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“You’re replying to one now.”
He blinked. Isa swallowed a smile. This man had no idea who he was dealing with and she sort of loved it.
“I kept the e-mail short and sweet, Eli. You can finish it in ten minutes even with that blunt-fingered, caveman-style, hunt-and-peck typing method you seem to favor.” She made a show of checking off the task box on her planner page. “Next: lunch. Will you be ordering out, or do you have special dietary restrictions?”
“I can feed myself, Bettie. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“It’s Isa,” she corrected calmly. “And feeding you is now part of my job. Not literally, of course. I trust you can maneuver a fork to your mouth if you can move around on a prosthesis.”
He blinked again. She’d been testing him. She’d bet none of her employees had spoken of his injuries or prosthetic leg so garishly. But if he insisted on being blunt with her, she figured turnabout was fair play. Especially since he was content to insult her.
“I don’t like Isa,” he snarled.
“Well, then call me Isabella.”
“What if I don’t like Isabella?”
“Then you are welcome to call me Ms. Sawyer, but it’s rather formal, don’t you think? I’d feel enticed to call you Mr. Crane.”
“Mr. Crane is my father.” Eli crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair. The stance could have appeared relaxed if every muscle in his upper half wasn’t flexed.
“Then I suggest you find a suitable name to call me so I don’t accidentally age you thirty-five years.”
His mouth compressed into a line, but a spark lit his eyes as if he were enjoying the banter. The dark blue flashed with a heat that consumed the room and stole her cheeks. She swallowed thickly, licking her bottom lip as she recrossed her legs. Rather than watch him, she pretended to write in her planner. She was enjoying the banter, too. Her knees weren’t as strong as she’d like.
“Sable,” she said, clearing her throat of the awareness that’d pooled there.
“Say again?” His handsome face contorted.
She lifted her head. “Like my company. That…I work for,” she tacked on. “You can call me Sable if you don’t prefer Isa or Isabella.” It was her nickname after all.
“Sable,” he muttered, and the heated air between them intensified. Eli’s low voice raked along her spine, sending a zap of electricity to her brain stem. In spite of not wanting to feel anything for him, she felt all sorts of confusing things.
Intrigue.
Curiosity.
Want.
“There you go.” She flashed him a quick smile, then went back to her list, ticking off three more boxes before she stood and moved for the exit. “I’ll order for you, then. No preferences on what you eat?”
“No meat unless it’s seafood,” he said.
“You’re a vegetarian?” It was out of her mouth before she’d thought about saying it. She never would have guessed Eli, clearly a man’s man, didn’t eat meat. Now who’s being sexist?
“Sort of.”
“Very well. I’ll let you know when it arrives.” She gave him a curt nod and turned to leave the room, mindful of each step she took and wondering if he watched her as she left.
***
For the second time today, Eli watched his assistant’s ass sway and wondered at the chutzpah of this woman. Didn’t she know who she was dealing with? It wasn’t often, if ever, he trotted out his family crest to remind people to respect him, but maybe the reminder was overdue.
“Sable” behaved as if she had little to no respect for his billions in the bank, or maybe she’d worked for so many billionaires in the past, she was bored rather than impressed.
Not that he wanted to impress her.
She’d knocked him off center for sure, and there was no denying that the palpable snap of attraction in the air was as inconvenient as it was enthralling. Eli Crane wasn’t easily enthralled.
