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The next day, I watch Victoria going in and out of Caleb’s office, barely letting him out of her sight. My guess is that she’s trying extra-hard to do everything for him, so he doesn’t think to ask me for help with anything. He hasn’t left his office all morning. He hasn’t needed to, with Super Assistant on the job.
How can I get close to the man’s phone if I can’t even get close to him?
Finally, she leaves his office around 1 p.m and calls back to him, “I’m headed out for lunch. If you need anything, I’ll be back in an hour.”
I don’t hear his response, but she glances at me before heading for the elevator. Are those eye daggers she’s giving me?
“Have a good lunch!” I call after her, anyway.
She turns back, surprised. “Oh. Thanks.”
When she’s gone, I finally relax. The pile of work she’s laid on my desk is sky-high. Keeping me busy, too busy to ask the big boss for more work.
Not that I’m planning to.
Still, if I want to get a look at his phone…
As I’m contemplating, Caleb appears in the doorway. He doesn’t say a word, just hooks a finger at me and beckons. I’m up like a puppet on a string.
For the job, I tell myself. Not because I’m drawn to the man like a damn moth to a flame.
I follow him into the office, where there are papers strewn over his normally neat desk. Plus, his cellphone, sitting right there.
I tear my eyes away. Caleb’s busy signing some official legal documents. He stacks them together, and says, “Get these to legal for me.”
“Of course.”
I take them. “Anything else?” I ask calmly.
“Not right now.” Caleb meets my eyes. “Unless you’d care to join me for dinner, tonight?”
My pulse lurches. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure about that?” Caleb’s voice turns silky. “I can make reservations. Champagne, caviar… Candlelight…”
“I don’t care for caviar,” I reply, keeping my voice light. “And champagne gives me a headache.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
“No need.” I smile. “You won’t have the opportunity to use it.”
Caleb smirks, like he’s impressed by my smart mouth. I’m just relieved he can’t see the way my heart is racing, and my blood is running hot from the thought of an evening alone with him.
“If that’s everything…” I turn to go, but as I do, my eyes land on a photograph on the credenza. I pause, surprised to see a personal touch in this oh-so impersonal office.
“My parents. And Olivia’s.”
Caleb’s voice comes, a new note in there. Something heavy.
I look closer. There are four people in the picture, standing outside the 5th Avenue Sterling Cross location. It’s old and slightly blurry, but I can see the proud smiles on their faces. Two tall, blonde people—Olivia’s folks, I’m guessing—and then the Sterlings: a glamorous dark-haired woman, and a man who could only be Caleb’s father: tall and formidable and impeccably dressed, with a rush of dark hair.
“My grandfather started the company,” Caleb continues, “but it was my dad, Jacob, who took the baton and ran with it. The Sterling legacy,” he adds, his voice tight with emotion.
I turn back to him. Caleb has a shadow in his expression, staring at the photograph.
“That sounds like a lot of pressure.” I say softly.
He gives a brusque shrug. “I’m fortunate. They built it. I just have to keep it. They’re the ones who made Sterling Cross into the ultimate status symbol… The pinnacle of desire. Now I just have to live up to their name. Make them proud.”
