Chapter Two
Riley
If I have to explain this to her again, I’m going to lose my mind.
“Really, that’s it,” I say with an exasperated chuckle. “He said the food looked good, asked where I worked, and that he wanted my number so we could go for coffee. I gave it to him and then you called me over.”
Taylor arches a perfectly plucked brow, mulling over my words as she nibbles at her sandwich.
“And then he immediately texted you and called you a good girl.”
“No. He told me to be good,” I correct her, kicking her foot lightly beneath the table.
Not that I wouldn’t have minded him calling me a good girl.
She shrugs an elegant shoulder, grinning wickedly. “My point is that a gorgeous man asked you out and immediately texted you, and you’re still wondering if he was hitting on you.”
I pout, stealing a chip from her plate and pointing at her with it.
“Immediately texted me, to which I texted back, and then hasn’t texted me again since.”
Taylor rolls her pretty green eyes at me affectionately, stealing a French fry from my plate, mirroring my movements.
“So text him again,” she tells me. “Guys like forward women.”
I snort as she pops the fry into her mouth.
“Oh yeah, me, famously the most forward person on the planet,” I drawl.
Taylor chuckles, leaning back in the rickety plastic chair and stretching her long arms above her head.
“Look, Riles, you thought this guy was hot, yeah?” I nod. “And he obviously thought you were too. Just text him. Worst case, it’s a blow to your ego. Best case, he’s some mega-rich guy who was slammed with work and falls head over heels for you. What do you have to lose?”
My dignity by looking desperate and ridiculous?
I groan, not wanting to admit that she has a point. Flirting in person is hard enough; I have no idea where to start with flirting over text.
“He was probably just being nice.”
“Men aren’t nice to women they don’t want to fuck,” she says drily.
“Okay, Miss Pessimist,” I reply with a chuckle.
She leans over the table to squeeze my hand affectionately, her chunky gold rings glittering under the fluorescent lights of the cafe.
“Look, I haven’t even met this guy—he could be a total loser, but I’m willing to make an exception and tell you to go after it just this once.
It’s just texting. You can disappear if he starts getting weird.
Honestly, I’m willing to take anything if it helps you get over your crush on D’Amico. ”
My cheeks flare in embarrassment, but it’s not like I didn’t know where this was going. Taylor’s been trying to get me to give up on my boss since I first mentioned it. I’ve been obsessed with him since first glance when I was still interning for D’Amico Global.
“Hush! I’m never telling you about my crushes again.”
Taylor laughs fondly, but any response she’d have offered is cut by our alarms going off in tandem.
“Whoever suggested thirty-minute lunch breaks is a monster,” Taylor grumbles.
We gather our trays and toss our trash before heading back outside into the chilly streets. The snow has long since melted, but the nip of winter hasn’t quite left the air yet.
“Don’t work too hard,” she tells me. “Text me later. And text your mystery man too!”
“Whatever you say!” I say with a laugh.
We go our separate ways, heading back to our respective offices, and I enjoy the fresh air until I make it back to the office.
The elevator is crowded with people so I huddle in among them, listening to their random small talk as background noise.
The trip from the elevator to my cubicle is short, and I clock back in as I clear my head of any talks about mystery men or my boss.
I can think about my mystery man all I want when I’m off work, but for now, I’ve got plenty to focus on.
A fresh stack of files is on my desk when I step into my cubicle. I frown as I leaf through them, immediately recognizing Sloane’s sloppy work. Lovely. A sticky note rests on top of them, instructing me to take them up to Mr. D’Amico’s office for him to review.
We have interns to run these sorts of errands.
If I refuse, Sloane is sure to throw a hissy fit. That’s the last thing I want to deal with right now. I gather them up in my arms, along with the risk analysis and financial approval I need signatures on, and hurry back toward the elevator.
The executive’s offices are on the top floor, but my badge clearance doesn’t allow me past the thirtieth. Thankfully, the security guard knows me and lets me up without much of a hassle when I tell him I have files for Mr. D’Amico.
It doesn’t take long to get to the top floor, and I march down the hallway toward my CEO’s office without giving myself a moment to overthink.
I smooth out my skirt, making sure it lies flat just below my knees, and straighten my glasses before reaching one hand up to knock on the solid wood door. Here goes nothing.
“Come in.”
I take a calming breath before stepping in, knowing that the sight of Nick behind his desk will set my heart racing. No matter how many times I may call him Mr. D’Amico in person, I like to think of him as Nick in the very private recesses of my mind.
Not that I’d ever say that name out loud. With my luck, it might end up slipping out one day. Fate has a funny way of letting me make the wrong decisions at the most inconvenient of times.
Focus. I’m here to work, not think about how head over heels I am for him. Walking briskly up to his desk, I pretend like nothing’s on my mind. It’s a hell of an act, considering my mind buzzes just from being this close to him.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. D’Amico.” I set the files down on the corner of his desk, keeping my posture perfectly straight so I don’t fidget nervously. “I just need signatures on the top two. All of the rest are for your review.”
Nick snags the stack of files, glancing up at me curiously as he flips the first open to scrawl his signature on the line.
“I don’t recall needing to review anything from you,” he says, blunt as ever.
“From Sloane, not me,” I clarify. “She asked me to bring them up.”
Some of the files technically are from me, since Sloane is far too lazy to actually do her job, but I’m not about to rock the boat by informing my CEO of the fact that I do a solid eighty percent of Sloane’s work. Is it above my pay grade? Yeah, by a lot.
So is tattling on my direct supervisor.
I just want to do my job and prove my skill set, not deal with inter-office drama.
“Is Sloane too busy to do her job herself?” Nick asks, arching a thick brow in annoyance.
I glance away, not able to keep eye contact while I lie to his face. “She’s wrapped up in an important call at the moment, sir.” If you can call bullying her poor nail tech into squeezing her in for an appointment on no notice important.
Nick frowns and makes a noise under his breath, one that I can’t quite decipher the meaning of, before turning his attention back to the files.
A strand of hair falls over his forehead, dark against his olive skin.
I allow myself a moment to fantasize about brushing it back into place as he scrawls out his signature.
What would it be like to touch him? To feel those cold, imperious eyes fixed on me as I drag my nails over his scalp? Would he be gentler in bed, or would he be just as demanding as he is in the boardroom?
He’s so stunning that it hurts to look at him sometimes. My thoughts swing wildly back and forth between what it would be like to kiss him sweetly and how much I want him to bend me over this desk.
The fantasy fizzles out the instant he looks up again, pushing the signed files back across the polished oak of his desk. He clears his throat when I don’t immediately move to take them, arching a brow imperiously.
“Thank you, Mr. D’Amico.” I gather the files and smile awkwardly at him, always wanting to draw our interactions out and never brave enough to do so. “Is there anything else you need?”
His eyes linger on my lips for just a second before he shakes his head.
“No.See yourself out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I don’t allow myself a glance back at him as I exit his office and pull the door shut behind me, but I do give myself five seconds to beat back the blush that always rises on my cheeks when I’m around him. God, I really am pathetic when it comes to him.
My heart is still pounding in my chest.
It’s better not to think about it at all.
My kitten heels clip along the polished floors as I head toward the elevator.
I take solace in the steady rumbling of it as it carries me back down the twenty-six floors of the building.
It’s easy to force myself back into work mode once I’m back in my cubicle, setting the files Nick signed off to the side to be delivered to the research and development team tomorrow.
I’m interrupted before I can make much headway into my work when the overwhelming wave of expensive perfume tells me who’s coming before I even hear the snap of stilettos across the floor.
A forced smile paints my face as Sloane rounds the corner, overdressed as always in a silky wrap dress that shows a healthy amount of cleavage.
She smacks her cinnamon gum as she leans an ample hip on the edge of my desk, ignoring the sticky notes taped there as she crosses her arms. One penciled brow arches in a look of carefully crafted disdain as she rakes icy blue eyes over me.
“Morgan,” she drawls, wrapping bright red lips around my last name like it’s some sort of insult. “You better be done with the risk analysis I asked for if you’re wandering around the office during work hours.”
I grit my teeth to avoid snapping at her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, sounding much calmer than I feel. “I just brought it up to Mr. D’Amico for review, along with—”
“And it didn’t even cross my desk first?” she asks incredulously.
Through sheer willpower I bite back a scoff.
“You’ve never asked to see it before.” I’ve been doing the risk analyses for her since I was still an intern, and she’s never once checked my work. I’d be flattered if I didn’t know she’s just too lazy to care. “Should I send them to you for approval in the future?”
“Watch your tone,” she snaps. “Don’t act all uppity just because I’m making sure you stay busy. Remember who’s in charge here, Morgan.”
She’s not keeping me busy; she’s making me do her entire fucking job for her, along with my own. Even with the added work, I still do a better job than she could ever hope to.
Instead of calling her out, I drop my eyes to my desk and nod. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll make sure it goes to you first next time.”
Sloane scoffs, pushing away from my desk as she sends several sticky notes falling to the ground in her wake.
“Don’t bother,” she says drily. “Just get started on next quarter’s soon so it’s not late.”
It’s never been late when I’ve been the one working on it.
God, I want to scream.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Anyhow, I’m heading out early. Make sure you get the Fourneaux file reformatted like the client asked.”
She doesn’t even say goodbye before turning on her heel and marching off, the scent of designer perfume wafting in her wake.
I swallow down my bitterness and clear my mind of everything but work.
Taylor may think I’m wasted on spreadsheets and crunching numbers, but I thrive here.
Numbers and analytics are what keep me sane, especially when Sloane tries her hardest to get me to snap.
I don’t want to spend an extra several hours at work most days, but at least it’s something that I enjoy doing.
If I had to answer phones all day, I’d wither away and die.
By the time I finally wrap up my own work for the day, the office is silent and dark around me. I realize with a wince that it’s already past seven. Now that I’m not staring at my computer, the aches are starting to set in. I stretch my arms over my head to work the worst of the tightness out.
A check of my phone shows a few messages from Taylor, but my notifications are dry as the desert.
I sigh as a wave of disappointment washes over me at the fact that my masked suitor still hasn’t texted me.
Maybe I should take Taylor’s advice and just text the guy.
If he doesn’t answer, I’ll delete his number and call it quits.
I pack up as my mind races about what to say.
Taylor’s right about guys liking bold women, and I can play at it, but that’s not me. I’m a wallflower if there ever was one, and the thought of pretending to be anything but makes me nauseous.
Even if he did like it, I couldn’t keep up the act for long, and then he’d lose interest anyway.
I toss my messenger bag over my shoulder and head toward the elevator, flipping the last light off as I go. Maybe it’d be better to just delete his number now and save myself the stress.
My phone buzzes in my pocket just as I step into the elevator. I tug it out, expecting a text from Taylor, only to choke on my own surprise. My heart skips a beat at the notification staring up at me. I pinch my thigh to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Mister Mystery: Hello there, Miss Morgan. Did you miss me?