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“So what do you want to do about this problem?”
Furious he couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand and off trifling observations like the subtle glimmer of bronze dusted on that bare shoulder, he gestured for her to have a seat while he perched on the edge of the desk.
“This problem is indicative of a larger one. Namely, you.”
Her eyes flashed emerald fire while her bottom lip wobbled slightly. “I wasn’t a problem when your father hired me. He thinks I’ll be an asset to the museum.”
“And do you feel the same way?”
“Of course.”
While that tremulous bottom lip suggested she was quaking inside, she eyeballed him, challenge in the green depths, taunting him to break the deadlock and look away first.
Like hell he would.
“My father may have hired you but that doesn’t mean I can’t fire you.”
He dropped the magic F word and she lowered her gaze in record time. Looked like Miss Fancy Feet valued her job more than she let on.
“The train thing was a misunderstanding.” She handed him the complaint form and sighed. “It wasn’t my fault the little monster was fiddling with the display.”
How did she do that, undermine his annoyance with a hint of a smile and a blunt response?
Nothing was remotely funny about this situation—the written complaint highlighted a day filled with her incompetence—yet he had to hide his amusement before responding. “It’s an interactive display. Kids are meant to fiddle with it.”
“How was I supposed to know that?”
“It’s your job to know.”
She grimaced. “Good point.”
Feeling like an ogre and wishing she’d stop worrying that delectably full bottom lip, he said, “You may have convinced my father to hire you for this job but I’m calling the shots now. And currently, I’m less than impressed with your performance. Your CV doesn’t inspire me with confidence and neither have your skills on the first day.”
She stood so swiftly he found himself reaching out to steady her, his hands connecting with her bare arms before he had time to think.
“Look, I’m just nervous, okay? This job means a lot to me and I’m sorry for the misunderstanding with that snotty-nosed brat—uh, little angel. As for the rest, I’ll try to do better. Honest.”
He heard the sincerity in her voice. However, it didn’t match the banked heat in her eyes, and yet again he found himself contemplating the mysteries simmering beneath the surface of this vibrant woman—before mentally chastising himself to stay the hell away.
“Was there anything else? Because if there isn’t you can probably let me go now.”
He released her, unwittingly captivated by her warring vulnerability and defiance to the extent he’d forgotten he still had hold of her.
“A better effort is all I ask. So you’re off to get that drink now?”
She shook her head, sending an intoxicating waft of peach and vanilla his way, instantly transporting him back twenty-five years to the rare indulgent days when his mom actually took time out to cook his favorite peach cobbler dessert.
“Bobby’s not the patient type so he pretty much took off when I called him and said I didn’t know how long I’d be here.”
“Sorry,” he said, not sorry in the least.
Though he had no right to feel this way, the thought of her spending time with any guy, friend or not, in that sexy outfit, annoyed the hell out of him.
“How sorry are you?”
“Pardon?”
“If you’re really sorry, you’ll make it up to me by buying me that drink I’ve missed out on. I’ve had one heck of a first day, including being dragged in here after hours by a very demanding boss and being put on notice.” She tilted her chin up and tucked a curling strand of strawberry blonde silk behind her ear, befuddling his senses with her sensual scent and quirking lips. “I’m stressed. I need to wind down.”
