Chapter 3
Monday morning, Knox relaxed in a chair in Holt Montgomery’s office. “Your Summer Gentry seems to be a really hard worker. She was here on Friday until at least ten at night, finishing out the month.”
“She’s a go-getter. Works hard, very knowledgeable. But what the hell were you doing here so late on a Friday?”
In his fifties, Holt was a commanding presence. With steel-gray hair and a formidable bearing, he gave Knox the impression of a commander at the helm of his battleship. Yet he’d always seemed reasonable and fair, listening to others’ ideas with an open mind.
“Not that I don’t trust you guys implicitly,” Knox said, “but I wanted to see that everything went out.” While the project was really Rafferty’s—SV Displays’ VP of R she’d heard his voice out in the bullpen, but he hadn’t come by her office—which was a good sign.
Maybe he was willing to forget what he’d heard.
And she feared he might have gotten an earful.
Her boss Spence Benedict, VP of Marketing, wasn’t a slave driver.
Neither was Holt. They didn’t expect the numbers on their desks first thing in the morning.
In fact, the month-end meeting wasn’t until three o’clock.
But Summer wanted to surpass expectations and give her boss time to review the numbers before they went to Holt.
It wasn’t as if they didn’t have a good idea—they were both hands-on executives—but still, she’d wanted to turn over the completed report before lunch, and she’d made that goal.
She heard her clerks talking, banging drawers to grab purses, or shoving wallets into their pockets, and heading out to lunch. Then it went quiet. She was alone. There would be no more interruptions for an hour. She could relax for a few minutes. Breathe.
She probably would have, if Knox Turner hadn’t suddenly been standing in her open doorway.
She wanted to growl. She couldn’t let him know she was still embarrassed. After all, it had been her office at ten o’clock at night. She was supposed to be alone; he was the interloper.