Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
F or more than a week, I avoided Grace. We spoke mostly through instant messages and voicemails, along with the occasional clipped directive as I passed by her desk on the way to the bathroom.
She usually responded with snark or that prim little “yes, sir” that set my blood boiling.
While we rarely talked, I hadn’t stopped watching her from behind my safety zone of glass.
She always dressed conservatively, with the kind of flair that pegged her as an artist. A hint of purple shoes peeking out from an otherwise sedate outfit, the sparkle of unusual jewelry at her ears and throat. One day she’d worn an off-the-shoulder sweater that revealed her collarbone and all that creamy skin.
I’d nearly leaned across the desk for a taste, until sense had kicked in—hard.
Instead, I watched her make conversation with everyone who passed, chatting easily and pleasantly while never missing a task. She outpaced me sometimes, basing priority lists on what we’d done the day before.
Already, she was reading my mind more than I felt comfortable with.
Because if she knew what else was in there, she probably wouldn’t wear off-the-shoulder tops ever again.
Except she did. The next time, she wore a suede-fringed top over a snug black skirt and pencil heels, the kind she shouldn’t have been able to walk in. She definitely shouldn’t have been able to sashay into my office bracing a couple of packages in one hand and the nearly empty box of invitations from the Light Up the Night event in the other.
“Almost all gone,” she announced, setting everything on my desk. She bent far enough forward that her top dipped, revealing a slice of her purple bra.
She loved fucking purple.
“I sent them to everyone you noted in the company, and we received RSVPs of attendance from all but six. I wasn’t invited, but I’m going to go. I figure the more people, the better. Sir?”
“Yes.” I dragged my attention to her face, and for a second, she smirked. Was she teasing me on purpose?
If so, she would soon learn that wasn’t a wise idea.
“As for you not being invited, I expected you would take one of them for yourself. I indicated who to invite, but that didn’t mean you weren’t to take some initiative.”
“Oh, I take plenty of initiative. In fact, you might be surprised what I could initiate.” She turned and headed for the door, her long fall of blond hair swinging. It was uncharacteristically loose, and even that caused an odd quickening in my chest.
And much farther south.
“Jack ordered lunch again. I’ll let you know when it’s here,” she called, letting the door shut behind her.
I’d been so fixated on her ass in that tight skirt that she could’ve said, “Jack was between my legs under my desk” and I might not have realized.
So that was a lie. I’d have realized—and acted—on that in a heartbeat.
Before I could think better of it, I pulled up an IM and typed.
What’s on the menu for today? Not in the mood for nutty chicken.
It annoyed me I’d begun thinking of it that way. So much prickled me these days.
Most of all? That I wasn’t to touch her again. That I couldn’t. A momentary lapse was one thing. More than once made it a problem.
An addiction.
Even if Violet and her all-seeing cameras weren’t still watching, there was still the little matter of boss and employee and all the lines of impropriety that would breech. I’d be damned if history repeated on my watch.
Repeated one more time.
There was also the fact that Grace’s employment was all part of some greater plan she’d hatched. One I didn’t understand yet but I’d found myself wondering about more than was sensible.
How could a woman like her think she could tangle with a man like me—and win? Unless winning wasn’t even her aim.
That she would try to run a scheme on me didn’t irritate as much as it should have.
It intrigued me. Turned me on. Made my curiosity toward her verge on madness.
Grace
Jack ordered from a deli. I’m not sure what he got you. Something about corned beef on rye, extra pickles.
Say what I would about Jack—and I said plenty—he knew what my stomach liked. I could eat pickles by the case.
What did you get?
She didn’t answer for so long that I assumed she was working on something else. One of her many spreadsheets, perhaps.
But when I glanced out at her desk, she had her finger caught between her teeth and she was staring at her computer. Her other hand was in her lap.
Did she not want to answer me? Why? What was the big deal about lunch?
I frowned. Maybe she was on a diet. The last few socialite types I’d dated had always seemed to be on one. But Grace wasn’t like them. And by God, her figure was perfect. My hands had itched to touch those curves again since the moment they’d left them.
Or maybe it was something else. Perhaps she didn’t have money for a meal.
Eating out could get expensive for someone on a budget. We paid her well, but she still received an entry-level assistant’s salary.
I hated the idea of her scrambling for money for food—or anything else. She shouldn’t have to pinch pennies.
Ms. Copeland? Have your fingers ceased to work?
My jab caused her gaze to fly to my office. She knew I was watching. I’d revealed my hand intentionally.
I would rather have her annoyed at me than worried for even an instant.
I also wanted the truth and would use any means to extract it.
Come in my office, Ms. Copeland.
After a moment, she rose and tugged down the skirt that crept higher with every moment. It wasn’t indecently short. She never dressed provocatively. Then she strode toward my office and hovered on the threshold, still gripping the doorknob.
“Yes?”
“Shut the door.”
Her nerves intoxicated me, the scent of them as pervasive as the light hint of her floral perfume. She closed it, but came no closer, keeping the mile of glass floor and seating between us. She stared down, her gaze on the harbor.
I wanted it on me.
“If you don’t have money for lunch, that isn’t a problem.”
Her chin lifted and her eyes blazed. “I work for my money. I don’t take charity.”
“So, it’s charity if I ensure you don’t starve.” I rose and undid the single button on my jacket, well aware of how her gaze dropped before skittering away.
Nice to know I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t keep from watching.
I walked around my desk and leaned against it, crossing my ankles. “Starting this week, I will be adding a lunch allowance to your wages. Consider it a stipend of sorts.”
She tilted her head and tightened her fingers around the doorknob she still clutched behind her back. “As payment for services rendered?”
My cock stiffened. I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried. It was like the beat of my heart speeding up at the sound of her voice, or the incline of her chin. It was an involuntary reaction no different than the rush of blood in my veins.
That didn’t mean I had to like it.
I also didn’t alter my stance. If she saw what she’d caused, so be it.
“What services would you like to render, Ms. Copeland?” I asked softly as color rose in her cheeks. She would flush everywhere I knew, beyond the collarbone-bearing top she wore to the curve of her breasts. To the tight little nipples that beaded for me just from the mere question.
“I didn’t buy lunch because I brought my own. I don’t need a stipend.” She glanced again at the harbor beneath us and pressed her lush lips together. I wanted to bite the lower one until it bloomed red like the rest of her. “Besides, you all order out all the time. You must live in the gym to look like…” She waved a hand. “That.”
“I run,” I said simply. “Usually in the mornings, though I’ve skipped a few recently.”
I also didn’t tell her that I’d taken to running at night when I couldn’t sleep.
Entirely due to her.
“It’s the holiday season. Time to eat, drink and be merry.” I’d said it to be sarcastic—I didn’t celebrate holidays and hadn’t since childhood—but the quick flare in her eyes made me grip the edge of the desk. “Do you not celebrate?”
“Celebrate what? Christmas? It’s not Christmas yet. And Thanksgiving—no, I don’t do that anymore, either.” Her gaze snapped to mine, and I was amazed that sparks didn’t go off between us. She was angry at me again, and I didn’t know why. “I just work, okay? I want this to be about work. No fun lunches, no talk of holidays I can’t celebrate.”
Not don’t celebrate. Can’t celebrate.
That was a different thing altogether.
Whether the reasons were financial or emotional didn’t much matter. Not if I could try to do something to alleviate even a fraction of the turbulence in her expression.
When I didn’t reply, she pivoted and walked out.
I was getting really tired of her walking away from me. Mostly because I watched her go, every damn time.
I returned to my desk and picked up the phone. For once, I didn’t overanalyze what I was going to do. She had a habit of causing those kinds of reckless actions in me, and I was going to have to put a stop to it.
Eventually.
“Next Friday, I want to hold a company-wide Thanksgiving banquet. Yes, less than two weeks before the holiday. I’m well-aware it’ll be a scheduling nightmare, Jack, but that’s why I called you. You’re the king of your domain, right? You know how to get these things done. Or better yet, know who to contact to do them for you.”
Jack’s sigh almost made me smile. “What about that brand-spanking-new assistant of yours? Isn’t this more under her purview than mine? Not to mention she can actually tolerate your ass, unlike me.”
For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined the knowing tone of Jack’s voice. Had Violet blabbed what she’d seen to her best buddy?
As soon as I considered the idea, I dismissed it. That woman was a vault, and sticky fingers Hollister didn’t have the combination.
“This isn’t for Grace. She’s involved with other things. Can you make it happen or not?”
“You do realize you’ve held company-wide events that aren’t work-related approximately never, right?”
“I know that. Maybe I’m turning over a new leaf.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah, and maybe I’m the Sugar Plum Fairy. Wanna see my tights?”
“I’ll pass,” I said drily. “Make it happen.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Whatever you say, sir. Anything else I can do for you, sir?”
I had to laugh. The guy was such an asshole. This time, he just happened to be right.
“Yes. Make sure Ms. Copeland attends.”
Before he could mull over that statement, I hung up.