Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93387 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“Boring or foamy?” she teased.
I lifted a brow, and she left. That always seemed to shut her up.
At least in the office. It hadn’t on Saturday.
I had to admit, I was glad to see she was okay, aside from the slight limp. It had surprised me how much she was on my mind after I left her. I worried she wouldn’t be able to make herself something to eat. If her ankle was swelling more. If she needed anything. The urge to pick up the phone to check had been strong, but I resisted. I even thought of excuses to call her—to ask where a file was on the server, or if she remembered to order the 3-D printer supplies I would need this week—but I resisted. They were flimsy even to me, and I knew Myers was clever enough to see through them. I couldn’t let her think I cared.
She returned, carrying a coffee and setting it down.
“Foamy?” I asked with a frown.
“Oops.”
I rolled my eyes. “Leave it. I don’t want you to walk on your sore ankle unless needed.”
“How kind of you,” she murmured.
“Get back to work.”
She paused at the door. “Open or shut?”
“Leave it open. But make sure I’m not disturbed.”
“No problem.”
I opened my laptop, skimming my emails. I glanced over the screen, then moved it to one side, sliding my chair the opposite way. With the subtle move and the way Myers had shifted her desk, I now had a good view of her while she worked. Her face was a study of contrasts. Expressive. She pursed her lips, frowned, grinned, bit her lip. Tugged on her ear. Pulled on a stray curl. Tapped her pen on the desk while thinking.
And she talked to herself. Not loud enough that I could hear what she was saying, but her lips moved, and at times, she would nod as if agreeing with herself.
She was quite fascinating to watch.
Then I shook my head, reminding myself that wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing.
She was Myers—my assistant. She was there to help me work, not entertain me.
Yet once again, my gaze drifted her way, and I wondered if I would need to shut my door again.
Except, I didn’t want to.
This was unexpected.
And that made me angry.
I gave up before lunch and shut the door. I was being an idiot, and I needed to get over this strange fascination with my assistant. She brought me lunch, knocking before coming in. The sandwich was fresh and tasty, and I had to admit, I liked the new deli she had found.
“What are you working on?” I asked.
“Your expenses. Did you know they haven’t been done for months?”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I admitted.
“I need access to your credit card information so I can print off the statements.”
“I’ll send it to you.”
She left, shutting the door behind her. I glared at the wood as if it had done me a grievous disservice.
I stood and opened the door quickly, startling Myers, who was sitting at her desk, eating a sandwich.
“Yes, Bane?”
I startled, then recalled I had told her she could call me that.
Idiot.
“Did you get the email?”
“I haven’t checked. I was eating.”
“Fine. Let me know when you do. And I want more coffee when you’re done.”
She stared at me, lifting her eyebrows in question. Then she mouthed a word at me.
I tightened my hand on the doorframe.
“Please,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Of course, sir. Anything you need.”
I glared at her then swung around and headed back to my desk.
I left the door open.
Chapter Seven
MAGNOLIA
Later Monday afternoon, I was busy trying to sort Bane’s expenses when a deliveryman walked in. He handed me a small vase filled with pretty flowers. I was confused, but they were addressed to me. I opened the card, frowning when I read the simple signature.
Ty
Who the hell was Ty, and why was he sending me flowers?
Bane walked in from a meeting as I was hanging up the phone. He frowned at the addition to my desk. “What the hell are those?” he snapped.
“Flowers.”
“Whatever. Take them home. I don’t like decorations.”
“Again, they are flowers. But don’t worry. I’ll be sending them back since I got them in error. There was obviously a mistake in the flower world, and they were delivered incorrectly.”
“Why would you say that?”
I thrust the card his way. “Ty. I don’t know a Ty, so the flowers aren’t for me.”
“Did you call the florist?”
“Yes. They said those were the instructions they got, and they were intended for me.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.”
“Secret admirer, then. Great,” he huffed. “Keep your personal life personal. All right, Myers?”
Then he slammed his door.
I stroked the petals on a flower, smiling. I had never received flowers before, so even if it was a mix-up, I had to admit I loved them. They added a bright touch to my desk. I only hoped whoever Ty was, he wasn’t in trouble with his girl when she didn’t get the flowers.