Chapter 22
ALEX
The elevator pings, the doors sliding open, revealing the dimly lit corridor. I step out and head towards my office. It’s nine thirty. My meeting with Teresa and Elise, our Creative Director, ran longer than I expected. But we achieved a lot.
I round the corner and draw up short. The lights around my office are bright.
I scan the area, noticing Brooke’s computer is still on, and I can hear singing coming from the kitchen.
I bite my lip as she hits an off-key note to an old rock song I recognise but can’t recall the name of.
Unable to stop myself, I head towards the kitchen, pausing in the doorway.
Brooke is jumping around, playing air guitar while the coffee machine gurgles happily in the corner.
I cough, and she jumps. Her hand goes to her chest as she spins around to face me.
“Oh fuck!” she shrieks, bending double. “You scared the shit out of me.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “Oh shit… sorry,” she says again.
I wonder if it’s the swearing she’s apologising for, or something else.
She straightens, her cheeks flushed. “Er, sorry. I wasn’t expecting you back,” she says a little breathlessly.
“Clearly,” I say, and her cheeks darken further under my gaze. “You’re here late?”
Her eyes drift to the clock, widening.
“Is that the time already? No wonder I need another coffee.”
“Brooke,” I say, trying to pull her into the present. She appears jittery. “Maybe it’s not another coffee you need. Maybe you need to go home.”
Her eyes clash with mine, and I can’t quite read what I see there… reluctance?
“I just wanted to finish off the reports you sent me.”
It’s my turn to frown. “I sent those to you at five thirty,” I say. “I was expecting you to do them in the morning.”
She smiles, and something in my chest clenches.
“But Dominic Western rang. He wants to pull tomorrow morning’s meeting forward by an hour.
He also asked if I’d add some additional points and print out the reports ready.
Your schedule said you were free…” Her voice tapers off, getting quieter, until it’s barely a whisper.
“I didn’t think it would be a problem, but if it is…
I just wanted to get the reports done, so they were ready. ”
I stare at her before snapping myself out of it.
“It’s not a problem. It was a good call.”
The tension drains from her shoulders. Shit, I’ve got her second-guessing every move.
I can’t tell her I’m more annoyed at Dominic for assuming it was okay to use my PA to make last-minute changes to the report when he has his own, perfectly capable one.
The problem is, I know Dominic’s PA likes to leave on the dot at five thirty, so she wouldn’t have been around after he reviewed the latest report this evening.
“I’ve nearly finished,” she says, injecting some cheer into her voice. “I just wasn’t expecting you.”
Clearly, if the singing is anything to go on.
“I have a few things I need to finish before heading home,” I lie, not wanting to leave her alone in the office.
“Can I make you a coffee?” she asks as I move towards the door.
“That would be great,” I say over my shoulder.
I head to my office, reconnect my laptop to the monitor and open my emails.
They have all been grouped and filed, including the email from Dom requesting that tomorrow’s meeting be moved.
He and I will discuss it after the meeting.
Brooke may be the newest member of the team, but no one takes liberties without checking with me first.
I scan the items he’s asked to be included in the report.
They include things we’ve already shelved but that he continues to push for.
I crack my neck. This is getting tiresome.
He’s been here since my grandfather’s day, although he was a young man then.
He toed the line with my mother, but since I took over, he’s tried to leverage his seniority.
I look up as Brooke enters carrying my coffee and a bottle of water. She places both on the desk beside me.
“Have you eaten?” I ask suddenly.
“Er, no. I’m going to grab something when I get home,” she says, her surprise clear.
“How much longer are you going to be with the presentation and reports?” I ask.
It was no small task Dom had set her.
“About another hour, if I print them off tonight.”
“Chinese?” I say.
Her eyes skim over my face, as if checking to see if it’s a trick question.
“Brooke, would you like Chinese if I order some?” I ask again. “I’m starving and won’t be bothered to cook when I get home.”
“If you’re going to order anyway, then yes, I’d love some,” she admits, making me want to high-five the air.
“Any preferences?”
“Black bean beef with noodles,” she says.
“Anything else?”
She laughs, the sound shooting straight through me. “With the portion sizes here, I doubt I’ll even be able to finish that.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. I remember when I first arrived in the US after Mother and Father had moved here. I’d been surprised by the portion sizes, although, as a growing lad, I’d loved the extra food.
“You finish up, and I’ll order us a takeout.”
She starts to leave, then turns back. “Thank you. You’re right. I doubt I’ll feel like cooking when I get home.”
She doesn’t wait for a reply, instead heading out to her desk. I pull up the food-delivery app on my phone and place our order.
Twenty minutes.
I ring down to the front desk, where the overnight security guard is stationed.
“Tony, I have a food delivery coming in,” I say as soon as he answers.
“No problem, Mr Bianchi. Would you like me to call you or send them up?”
The elevators are restricted, so he will need to swipe them up. “Send them up.”
“No problem, sir.”
I end the call and sit back, scanning over my emails. I hear Brooke return to her desk, having left the door open. Her fingers tap across the keyboard as she continues with the updates. After another ten minutes, she gets up, probably heading to the printer.
The elevator pings five minutes later.
“Evening, Mr Bianchi. Where would you like it?” the young man carrying our order says.
I motion to the table where Dante and I ate, retrieving my wallet before I move around my desk. I pull out a tip and place it in his hand. His eyes widen.
“Wow, thank you, Mr Bianchi,” he says, his eyes glowing as he looks down.
“You’re welcome,” I say.
He moves to the door, sliding the money into his pocket as he passes Brooke.
“Evening,” he says, tipping his head in her direction, his cheeks turning red.
Oh no, even the delivery guy has a bloody crush on her. Is there no one unaffected by this woman? Then again, he’s probably only a few years younger than she is.
“The food is ready,” I say, realising I need to swipe him back downstairs. “I’ll be right back.”
I catch up with him just as he makes it to the elevator.
“I need to swipe you down,” I say.
“Thank you.” We wait in silence for the elevator. When it finally arrives, he steps inside, and I swipe my pass before pressing the button for the ground floor.
“Thanks again,” I say.
The doors close, and I make my way back to my office.
Brooke has been busy while I’ve been gone.
“I got us a couple of plates,” she says. “I’ll just grab some and go back to my desk.”
“Stop, take a seat and eat. The reports can wait.”
She looks at me, but doesn’t argue, instead pulling out a chair and sitting her arse down.
She spoons out some of the noodles and black bean beef as I take a seat opposite her.
“That was a nice thing you did for him,” she says, making me look up.
I find her watching me.
I shrug. “I’m not always an ogre,” I say. “Most of the guys who work for this restaurant are trying to put themselves through college,” I add, trying to lighten the conversation, not wanting to get into this with her.
She inclines her head slightly. “You’re not an ogre. You’re meticulous, disciplined. Some might say a workaholic, a perfectionist, but there’s nothing wrong with that. You run an international, multi-billion-dollar business. I would expect no less, it goes with the territory… I can imagine.”
She speaks with confidence. It’s as if she’s experienced it firsthand, but I think back to her CV and realise I must be imagining it. She can’t understand the pressure someone like me is under.
“It’s kind of you to say so,” I say drolly, making her chuckle.
She takes a mouthful of food and groans in delight, and my eyes instantly drop to her lips.
“Sorry, but this is amazing,” she says when she looks up to find me staring at her.
“The best in this part of town. Believe me, I’ve tried them all.”
“I knew it… Workaholic,” she teases.
“What about you?” I ask.
“What about me?”
“How are you finding New York? Have you done much sightseeing?”
I think back to the conversation I overheard between her and the delivery guy.
She shakes her head. “I’ve been concentrating on work.”
Her words hit me in the chest, stirring guilt over everything I’ve asked her to do.
“Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”
She looks up, her brow wrinkling.
“Boyfriend?”
“I thought you were dating a New Yorker?”
Her brows draw closer together, her nose scrunching, until understanding dawns, and she smiles, her eyes twinkling.
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she admits. “I used that as an excuse to divert unwanted attention.”
It’s my turn to look confused.
Ah, the delivery guy was not her type.
Stop.
I don’t need to think about the type of men Brooke Feldmann is attracted to.
She smiles. “I don’t think that, with the hours I work here, that I have much time for romance.” She looks up at the clocks on the wall before her gaze drifts back to the takeaway cartons. “Not that I mind. I didn’t come here for that.”
It’s ten thirty on a Thursday evening.
I stare at her, my chin dipping as I run a hand over the back of my neck.
Didn’t come here for that?
What twenty-four-year-old doesn’t want some form of romance, or even sex?
I know I did at that age. My mind begins to wander.
Has she been badly hurt in the past? Does she have a boyfriend back in England?
Am I really working her so hard that she has no life outside the office?
Maybe she doesn’t date, just picks men up for sex?
My mouth goes dry at the thought. I can’t imagine she hasn’t been asked out since she arrived here.
I’ve seen the looks she gets when she walks through the various departments.
The guys are like puppy dogs, their jaws hitting the floor as they pant.
My temperature rises as I imagine her writhing underneath or on top of one of the men who works here. I swallow my groan.
Shit!
Even my friend pointed out how attractive she is.
I pick up my water and down half of it.
“Are you all right?” The concern in her voice makes me even more jittery.
“Fine, it went down the wrong way,” I say.
We eat the rest of our meal in silence.
Brooke gets up, collecting our plates, while I reseal the open cartons and place them in the bag, moving towards the bin.
“Are you throwing that out?” she asks.
“Do you want to take it home?”
She grins. “Way too good to waste,” she says, holding out her hand. “I’ve missed good takeaway.”
I pass the bag over, our fingers brushing, sending shards of awareness up my arm.
“My driver will drop you home when you’ve finished up,” I say without thinking.
“It’s okay, I can order a cab.”
“No,” I say more sharply than I intend. “It’s nearly eleven o’clock at night. We’ll drop you home.”
“Thank you.” She lifts the plates she’s carrying. “I’ll just put these in the dishwasher and set it going.”
I don’t want to argue with her. Instead, I turn back to my desk.
When she’s out of sight, I grip the back of my neck and massage out some of the tension lodged there.
God help me.