Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 444(@200wpm)___ 355(@250wpm)___ 296(@300wpm)
“I have these for you.”
“Great.” I indicated the corner of the desk. “Put them there. I’m almost done with these.”
“Mr. Prescott, ah, wants me to schedule a transfer meeting as soon as possible.”
“Sure. An hour?”
“Okay. In here?”
“That works. Is he attending?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Set it up, and I’ll have this all done.”
“Can I—can I get anything for you?” she asked.
“No, I’m good.”
“Lunch later?”
I realized she was trying to offer her support in the only way she could. “A tuna salad on rye would be great later, Lorie. Thanks.”
“With an iced tea?”
“Perfect.”
She nodded and left. I returned my attention to the files, making sure everything was up-to-date on the server and all my notes were clear. By the time Todd, Andrew, and my father walked in, I was ready. I was brisk and efficient, going through everything with them, handing over the file boxes and the passwords to the documents on the server. I was responding to a question from Todd when the receptionist appeared in my doorway, a small arrangement of flowers in her hands. I was flummoxed when she knocked, came in, and slid them on my desk.
“They wouldn’t leave without a signature,” she explained. “The instructions said only you could sign.”
I took the clipboard and signed the delivery slip, my gaze on the flowers. Tiny roses, little irises, button carnations, and baby’s breath filled the vase. It was girlie, pretty, and the scent wonderful. There was a small card tucked into the middle of the flowers, but I already knew who sent them.
Logan was making sure I knew he was thinking of me.
I pulled open my drawer and slipped a five-dollar bill onto the clipboard. “Thanks, Marie.”
She nodded. “Sorry for the interruption.”
“No problem.”
It was all I could do to return to the meeting. Luckily, we were almost finished. This was the easy part—handing it off. By tonight, I would have a list of questions to respond to, and I wondered how late I would be staying. I wrapped it up, and Todd and Andrew stood, taking the files and departing.
My father unfurled himself from the chair. I met his gaze, refusing to let him see anything but a composed expression.
“You have the new documents?”
“Yes. Lorie brought them by. I will dig into them.”
He tugged his shirtsleeves into place, although there was no need. “This isn’t punishment, Charlotte.”
“I never said it was.”
“I felt you had gone stale on those files. I needed fresh blood.”
“I disagree, but your decision, of course.”
“Yes,” he said coldly. “My company, my choice.”
I didn’t acknowledge his words.
“Special occasion?”
“I beg your pardon?”
He indicated the flowers with a tilt of his head. “You received flowers.”
I ran my finger over the soft petals of a pink carnation. “From a friend who wanted to brighten my day.”
“I wasn’t aware your days needed brightening.”
“I suppose that isn’t surprising.”
He glared at me. “I appreciate my employees keeping their personal lives outside of the office, Charlotte. I would expect the same from you.”
“Of course you would.”
“I really don’t like your attitude these days.”
“I’m not doing anything, Charles. I’ve turned over the files, and I will start the new ones right away. I assure you some flowers on my desk are not going to distract me.”
“Something is,” he snarled.
I didn’t reply. He turned and left my office, shutting the door behind him.
With a sigh, I plucked the card from the flowers. It was simple.
Think of me
Counting the moments
Logan xx
I sighed. I was counting the moments too. Once again, I stroked the velvety flowers. Such an old-fashioned, wonderful gesture. At times, Logan surprised me. The action in the subway. The way he insisted on opening doors, walking closest to the road, holding my hand, these flowers. His father must have instilled those traits in him. I loved the contradiction to the roughness of his appearance. Under the shaggy hair and beard beat the heart of a poet and a true gentleman.
Until it came to sex. There, he was as rough and demanding as his appearance suggested. Yet even that was tempered with tenderness. His dirty words, his demands, the way he handled me—nothing he did gave me cause for concern. He would never hurt me—or any other woman. Of that fact, I was certain.
And another fact that I was certain of was I didn’t want him handling any other woman except me.
With a sigh, I sent him a text thanking him and got back to work. It was going to be a long day.
Hours later, I stretched my neck, glancing at the clock, shocked to see it was past seven. The hours had flown by as I’d studied the new projects I’d been assigned. All were fairly straightforward. The sort of ventures I would have handled when I first came to the company. But I refused to let that bother me. I would give them all the attention and due diligence other clients received. My father would have zero to complain about, and I would make sure the clients were happy. At least one was interesting. Two small indie recording companies wanting to combine and bring on investors. I had spoken with one of the parties involved, and Carmen had invited me to an event they were hosting on Wednesday evening. I was going to attend and then meet with them on Thursday to talk more. He extended the invite to others in the office, and I promised to pass it along. The other two were a hotel looking to expand and another start-up seeking investment. I had notes on both of them for investors and would follow up more this week.