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JULIET
I am so screwed.
My first day on the job, and I am about to be fired. There’s no doubt. Sneaking into the boss’s office and snooping around when I clearly have no business being here? No, there’s no way to explain this away.
So, I have to think of something else.
I smile. “Hello.”
“Hello,” he says with a suspicious lilt in his voice that might as well be asking What the hell are you doing here? His eyes whirl around the room, looking for some hint to the reason. “What are you doing in here?”
“Sorry, am I not allowed?” I try to look innocent. “Victoria didn’t mention that. In fact, she said I could find the proofs for the latest ad campaign in here.”
“No.” Caleb still looks annoyed, but he crosses to the couch, and tosses his briefcase down. “I gave them to her last night. She probably forgot.”
“Whoops!” I shrug. “Then I’ll ask her. Thanks.”
He loosens his tie, and lets out a beleaguered sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. Clearly, that’s my cue to leave, and I’m just about to do so, edging towards the door, when I see it:
I left the bottom desk drawer open.
I freeze.
Caleb can’t see it right now from where he’s standing over there, but the minute he does…
He’ll know I’ve been rifling through his things.
Dammit!
I swallow hard, trying to think fast. I just need to stall him, I decide. Find some way of closing it again without him noticing.
“Rough day?” I ask casually.
He looks over at me. “Something like that.” He pauses. “And how are you settling in, Ms Nichols?”
How does he make my name sound so sexy? I try to ignore the shiver of desire, hearing it on his lips.
“Fine. Great! I’ve been introduced to about a thousand people, none of whom I’ll remember later, but so far, so good.”
He nods, his gaze skimming over me again. He looks satisfied when he says, “I see you got the clothes.”
I touch the cashmere of my sweater. “Yes.”
“I didn’t want you having any more… Wardrobe emergencies.” Caleb meets my eyes with a smirk. “I can’t always be there to bail you out.”
I flush.
“If it hadn’t been for you bumping into me, I wouldn’t have needed bailing out in the first place.” I point out, like the memory is just a nuisance.
And not the single sexiest moment of my life.
“Are you calling me clumsy?” he arches an eyebrow, moving closer.
I catch my breath. “No. Not exactly.”
“So what are you saying then?” he asks, moving closer still. “Be precise, Ms. Nichols.”
There it is again.
