Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
L ost in the haze of files and spreadsheets, the sun came and went. I didn’t remember how long ago Jack came by to say goodnight. I’d given up on my desk chair.
As ergonomic as it was—and it was lovely—I’d always been one who did my best work huddled up in a corner. Once everyone in the office had taken off, I’d taken the mini laptop with me and spread out with all my files in the reception area.
I had a carpet picnic going with grapes, cheese, and my large bottle of water. If I had another soda today, my heart would explode from my chest. Blake was locked in his office with overseas calls, and I’d had to transcribe them for the notes.
Listening to Blake’s voice for two hours straight had ruined me for the day. I could hear him stalking around the room as he talked. His voice was clipped and professional. No extraneous words—ever.
But his voice was so smooth and deep.
And that was the problem. Far too deep to be listening to via headset. Hence, my carpet picnic. I had to get away from my desk and my constant awareness of him in that office. The fact that he could see me, but I couldn’t see in was driving me batty. I never knew if he was watching me, or if he was completely oblivious.
Not sure why it mattered so much, but it did.
I lifted my bottle and downed more than half of the contents before setting it on the coffee table I was using. Unzipping my boots, I kicked them away, then I pulled my feet in cross-legged under my skirt.
I leaned forward to stretch out my back. Everything hurt, but the tightness and buzzing that lived under my skin was slowly driving me mad. I had maybe an hour left of spreadsheets to work through, and then I could finally go home.
What home? I knew I was avoiding things I had to do, which was probably why I didn’t balk at working so late.
I reached out my fingers, pressing my palms flat to the floor as I touched my forehead to the carpet. I groaned out a soft breath as the rubber bands formerly known as my muscles eased. The sound of a clearing throat had me popping up straight.
Mr. Carson stood at the edge of the carpeted area, the stem of his glasses tucked between his teeth. His tie was loosened, but that was the only outward clue to the hours he’d spent in the office.
Unlike me. Since I hadn’t straightened my hair today, I could feel it increasing in size exponentially each hour that passed. “Hi.”
“What are you doing, Ms. Copeland?”
“Working.” I twisted away and tapped on a few keys of my laptop set up beside me on the floor. “I just sent you the transcripts for your London and Paris calls. I’m working on the projections right now. Your spreadsheets are pretty genius, actually.” I looked up at him when he didn’t reply. “What?”
“You’re on the carpet.”
I glanced down at my skirt to make sure it covered my legs. “I am. I needed a break from the desk.”
“That chair is perfectly ergonomic. If you need additional supplies?—”
“I’m fine. I don’t care how ergonomic a chair is, seventeen hours requires a change of scenery.”
“Right.” The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed. “I didn’t see you at your desk. I thought you’d gone home.”
“Nope. I refuse to take work home. If I work late, it’ll be here.” I folded my knees to the side and tucked my long skirt over my gray knee socks.
“I’m sorry to keep you here so late. It won’t happen all the time.”
I grinned up at him. I had the strangest urge to get up into the chair behind me, but I didn’t want him to know just how uncomfortable I was. “But I’m sure it’ll happen often.”
“Being my assistant is…difficult.”
My lips twitched. “I’m just about done.”
He nodded, his gaze dropping to my feet then returning to my face.
I curled my toes and tugged my skirt down farther. “Did you need me to do something?”
“No. I’ll be ready to leave as well.”
“Good. I’ll just finish up then.”
“Right.” He turned on his heel, and I heard the soft hiss of his door close.
Yeah, this ridiculous effect he had on me had to end. I peeled off my cardigan and balled it up, pitching it into the chair behind me. I grabbed my water and finished it off.
Now I had to pee.
I pushed my hair out of my face and stood. Cripes. Why was it so hot in here?
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into my boots, but I left them unzipped, and clunked my way to the bathroom. The executive floor bathroom was unisex, but since there was only Jack, his still-honeymooning assistant, me, and Mr. Carson, I was the odd woman out for the most part. I backed into the swinging door as I twisted up my insane hair and tucked it into a messy bun with one of the half dozen rubber bands on my wrist.
Mr. Carson was leaning over the sink, water dripping from his bearded chin and nose. Our eyes met in the mirror.
“Sorry.” I dropped my arms and winced. My cute, smudgy eyes from this morning now looked more like a coed on a bender, and my hair was still wild, even in the bun. I laughed a little. “Too much water.”
He ripped off a towel from the dispenser and blotted his face. His cuffs were rolled back a little. Just a tease of skin. The sepia tones of the ink were unusual enough. Most people went with black ink, but his was definitely not.
He crumpled the towel and shook out his sleeves. Again, he hid the design.
I don’t know why it drove me crazy to know it was under there, but it did. “Is that a sleeve?”
Seventeen hours at the office meant I’d lost all control of my manners.
He paused in the buttoning. “Yes.” He smiled thinly and covered the tattoo completely. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Okay, so it really wasn’t cool to say “Hey, boss—can you roll your sleeves back?”, but dammit.
Just… yes ? No other details? Not even a little hint? Not even half a story?
He inclined his head and backed into the door, his golden gaze holding mine for a moment longer before he disappeared.
I snapped out a towel and wet the corner before dabbing at my raccoon eyes. Defeated when it just made things worse, I threw out the towel and took care of business.
After I washed up, I left the bathroom.
My level of intrigue with his ink was unhealthy. Seriously, I knew this and could barely stand myself.
I went back to my little carpet picnic and cleaned up, and then I dragged myself back to my desk to finalize the spreadsheet.
My brain was shot at this point. No use trying to work any more today.
I slung my sweater over the strap of my purse. I’d need it to go outside. I knew my core temperature was a mess because I was tired and cranky.
Okay, and possibly in heat.
That was less than helpful in my current situation, but at least it explained my ridiculous—bordering on mad—reaction to Blake Carson. He was intense, smart, and stupidly attractive. It was nice to know that all my female parts were in working order.
Damn inconvenient timing, though.
I zipped up my boots and pulled out my keys to lock my drawer. I frowned at the quiet beep coming from my computer. I’d shut it down.
Blake’s door opened. He had his suit jacket back on, and his laptop case slung over one shoulder.
“I think I did something to my computer.”
He frowned and came forward. His brow smoothed when he heard the chime. “That’s just the network warning.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What’d I do now?”
His full mouth curved into a rare smile, and a dimple dented his left cheek. “Nothing.”
My belly flipped. The only time I’d seen him smile since my interview was when Jack was around. Not good for my current state. “Then why is it beeping at me?”
“I think Violet explained to you that the building locks up at two in the morning?”
“Is it that late?” I dug my phone out of my bag. “1:51? How?”
“Let’s get you to your car.”
“Yes. That sounds like a great idea.”
We rushed for the elevator. It opened right away, and we stepped into the glass box. This high up, the steel girders and floor levels showed, but as we got past the fourth floor, the world opened up.
The lobby was much darker, but a few wall sconces were still lit, giving the room a soft glow. Blake’s scent was more on the citrus side than spice tonight and made my head swim.
I played with the strap of my purse and unhooked my sweater, draping it over my arm. I slid my thumb over the buckle of my strap, then I reached to the other side. “Oh, no.”
“What?”
I looked up at him. One dark brow was raised in question.
No, Grace, no looking at him.
I dug into my bag. “Keys.”
“Please tell me you have your keys.”
My purse wasn’t that big, and I searched the bottom thoroughly. “Desk,” I said sadly. “I was locking my drawer when that stupid beeping started—and you came out…” I tipped back my head. “Fuck.”
“So, I’m to blame?”
“Yes,” I hissed. “Yes, you are to blame for all of this.”
“I see.”
I balled my hands into fists. If only he knew how much he was to blame.
He looked at his watch. “If we hurry, we should be able to get your keys and still get out.” He slapped the executive floor button as soon as the doors started to open. He tapped the close button a few times and finally, we were moving again.
“So, how locked in are we talking here? I mean, you own the building, right? There’s an override or something? Just talk to the security people and say sorry?”
“No. If we don’t get out of the building, then we’re sleeping here.”
“Who came up with that?”
“Me.”
I bit my tongue at the finality in his tone. It was a stupid idea. There should always be a failsafe, just in case. It seemed…asinine.
No, it was asinine. He was such a control freak in all ways, but this was where he didn’t have a safeguard?
As soon as the doors opened, I shot out and across the office. Had it always been this big? Sure enough, the keys were splayed out on the end of my desk. I grabbed them and raced back to the elevator. In my rush, my sweater fell.
“Hurry, Ms. Copeland.”
I scooped it up and skidded through the doors as they started to close. I jingled my keys as the numbers slowly went down.
“It’s not a huge deal. I’ve slept in my office before.”
“Well, awesome for you. I don’t have a real office to sleep in. And as comfortable as those chairs are in the reception area, I don’t want to give them an all-night test run.”
He glanced at his wrist. “You might have to.”
“We can make it.” I tapped my finger against my strap. “We have two minutes.”
I slapped the doors to the elevator as we slowed. Third floor, second…open. “Open!” I finally said out loud and squeezed through the doors as they finally slid apart. “Stupid huge lobby.”
“We should just stay. We’re going to get stuck down here. You can sleep in my office.”
I reached back and grasped a handful of his suit jacket and dragged him after me. “I have been in this building way too long. There’s no way I’m sleeping here too.”
We’d made it out the main lobby door to the large glass vestibule when the heavy mechanical locks engaged. He turned around to try and open the inside lobby door, but it was already shut.
He slapped the door. “Dammit.”
I turned around in the ten-by-ten-foot enclosure. “No.”
“Yes, Ms. Copeland. Looks like we’re not spending the night in my comfortable office that happens to have a pull-out bed. But in here.” He yanked at his tie. “On a cold slate floor.”