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He gave her a concerned look, a frown wrinkling his brow. “You coming back?”
“I am. I just need to see something,” she told him, and rushed out the door before he could question her further.
Gretchen raced down the streets of New York City, her heart pounding as she wove through the crowds. SoHo was always busy this time of day, but she didn’t pay attention to anyone. Instead, she was lost in thought, running her thumb over the green embossed return address on the envelope.
She took the subway toward Madison Avenue. Envelope in hand, it took her a few minutes to locate the building, and then she entered, eyes wide, as she read the placard at the front of the office building.
Buchanan Real Estate—4th floor.
He had an office here in the city? She thought he only worked out of his house. In the entire month she’d stayed with him, he hadn’t left it. Mystified, she entered the elevator.
The fourth floor was a bit of a surprise. Not because it wasn’t the Buchanan offices at all—it was—but that the walls seemed to be made entirely of glass. For a man who prized his privacy, this struck her as either bizarre . . . or deliberate. Glass panels displayed the waiting room of the office, with six chairs neatly lined up next to end tables that were covered in real estate magazines. Fresh roses decorated each table, and at the far end was a reception desk. If she headed further down the main hall, the glass walls continued, and she could see straight into Hunter’s office. She touched her fingertips to the glass, staring at the office. It was set up exactly the same as his office at home, right down to the mirrors on the wall, the enormous TV, and the vase of roses at his side.
His desk was empty.
When had he gotten an office here? Had he always had it and she wasn’t aware of it? More questions that she had no answers to. Gretchen paced the hall, not willing to go inside, not quite yet.
A woman appeared out of one of the back rooms and paused at the sight of Gretchen, and then waved enthusiastically, beckoning her in.
With a deep breath, Gretchen pushed open the glass door and smiled.
“Well, hi there, ma’am,” the receptionist said in a thick twang that told Gretchen that she wasn’t from New York or anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon Line. She wore a cheap suit that was a little too ugly to be anything but homemade, and she had freckles going across a snub-nose and rounded cheeks. She also had the palest, most wild corkscrew blonde hair that Gretchen had ever seen. She waved Gretchen in again. “Don’t just stand in the hall like you done lost your britches. We don’t bite in here!”
Gretchen blinked. My God, this girl was . . . country. What was she doing working for Hunter? “Um, hi.” Gretchen gestured at the hallway that she’d been stalking. “I was just, uh, looking for someone.”
“Well, I’m someone,” the girl beamed. “Can I help you find something?”
She held up her envelope. “Is this the Buchanan office?”
“It surely is,” the girl drawled. “My name’s Maylee—that’s all one word, not two. It’s after my Nana and Pepaw,” she said casually, as if these were things you normally tossed out into conversation. “I’m Mr. Buchanan’s secretary. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too. I’m sorry, I’m just . . . is Mr. Buchanan here?”
“Naw. He went to lunch with some fancy-looking guys.” She pulled a Post-it note off her desk and sat down, whirling in her chair. “Gimme your name again and I’ll tell him you stopped by.”
“It’s Gretchen. I—”
“Oh, my lordamercy!” Maylee clapped her hands together in excitement. “Mr. Hunter’s your beau, ain’t he? Oh, my gosh. You are so pretty! Of course you are.”
Gretchen was having a hard time reconciling stiff, proper Hunter with this secretary who seemed straight off the turnip truck. Had he paid for a new assistant who could take care of all of his needs? Maylee was pretty in a disheveled sort of way. Jealousy gnawed at Gretchen. Was she thinking he’d turned over a new leaf when he’d just decided to buy a cheaper model?
“Mr. Hunter’s gonna be so dang sad he missed you,” Maylee continued, scribbling on the Post-it. She stuck it to her monitor, where dozens of other Post-its fluttered. “He makes me call all the flower shops in the city lookin’ for your flowers, you know. Man’s lost his cotton-pickin’ mind over you, if you don’t mind saying so. It’s really cute.”
And just like that, Gretchen blushed. Maybe Maylee wasn’t a replacement after all. She shouldn’t have doubted him. “Do you know what time he’ll be back?”
“No ma’am,” Maylee drawled. “But if you’ll give me your number, I’ll give you a holler when he gets back.”
“That’s okay,” Gretchen said, her lips twitching to contain her smile. “I’ll swing by tomorrow.”
“I’ll be sure and tell Mr. Hunter,” Maylee beamed. As Gretchen turned to leave, she called out, “Y’all have a nice day, now.”
She barely stifled her giggles until she got to the elevator. Well, she had told him to get himself a nicer assistant, but Maylee wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
***
The next day, before she stopped into the coffee shop, she headed straight for Hunter’s office. It was just after lunch and she hoped she’d catch him before he left again. She’d chosen her clothing carefully today, too—casual but still sensual. She wore leggings and knee-high leather boots that showed off her long legs, and a draped tunic sweater that clung to her body. She wore a fringed scarf that she’d borrowed from Audrey—who was always perfectly accessorized—and had worn her hair in a soft ponytail, deliberately leaving her bangs and a few tendrils loose. She’d even worn makeup for the man.
Of course, the look was slightly ruined by the peacoat she’d had to toss over the ensemble thanks to the cold weather, but that was okay. She’d strip it off as soon as she got to his office and show him what he’d been missing out on.
