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Paula’s eyes are positively gleaming as she listens.
“He’s going away on a business trip to New York in a couple of days,” I continue. “To be honest, I’m looking forward to it. At least, I’ll be able to get some work done without him breathing down my neck.”
She nods. “If things ever get difficult for you, I’m always a sympathetic ear, hon.”
“Thanks, Paula.” I glance at my watch. “Well, lunchtime’s over. I guess I’d better get back to my desk before he sends out a search party.”
I go back and sit at my desk. A few seconds later, Brock himself shows up, all business.
“Nina, write this down,” he begins. He comes and stands near to me. As much as I hate it when he does this, I have to admit that his proximity to me is more than just an annoyance.
He smells so damn good—whatever cologne he uses is intoxicating. And when he leans over me to point out something or another on the screen, when his body brushes against mine, it’s like a little electric thrill passes between us.
It almost makes me want to make deliberate mistakes so he’ll keep doing it. Almost.
He dictates his itinerary to me—flight times, meeting locations, stuff like that. Boring stuff, but I’ll admit my heart is beating slightly faster than normal.
“Thanks, Nina,” he says when I’m done, shooting me a small, tired smile that reminds me of Not Work Brock for a second, starting flutters down low in my stomach.
Then he’s gone, off to his next engagement.
And I sit there, wondering why the hell I feel like this when he’s around me even though he pisses me the hell off sometimes.
He’s your boss, nothing more, despite this fake engagement weirdness. Pull it together, Nina.
But that’s far easier said than done.
Brock
Fuck. As if I don’t already have enough on my plate.
I’m in New York for this new project, and it’s all going wrong. To be fair, we’ve already had a few meetings, and they’ve been okay.
But tomorrow morning, we’ll need the notarized original of a specific document to finalize the deal . . . and I don’t fucking have it.
I’m kicking myself for being an idiot. I fucked up, and I need to fix this.
Luke’s with me on this trip—it’s a big enough deal that his presence will help ease the investors’ minds. He’s taking a few days off his busy schedule as a happily married family man to play at big-shot CEO again, and he seems to be enjoying himself.
“Man, it feels good to be back at work,” he says as he lounges on a couch and sips from a cold bottle of beer.
I take a break from my fretful pacing to cock an eyebrow at him. “Yeah, looks like you’re really sweating.”
Luke shoots me a grin. I’ll never admit this to him, but it feels good to have him here. It feels like old times.
“It doesn’t matter, though,” I say. “We just need your pretty face here as a figurehead while the rest of us do the real work.”
He thinks for a moment then laughs. “I guess I’m cool with that. And my face is pretty—you’re right.”
We’ve worked together long enough that we’re more like good buddies than boss and underling. Luke originally hired me because I’m a straight shooter and not a sycophant.
In his wilder years, before he met Tessa, he needed an influence like that in his life. He was still adjusting from the life of leisure and parties he’d been leading to being an actual CEO with actual responsibilities when his old man stepped down.
I’ve gotten him out of more than a few scrapes, and we trust each other implicitly.
Doesn’t mean he can’t still be an arrogant jerk sometimes, though. But I guess that’s part of his charm.
“Anyway,” he says. “You need to get this document, Brocky Boy, or the deal’s off. What are you going to do?”
I bite my lip, thinking. “I’ll deal with it.”
I pick up my phone and dial Nina’s number.
“Brock?” she answers. “What’s up? I wasn’t expecting a call from you. Is everything okay over there?”
I take a breath. It’s late, after office hours, and so I have to make sure I sound apologetic and conciliatory because I’m going to need a big favor from her.
“Yeah . . . about that,” I begin. “I screwed up. I need the notarized original of the contract in my desk at work. I just plain forgot.”
“Oh, okay,” she says casually. “I can go in now and courier it over to you if you want? I’ll need overtime pay, of course. This girl don’t work for free.”
I chuckle at her little joke, the tension in my body melting a little. “That’s not going to work. The document is vital for this deal, and I can’t risk it not showing up in time. I had an idea . . .”
