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As the office door clicks shut, Lincoln speaks first and his apologetic dark eyes look straight at me. “I am really sorry for the things I said last night. I meant no disrespect. It was wrong of me to speak out of turn and for the swearing, the mistaken identity thing, and, well, for telling you I thought you were pretty.” He chews the side of his mouth. “When it comes to staff etiquette and decency, I know the drill. Please accept my sincere apology, and I don’t blame you if you don’t want to work with me.”
God, I do love that Scottish accent of his. It’s deep, but the way he rolls his R’s slowly like he’s wrapping me up in them, and that gravelly tone of his, I could easily get lost in him.
I hold my hand up to stop him talking. He has a tendency to ramble on, and while I love his accent, I need to remember I am his manager after all. “It’s fine. What’s done is done. Moving on.” From my clipped tone I hope Lincoln gets the message all is forgotten as we have better things to talk about. “I would like you to be here to take deliveries, flag problems, and point out any areas you think we need to improve on. Rio informs me you know the building like the back of your hand. You pay attention and he says nothing but good things about you. He trusts you while he’s training, and I really need someone on the floor to be an extra set of eyes and ears. And you can grab me coffee too from time to time.”
His eyes fill with amusement. “Like your assistant?”
“Yes, sort of.” I’ve never had an assistant. I don’t want one. My father keeps insisting I get one, informing me I work too hard, but it’s a hard pass from me.
“Dry cleaning to pick up too?”
“Perhaps.” I’ve had no one pick up my dry cleaning or grab coffee for me. I’m testing him to see what his limits are. Apparently, nothing fazes Lincoln.
I pull my planner out of my pale-blue leather bag.
“Is that yours?” Lincoln snorts.
I jump on the defense at my multicolored unicorn design planner. “Planners are life.” I pop a hip.
“I didn’t take you as a rainbow unicorn kind of girl.” Lincoln struggles to hold in a laugh. “Does a simple black diary not suffice?”
I bug my eyes out.
“Sorry,” he apologizes again.
I wave my planner in front of his face. “No one will steal this hideous thing.” That’s a bald-faced lie. I love anything brightly colored or sparkly on a planner. On weekends, you’ll find me perusing every aisle of every stationery shop within a fifty-mile radius of my house. It’s my weakness and I have at least another ten more of these bad boys in my cupboard, ready to plan the shit out of my life, all with sticky notepads, inserts, and extra customizable pages I can add in myself. What can I say? I’m a sucker for stationery.
I continue my lie to hide my obsession. “This thing sticks out like a piranha in a punch bowl. It’s not going anywhere.” I flick it open and a photo of my beloved white teacup Pomeranian, Pom-pom, falls to the floor.
It all happens so quickly. Instinctively, I crouch down to pick it up. Lincoln simultaneously does the same. Our bodies tilt toward each other, and our heads collide, making an almighty hollow thump sound as they do.
I throw my hand to my throbbing head. “Holy Mother of God. Argh.” I thread my fingers into my hair and give my sore spot a rub.
A loud groan in my right ear alerts me to Lincoln’s discomfort too. “I’m so sorry,” he mumbles.
I turn my head to be met with his deep, mysterious eyes staring at me. We mirror each other as we continue to stroke our bumps.
“Are you okay?” he asks me.
“I think I’ll live.”
“You sure? Let me have a look.”
I don’t know why, but I tip my head forward and let him part my hair with his gentle shovel-sized hands and inspect my newly formed bump.
“Ooooh, it’s the size of an egg already. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m used to it. I’m super accident-prone,” I whisper.
He smooths my hair back in place. He’s tenderer than I imagined.
Our eyes lock and some kind of weird static energy passes between us.
“You need Arnica on that. My father swears by it.” He tucks a strand of my long locks behind my ear and a hot shiver runs down my spine. I can’t stop looking at him.
“Did you use that on your leg last night?” I’m not sure what Arnica is, but I make a mental note to stop by the pharmacy and look for it.
“I did.” He stares.
