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I gaze at her as she goes through the document. Her eyes widen.
“Wow. This is detailed. How are you going to handle this?” She looks at me.
“I’m creating a committee that’ll oversee the PR project.” I tap a finger on my table. “I want to address the company only when I’m sure we’re executing the plan, and the public when we’re getting somewhere in the execution.”
“I understand, sir.” She glances at the proposal once more. “So, where do I come in?”
I lean back. “I’ll need an estimation of the total budget. An event like this is going to cost a lot, and I want to make sure we don’t spend more than what we have. When will that be ready?”
Running her fingers along the smooth texture of the paper, she gazes up as if something caught her attention. After a while, her clear blue eyes meet mine.
“Two days, Mr. Thatcher. We’ll run a full estimate and deliver it to you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. That’s all for now.” As she rises, something else comes to mind. “One more thing. If you want to submit your findings, please meet Noelle Quinn in the marketing department. Chris made her my assistant for the planning.”
She smiles, nods, and leaves. I bury my head in my palms. There’s so much work to be done. The idea I needed fell to me on a platter of gold, but there is a hiccup. Noelle is now my assistant.
I stand and pace, overwhelmed by my recurring thoughts. What the hell is the‘sir’card? The sound of my name on her lips last Friday was intoxicating. Now she’s suddenly become the respecting-my-boss Noelle. Such a huge difference. And equally tantalizing. But it’s my name I yearn to hear her say.
Why am I so concerned about this? All we shared was one hot night of passion and maybe a morning of another. My best sex, but it’s nothing more than that. I hardly know her. But, as much as I try to convince myself of this, my gut still tightens from her aloofness.
I punch the speed dial button for my secretary’s number, and in less than three seconds, he picks up.
“Hand me Miss Quinn’s file.” I swallow to try to ease my dry throat.
Silence hangs in the air.
Hesitating, I add, “Miss Quinn as in Noelle Quinn from the PR department.”
“In a minute, sir.” The line cuts.
I don’t have to explain the reason for my actions to my employees. He doesn’t need to know why I need the file. Why I want it.
About thirty minutes after, my door clicks open, and Derrick walks in, file in hand. Finally.
“Here, sir. The file you requested.” He hands it to me.
“Thanks. That will be all. You may leave.” He heads toward the door but stops mid-way before turning.
“I’m sorry if I come off as nosy but, may I ask why you need the file, sir? Miss Quinn is from a separate department and I’m not sure Mr. Burnham knows about this. He was surprised that you needed the file.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”
“I couldn’t get access to it without asking him.”
What’s Chris up to? One moment he’s willing to make Noelle my assistant for the planning, and the next he’s surprised I needed her file?
Then it hits me. My earlier dismissal of him might have aroused suspicion. Only a blind man would miss the fact that Chris dotes over Noelle. It can only mean one thing: he has feelings for her.
“I guess Chris might just have thought that you didn’t need to know that Miss Quinn and l will be working together in the next few weeks.”
Or he’s skeptical about me getting access to her information because he thinks I’m out to get her.
He nods, and a small ‘o’ forms on his lips.
“I’m so sorry to pry.”
“You’re my secretary after all.” I shrug, a half-smile on my lips. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a lot on my plate.”
