this hard.”

I arched a brow for him.

“And you know you’re gorgeous, so you can treat me like this,” he said, his eyes locked on mine.

I just stared back.

“You want me to beg?” he asked. My eyes narrowed. “God, you are beautiful. Say yes.”

“I’ll meet you at seven for drinks at the Arbor, over there off Halsted.”

He nodded and smiled, undoing the buttons on my coat, his hands slipping inside to my sweater as he stepped closer to me. “I was thinking it could be tonight. A friend of mine is having a party—I’d love to take you.” Slowly, he stroked the backs of his fingers up the front of my sweater, over my abdomen.

“Tomorrow,” I said.

We both heard the doorbell ring, and I wondered absently where the button was outside. Bette called for me, and when I turned to go, Trip caught me with an arm around my neck.

“Don’t blow me off, okay? I want to see you.”

I smiled and let my head fall forward as his lips brushed over the back of my neck.

He felt good, there was no denying that. “Okay.”

“Jory, are you sure I can’t take you home?”

But the door opened and he was instantly off me. Cretia poked her head in and told me my boss was standing in the living room, waiting for me. I saw how big her eyes were.

“He’s gorgeous, right?” I teased her.

“Ohmygod, Jory, that’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my life,” she gushed.

I chuckled and followed her out with Trip trailing after me.

Dane stood with Truman, glancing around the room in response to what the other man was pointing out. I realized that not one pair of eyes in the room was not on the two of them or, more precisely, on Dane. Easy to understand the fascination, as in his black Prada suit with the black dress shirt underneath and black cashmere topcoat, he looked like he had just walked off the cover of a magazine. The short jet-black hair and the steel-gray eyes, his sharp, chiseled features, his height, the width of his shoulders, his chest, and just the way everything fit… He was breathtaking. The air of cool detachment, the absence of a smile, the way he oozed confidence… His presence in a room was palpable; he charged the air around him. I used to think I was romanticizing him, but after five years of being his assistant, after being with him when he met people, seeing their reactions, I knew it was simple truth. The man was riveting, and there was no way not to notice.

I walked over to him, and he tossed me his digital camera.

“What am I doing with this?”

“Look at the woman in the fifth picture.”

I flipped through the photos as he was offered a drink that he graciously declined.

“Who is that?” he asked me, leaning in close, pointing at the screen.

I turned and looked up into his eyes. “That’s Sabine Farnsworth.”

The completely vacant look I got in return made me laugh.

“Who?”

“You went on, like, three dates with her,” I informed him.

“When?”