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“Good.” Then she smirked, totally giving herself away when she added, “Have a nice lunch yourself.” And she strolled off.
I watched her go before plopping back into my seat and calling up the file before printing out a copy. I shared a printer with half a dozen other people, so I had to round my desk and dodge down an aisle between cubicles toward the center of the room, and then murmur an excuse me to two ladies and Price chatting together in front of it, before getting my hands on those two pages.
Then I returned to my desk to prepare.
I had brought a sack lunch today and Gracen’s office would be on the way to the breakroom, so it only seemed economical to stop by there on my way to eat.
Stomach swirling with anxiety as I stood, I primped big-time, ironing out my clothes with my hands, smoothing both palms over my hips of the skirt I wore, and then glancing around before I readjusted my boobs a little in my bra and then finger-combing my hair.
But even as I did it, I groaned to myself because, seriously, I was being so ridiculous. I probably wouldn’t even see him. His office door would no doubt be closed, as it usually was when I walked past on the way to the breakroom, and I’d simply drop the memo off with his secretary.
Not that it mattered if I did happen to catch a glimpse of him through a possibly open doorway because nothing was ever going to happen between us, anyway.
So it honestly did not matter how I looked if he did see me. And yet, I unconsciously scraped my teeth over my lips to brighten and plump them as I exhaled slowly and forced my steps to calm down on the way there.
But then I saw ahead that his door was open.
And Magda was not at her desk.
Oh shit. I was going to get to talk to him. Again.
All oxygen vacated my brain, leaving me light-headed. I swayed once before closing my eyes and drawing in a deep breath to chill out a little. I could do this. He was just a man.
A man I couldn’t stop thinking about.
But that probably only meant my imagination had blown up his appeal in my head way bigger than it really was. No way could he be as spectacular as I was envisioning him to be. I was almost positive I’d be vastly disappointed when I saw him again. I mean, no way could he have the same effect on me that I’d convinced myself he did.
Reaching the doorway, I peeked around the corner and stopped dead.
Nope. My daydreams had exaggerated nothing. If anything, my memories had downplayed the skip in my pulse, the catch in my breath, the absolute thrill of vivacity that raced through my veins that just looking at him brought me.
He was just so full of movement and energy. His bent head bobbed slightly as he listened to some music he was playing in his own head as he tapped the end of his pen against the top of his desk and read some printed report before him. Even his windblown—or maybe it was finger-raked—dark hair swayed and floated to the beat he had going.
I yearned to get close enough to him to absorb some of that warmth and congenial kinetic life he exuded.
“Hey.” I tapped on his open door, then kept my fingers balled in an attempt to keep them from shaking. When he looked up, my heart skipped a beat.
Feeling my face heat uncontrollably, I offered him an apologetic cringe, even as I hesitantly stepped into the office. “Sorry, your assistant wasn’t here.”
“No worries,” he told me with a welcoming smile. “Magda went home early. Said her arthritis in her knees was bothering her. So come on in. What’s up?”
“Oh, um.” I lamely lifted the two sheets of paper in my hand. “Jada wanted me to get these to you. It’s a memo she wanted you to proofread, I guess.”
“Uh...okay.” Seemingly confused by the drop-off, he pushed to his feet anyway and said, “Sure. Thanks.” Rounding his desk to meet me halfway, he reached out and took the pages from my hand as I shuffled forward and stretched them forward.
“You’re welcome.”
And here was that moment when I was supposed to turn around and leave his office. Except I didn’t. I just stood there, lingering like a creeper. What was worse, I didn’t say anything, either. I just looked at him, soaking up as much as I could before I had to go.
Finally, it grew awkward enough that his brow knit with confusion.
“Was there something else?” he asked, glancing down at the memo as if looking for further instructions.
My eyes widened. “No!” I rasped quickly, my voice hoarse with utter embarrassment. “That was it. Thanks.” I spun away, filled with mortification. “Have a good day.”
“Yeah,” he murmured in return, sounding confused. “You too.”
I burst toward the door but was so eager to get out of there—so I could privately die of embarrassment somewhere else—that I got tunnel vision and didn’t see the chair he had sitting in front of his desk for visitors until I tripped over it and went sprawling forward.
