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I was not checking out the enemy’s ass, dammit.
I slumped back in my chair. Evidently, I was working very late tonight.
Awesome.
Eleven
Lost in the haze of files and spreadsheets, the sun came and went. I didn’t remember how long ago Jack came by to say goodnight. I’d given up on my desk chair.
As ergonomic as it was—and it was lovely—I’d always been one who did my best work huddled up in a corner. Once everyone in the office had taken off, I’d taken the mini laptop with me and spread out with all my files in the reception area.
I had a carpet picnic going with grapes, cheese, and my large bottle of water. If I had another soda today, my heart would explode out of my chest. Blake was locked in his office with overseas calls, and I’d had to transcribe them for the notes.
Listening to Blake’s voice for two hours straight had ruined me for the day. I could hear him stalking around the room as he talked. His voice was clipped and professional. No extraneous words—ever.
But his voice was so smooth and deep.
And that was the problem. Far too deep to be listening to via headset. Hence my carpet picnic. I had to get away from my desk and my constant awareness of him in that office. The fact that he could see me but I couldn’t see in was driving me batty. I never knew if he was watching me, or if he was completely oblivious.
Not sure why it mattered so much, but it did.
I lifted my bottle and downed more than half of the contents before setting it on the coffee table I was using. I unzipped my boots and kicked them away, then pulled my feet in cross-legged under my skirt.
I leaned forward to stretch out my back. Everything hurt, but the tightness and buzzing that lived under my skin was slowly driving me mad. I had maybe an hour left of spreadsheets to work through, and then I could finally go home.
What home? I knew I was avoiding the things I had to do, which is probably why I didn’t balk at working so late.
I reached my fingers out, palms flat to the floor and touched my forehead to the carpet. I groaned out a soft breath as the rubber bands formerly known as my muscles eased. The sound of a clearing throat had me popping up straight.
Mr. Carson stood at the edge of the carpeted area, the stem of his glasses tucked between his teeth. His tie was loosened, but that was the only outward clue to the hours spent in the office.
Unlike me. Since I hadn’t straightened my hair today, I could feel it increasing in size exponentially each hour that passed. “Hi.”
“What are you doing, Ms. Copeland?”
“Working.” I twisted away and tapped on a few keys of my laptop set up beside me on the floor. “I just sent you the transcripts for your London and Paris calls. I’m working on the projections right now. Your spreadsheets are pretty genius actually.” I looked up at him when he didn’t reply. “What?”
“You’re on the carpet.”
I glanced down at my skirt to make sure it covered my legs. “I am. I needed a break from the desk.”
“That chair is perfectly ergonomic. If you need additional supplies—”
“I’m fine. I don’t care how ergonomic a chair is, seventeen hours requires a change of scenery.”
“Right.” The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. “I didn’t see you at your desk. I thought you’d gone home.”
“Nope. I refuse to take work home. If I work late, it’ll be here.” I folded my knees to the side and tucked my long skirt over my gray knee socks.
“I’m sorry to keep you here so late. It won’t happen all the time.”
I grinned up at him. I had the strangest urge to get up into the chair behind me, but didn’t want him to know just how uncomfortable I was. “But I’m sure it’ll happen often.”
“Being my assistant is…difficult.”
My lips twitched. “I’m just about done.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to my feet then back to my face.
