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She palmed the credit card and headed into the back offices. There were no plaques or signs to indicate where anything was, but only one door had light coming from beneath it, so she headed in.
“I’m busy.” Cameron didn’t even bother to look up from his monitor.
Good grief. If this is his attitude, I can see why Aaron needed someone to handle clients. She didn’t let her smile slip, though. “I can see that, so I won’t take much of your time.” Trish held up the credit card. “Just let me know the budget for the front office and I’ll be out of your hair. Or, well, you have a shaved head so...” She smiled harder. “Sorry, I’m wasting time with babbling. Budget, please.”
His dark brows drew together and he finally deigned to look directly at her. “What?”
“A budget. For the front office.” The urge to keep talking bubbled up, but she pressed her lips together to prevent the words from escaping. Call it a hunch, but Cameron O’Clery didn’t seem the type of man to appreciate small talk or meandering conversational threads.
His frown didn’t clear. “Spend whatever you want.”
Lord, grant me patience. She crossed her arms over her chest. “With respect, I do better when I have clear guidelines. A budget would be helpful.”
Cameron cursed, as if this two-minute conversation had taxed what little patience he had. “Spend what you need to. If I think you’re out of line, I’ll tell you.”
Of that, she had no doubt.
Recognizing this was a losing battle, Trish edged back out of the office. “I’ll just get started, then.”
“Do that.” He turned back to his monitor, and it was as if he’d forgotten she was in the room.
She’d never been so summarily dismissed in her life, and Trish couldn’t deny that it rankled. She opened her mouth, but common sense got the best of her. As satisfying as it would be to pester one half of her new bosses, it was her first day. Better to set a precedent of doing her job well before she started pressing Sir Crankypants to hold down an actual conversation.
She headed back to her desk and considered. It was Friday, which gave her today and all weekend to get the decorating stuff out of the way. Then she could start bright and early Monday with figuring out the client aspect. Aaron wanted her to deal with new clients’ preliminary meetings to get a baseline for what services they required. From there, either Aaron or Cameron would take the client. Though I guess Cameron will be taking them all until Aaron is back in the office.
One problem at a time.
She dropped into her desk chair and pulled a dusty notebook out from the second drawer. A list would keep her on track. Trish gave the room one last look and sighed. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch before she caught herself and forcibly straightened them. None of that, Trish. Think positive.
Working as a glorified secretary for her brother’s company might not be part of her bright plans for the future, but that didn’t change anything. She gave 100 percent. It was what she did—who she was. This job would be no different.
She’d be the best damn glorified secretary Aaron and Cameron had ever had.
Cameron finished the last bit of code for his current client’s site and sat back. There were still tests to run and scenarios to play out to ensure he’d filled every nook and cranny with the proper protections and hadn’t left any back doors accidentally open, but they could wait until tomorrow. He rubbed a hand over his head and then stretched. He was past overdue for a massage—he usually kept regular appointments to prevent the kinks in his back from getting too bad—but Aaron’s pending fatherhood had kept his partner out of the office more and more as his woman’s pregnancy got further along, and more work had landed on Cameron as a result.
He didn’t mind. His friend was happy, and that was enough for Cameron. He liked the work, liked keeping occupied with it. All he had was an empty apartment waiting for him, so it wasn’t as if he missed much by spending more time in the office.
As he pushed to his feet and stretched more fully, he frowned. What’s that smell? Another deep inhale had him checking his watch. It was well after eight in the evening, so who the hell was painting?
Cameron stalked out of his office, already calculating where the vents could be sending the scent from. It was probably the floor below theirs. The woman who ran the consulting business down there liked revamping her office with startling regularity. Saying shit wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it was after-hours. He was just tired and hungry and overreacting.
He reached the front office and stopped cold. White cloth covered the floor and blue painter’s tape marked off both the ceiling and trim. Half the white walls were now a soothing green, but that wasn’t what set him back on his heels.
