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“Good morning, Beckett,” she says.
One glance tells me she’s been in the office for a while. There are stacks of paper piled on her desk. Competitors’ headphone samples litter the small, round conference table in the corner of her office. The two pens sticking out from the back of her head like chopsticks are another indication she’s hard at work.
I guess I should say, they’re hard at work.
“Is that for me?” Rhys asks, pointing. “You shouldn’t have.”
I don’t grant him an answer. Instead, I focus on the woman who consumed my dreams last night.
“I brought you coffee and breakfast,” I say, lifting the tall cup and bag I’m holding.
“Wow,” she says. “Does everyone get this kind of royal treatment when they work for you?”
I knit my eyebrows in confusion.
Rhys crosses his arms across his wide chest and leans back against his seat. “We’re already on our second Thoroughly Hot latte of the day and I’ve already taken care of breakfast and morning snacks.”
“Second cup of the day? Breakfast and morning snacks?” I ask.
“Yes, we’ve been at it since six a.m.,” Rhys says.
“How come?”
“Arianne called me last night just as I was getting into bed,” he says.
I try my darndest not to show my surprise.
“We had a really great conversation. You know… getting to know each other better.”
Fucker.
“I found out so many insightful things about her.”
I bet.
“Did you know she’s a Philly girl, an only child, and her Scottish parents own a couple restaurants?”
Oh, he’s so proud of himself.
“I also found out that although Ari was in Europe for two years, she chose to explore Italy from top to bottom and never discovered Paris.”
Thank you, Mr. Travelocity.
“How did she get your number?” I bypass his bullshit.
A facetious smile lifts the corner of his lips. “We exchanged numbers while we were waiting for you yesterday. I figured she might need it. I’m glad she had it on hand.”
What. The. Fuck?
“Really?”
The desire to revert to a backward-thinking, Neanderthal-chest-beating caveman, is strong.
“Why did you need to call him?” I ask Arianne, fully aware of my accusatory tone.
She blushes. “I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.” It all depends.
“I’m just curious.” I attempt to soften my abrasiveness.
