13. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
Harvey
I hang up the phone with my private investigator who’s looking into Danny. Carrying a tray with four cups of steaming coffee, I walk into the office, careful not to spill a drop. Molly’s head lifts and a warm smile greets me.
“Welcome, Mr. Lincoln.”
“Harvey, please,” I say with a grin.
Approaching her, I extend a latte. “I wasn’t certain about everyone’s order, so I opted for chai lattes. I promise to come better prepared tomorrow.”
“Chai is perfect,” she says, rising from her seat.
As the aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, a tall, blond-haired man emerges from an office to the left, his confident stride announcing his presence.
“Hi, I’m Danny, the Project Manager here,” he introduces himself, holding a hand out for me to shake. Giving me a peacock vibe, as if he’s trying to tell me without saying it that he’s the man around here.
“Harvey Lincoln.” I slip my hand in his and give it a quick yet firm shake before offering him a latte from the tray.
He shakes his head. “I don’t drink chai.”
“No worries.” My gaze then shifts to Molly. “Is she in yet?”
“Boss lady has been here for an hour already.”
My eyebrow lifts. “Boss lady.” I laugh. “Nice.”
“She hates it when I call her that,” Molly says.
“I heard that,” Jemima calls out.
Molly rolls her lips, and I beam. I love how she won’t come out here and greet me. I have to go to her.
Turning, I spot her in her office clothes. Confident, ruthless Jemima is back. I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. This one doesn’t give me many passes.
“Good morning,” I greet, holding out the tray with three chai lattes.
Her eyes lift to mine, then the coffee. “You don’t need to do that.”
“Lighten up, buttercup, it’s just coffee.”
“Stop calling me buttercup.”
“How about boss lady?” I sit in the chair opposite her. Molly's phone rings in the background.
Grabbing a cup, I slide it to her, watching her teeth grind together.
“Neither. Ms. Recaredo.”
“Oh, the formal term. Got it.” I wink.
I swear I can see steam leaving her ears. Taking a sip of the sweet drink, I watch her over the cup, noticing the determination in her eyes.
Whatever we shared yesterday is gone.
“What are you working on?” I ask, scanning the cluttered desk before me. There are papers thrown about in disarray.
She exhales as she looks over her messy desk.
“The real question is what am I not working on…” she mumbles, her voice trailing off.
“How can you see anything with this mess?” I gesture toward the chaos.
“They’re in piles,” she retorts, as if it’s obvious.
I could show her how to file, but it would be a waste of time today. We have too much to tackle. “Give me one task, and I’ll do that while you do a different one,” I offer, eager to get involved.
She rubs her forehead and then scans her “piles.”
“What do you think you’re good at?” she asks.
I pinch my lips together to stifle a laugh. “Give me your hardest,” I say, ready to take whatever challenge she gives me.
Her eyes widen, but she shakes her head.
I sip my chai and wait. There’s a faint shadow under her eyes that wasn’t there yesterday, and I can’t help but notice how tired she looks. The sight opens up a pit in my gut; I shouldn’t be worrying about this woman.
“The upcoming events are better for Danny,” she finally decides.
“Hand me his pile. I'll give it to him.” I rise from my chair and hold out my hand.
Her shoulders drop in relief, as she hadn’t thought about it, and I carry the pile to his office with purpose. As I enter, I catch him browsing social media, and I can’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Working hard, I see.”
He clicks out of the page and sits back in his chair.
“Clearly, you need more to do.” My tone is laced with impatience.
“You know I’m Jemima's family friend.”
“I understand, but she needs to turn this business around; otherwise, you won't have a job.”
I lower the pile of papers onto the desk.
“These are upcoming events. Please organize them,” I instruct, trying to maintain a professional attitude, despite my growing anger toward him.
Biting my tongue, I resist the urge to confront him. There's something about him that rubs me the wrong way. He scratches his skin nervously, and I decide to walk out leaving him with the task.
As I exit the room, Molly gives me a grateful smile, and mouths thank you .
So it’s not just me who doesn’t like him.
Entering Jemima’s office again, I retake my chair, ready to tackle the next task. “Now what am I doing?”
“Old events,” she replies, sliding a stack of papers across the desk toward me.
“And you’re working on?”
“Finances.”
“Great. Where do you want me to work?”
I glance around the office space. The clutter leaves limited room for both of us to spread out and work.
“I have other offices from previous employees. I just haven’t cleared them out yet.”
She rises and gestures for me to follow.
Grabbing my chai and the piles of paper, I follow her. She gives me a guided tour, and I try but fail to concentrate on her words, as my attention drifts to the way her hips and ass sway in her pants.
But when we arrive back at her office, she brings my focus back because she wants an answer.
Which office will I be working out of? I point to the spare office beside hers.
“This one is perfect.”
She shakes her head. “Of course you’d choose the one next to me.”
“Driving you wild is my new hobby,” I tease, unable to resist the opportunity to play with her.
She shakes her head. “I hope you know it’s not in a good way.”
“How's Chad?”
She chews on her lip, deliberating her response before finally admitting with a sigh, “Still talking about you.”
“And you hate that.”
“So much,” she murmurs.
I chuckle at that. “Well, I better get to work, or the boss lady will have my head. We need to turn this business around, and there's no time like the present.”
She rolls her eyes in response. Turning away, she wanders back into her office, not giving me a chance to reply.
But I smirk, betting she drinks the chai I brought her.
Sucking in a breath, I prepare myself to get my hands dirty. I know she lacks the qualifications to handle the situation on her own, so I’m ready to apply my knowledge and skills. Offering strategic advice, streamlining operations, and finding ways to make the business more profitable to help.
A few hours later, a soft knock sounds at the door.
I peer up to find Jemima standing in the doorway, nibbling her lip.
“Hard at work, again?” she asks, her voice a little wobbly. Her gaze drops to my chest before she meets my eyes. She’s not looking at the papers in horizontal piles across the floor. She’s looking at my partially exposed chest. In the process of sorting the files, my tie was thrown onto the floor, the top buttons of my shirt were undone, and my shirt sleeves were pushed up. Inside, I’m smirking at her obvious admiration.
“There’s a lot of work to sift through,” I say, gesturing toward it.
There are legal and financial documents here, along with a list of former clients we could reach out to and see if she might work with them again.
“No shit,” she says, grinning.
“I love it when you talk like that,” I reply, my grin matching hers.
She releases a frustrated sigh. “I shouldn’t have bothered,” she murmurs, then promptly turns to leave.
Her words pique my interest. “Was there something I can do for you?”
She subtly tenses before answering. “Lunch. Just seeing if you want a break?”
In a cute, awkward way that seems so unlike her, she shuffles on her feet.
“Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” I reply with a faint grin.
“Molly is coming too.”
“Danny?” I wonder what our colleague is doing.
It might be a good chance to bond as a small company and discuss upcoming events or how everyone is doing on their assigned tasks. I’m curious to see how Danny is doing with his work. There’s a niggling suspicion in my gut that tells me something is off with him, but I don’t have concrete evidence to back me.
“No, he’s gone out to meet a potential client.”
That cold feeling still sits in the bottom of my stomach.
“Can I ask how you know him and why you kept him?” I ask, hoping to understand his role in the company.
“Do you have a problem with him?” she asks with an accusing tone.
“No. I’m trying to understand every aspect of the business.”
She knows I’m here to learn and help it turn around, so she needs me to be honest with her about everything.
“He’s a family friend.”
There’s a trace of vulnerability in her words.
She trusts him.
“How long has he worked here?”
“Molly and Danny worked with my dad. Danny was one of my dad’s first hires.”
A connection to her family, specifically her father, will blind her in business. So I need to be gentle. Doesn’t mean if I find anything, I won’t do what I have to do.
I have to make this work, so I walk away with my trust fund. My friend Wyatt is drawing up a business plan for the consulting firm. I want to be ready to go in a few months.
“And Molly?”
“She’s just a co-worker and friend. Why?” she says, her voice firm, but there’s no bite to it. She folds her arms across her chest and glances away, as if the question doesn’t quite land the way I intended.
“I’m just asking.” I shrug, trying to keep it light. “Why do you always think I’m attacking you?”
Her eyes flick back to me, and the sharpness fades in them a little. “You’re always putting me on the spot.”
“I’m not judging, I swear.” My tone is teasing now, hoping to ease the tension.
She hesitates, then half-smiles. “You always try to play it cool, but I know what you’re up to, Mr. Lincoln.”
“Do you?” I smirk. “Well, then you’d know I was going to ask if you wanted to step out for lunch today instead of being cooped up in the break room.”
Her brow furrows at my suggestion, but there’s no anger in her eyes. “What’s wrong with the break room?” she asks, but the softening of her stance gives me hope.
“Nothing, if fluorescent lights and no fresh air are your thing,” I reply with a grin.
She exhales, looking around, like she’s deciding whether to make a sarcastic remark. But instead, she shakes her head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“You mean impossible to resist?” I smirk.
She laughs softly, and I swear I see her grip tighten on the files in her hands. “Keep dreaming, Lincoln. Meet you in the break room.” Spinning on her heels, she treks away.
I exhale a breath and wipe a hand over my face.
I finish up the final paper, file it, before rising, not bothering to do up my buttons, put my tie back on or roll down my sleeves. If anything, I undo an extra button, which is usually not my thing, but neither is a forty-two-year-old single mom. There’s just something about her…
So I stride out to drive Ms. Recaredo crazy. Or at least count how many times she checks me out. I can hear whispers from the break room, and as soon as I step inside, the girls stop talking, their eyes on me.