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I looked up. “Into your office?”
“Yes. Move along, Ms. Copeland.”
I tamped down on the urge to growl and opened the drawer on my right. Just papers. I went for the other side and found a host of toys. IPad, mini-notebook—one I’d been drooling over for months—as well as cords galore.
I grabbed the laptop and opened it, balancing the lightweight machine on my palm as I quickly tapped in my details. God bless networks. My information opened a matching desktop, linked to what I’d just been doing.
The door was open, and he was looming over his desk with three monitors making a U-shaped work station. A large projection on the glass flickered to life. The familiar logo for business conference calls came up and then a video feed.
My little IM box popped up, Mr. Carson’s fingers flying over the keys.
Send all research through here. Pertinent details only.
Like I knew what pertinent details were? I was an artist, for God’s sake.
A stunning blonde woman came into focus on the projection screen. Huge china-blue eyes were lightly enhanced with makeup, and her almost too lush mouth was downplayed with barely there lipstick.
“Nice to see you, Blake. Sorry for the change of plans. Donovan has to attend a meeting in London.”
“Not a problem.” He nodded to me. “Lila Shawcross, meet my new assistant, Ms. Copeland.”
“Welcome to the madness, Ms. Copeland.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Lila’s cool, professional smile widened and bumped into almost warm. “Don’t worry, Donovan only bites on Tuesdays.”
“Today’s Tuesday,” I replied.
A small smile tugged at her lips, and she looked down at the iPad in her hand. “Fancy that.”
My lips twitched, but I managed not to smile back. Especially when Mr. Carson shot a look at me. I perched on the edge of the same chair I’d interviewed in, my fingers flying over the keys as I scanned the business trade articles for mention of Donovan Lewis and any new projects he was getting involved in.
“Sorry for the rush, Blake. Thanks for fitting us in.”
My gaze snapped to the screen. British, cultured, and deep—Donovan’s voice was equivalent in touch to cashmere. He had a similar look to Mr. Carson, only more lean and elegant. He didn’t seem to be as tall either, and his suit was definitely less rumpled.
Instead of getting more buttoned up, her boss took off his jacket and slung it over his chair. He had a small iPad in his large hand, and he cradled it like a freaking phone. “Just means I can actually go home before dark for once.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Donovan murmured.
Mr. Carson’s mouth tipped into a fleeting grin. “The installation of the security glass on Ms. York’s house is progressing nicely. The architect contacted me last night and ordered another dozen panels for her veranda.”
There was my cue. I quickly brought up the York file and all the emails he tagged. My boss was scarily efficient. I followed along with the conversation and sent him a few updates from the job site.
Lila seemed to be doing the same thing. Her fingers were flying and swiping over her iPad.
“Are you onboard with the re-facing of your New York office?” he asked.
Donovan leaned against a conference table. “We’ve crunched some numbers, and between the look of Lindsey’s place and my own discussions with a few of your established clients, it’s a go.”
Mr. Carson’s hand tightened on his chair, but otherwise there was no reaction to the news. I didn’t have time to pore over any other details since the discussion got intense from there on out. I was trying to keep up with my boss’s numbers and notes for the session to make sure what he said actually came to pass.
I had a feeling the entire conversation was being recorded, but this also felt very much like a test. And I really needed to get an A+.
“The last question I had was an aesthetic one.” Donovan’s posture eased a little, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Your product is phenomenal, but I work with people who value their image as much as their security. More than, in all honesty.”
Mr. Carson’s spine went straight as a ruler.
