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I typed back that I needed five minutes. And, of course, there was no answer.
Just orders.
I toggled to the spreadsheet I’d been trying to work on for the last forty minutes. In between calls from three customers who’d been flagged in his almighty list of important clients. He had a list for everything.
And I do mean everything. Times for reports due, times for calls to be made, spreadsheets for specialty invoices for these supposedly special clients. And each of them was different, so I had to learn every one of the layouts.
I recognized the names. The Governor of Boston, The Governor of New York, the freaking Secretary of Defense, and three celebrities who had been in the news lately. What the hell did this guy do for them? It couldn’t be just the pretty glass.
I took a swig from the soda on my desk and frowned when I hit the bottom. Again. I couldn’t worry about the level of caffeine running through my veins at the moment. I needed every last ounce.
I pitched the bottle into the tiny blue recycle bin under my desk, and it bounced out. I sighed and picked it up and put it on top of the seven others.
Oh, boy. Not good.
“How’s it going, Gracie?”
I looked up. “Jack. Hi.” I looked up at the corner of my screen. “Wow. It’s 2:30 already.”
“Yeah, I tried to tag you to come to the conference room with me and Vi, but you didn’t answer.”
I frowned. I vaguely remembered the reminder, but then I’d gotten another message from Mr. Carson and had promptly forgotten about it. “Sorry.”
He sat on the edge of my desk. “Is he keeping you busy?”
I huffed out a laugh. “You could say that.”
“Hey, just the one soda, though. Impressive.”
“Yeah. Told you.” I laughed a little and nudged the recycle bin deeper under my desk.
The door to my boss’s office opened, and I shot up out of my seat. I hit the bin, and the top two bottles rolled out. Jack looked down at them, then peered under the desk and up at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah, just one.”
Shoot.
“Jack, why are you bugging my assistant?” Mr. Carson stood with his arms crossed. The pristine white of his dress shirt pulled tight across his shoulders and arms. He wore a blue tie today—so navy that it was almost black. His face had been almost smooth yesterday, yet was heavy with stubble today.
But it was his hair that made my throat tighten. No. No looking at his hair. Even if it was sinfully thick and completely disheveled from his fingers. At least I assumed there was no one in there with him. How would I know?
Great, now I was thinking about him having some secret tryst in his office while I was toiling away outside.
Tryst?
God. The melodrama overfloweth today, Grace Elizabeth.
My heart thudded double-time in my chest. What the hell was it about this guy? I’d known plenty of good looking guys. Marblehead wasn’t quite as impressive as Martha’s Vineyard, but we definitely had a lot of the wealthy set. And where wealth was, hot trust fund boys followed. Blake was no different.
Right. Totally the same. Good grief.
I frowned when he swiped his palm across his jaw. Had he even gone home last night?
Jack lifted the bag on my desk by the plastic handles. “Feeding her. You’re working her to death, Blake.”
“If she can’t handle the job, it’s not my problem.”
“Well, by law she gets a lunch break, and since she’s been here since seven—I’d say she’s way past lunch.”
“I can eat at my desk,” I said.
