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)
“Oh. Um… We’re out of milk.”
“Then give me a black coffee.” He frowned. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I, ah, my tummy was a little upset. I forgot. I’ll go get it now.”
I turned and hurried off, praying the witches had gone back to their caves and I wouldn’t have to deal with their snide remarks and looks.
BANE
She returned with my coffee, one of her foamy ones, setting it down with a fast smile.
“Someone got the milk.” She paused. “Anything else?”
I studied her, noting how pale she looked. Her eyes looked odd. Almost as if she’d been crying. For some reason, the thought of her being upset bothered me. Recalling what she’d said earlier, I cleared my throat.
“Are you feeling all right, Myers? Do you need to go home?”
She shook her head, her gaze bouncing everywhere. “No, I’m fine. I’ll get back to work.”
She hesitated at the door. “Um, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Is everything, ah, satisfactory?”
I frowned. “Everything is fine. I would tell you if it were otherwise.”
“All right. I was just checking. I can take direction if required.”
I was confused. “I am aware of that, and I have no complaints with your work.” Wanting to bring a smile to her face, I winked. “Today anyway. I’ll let you know when I do.”
But she didn’t reply with one of her quips. My teasing barely got a smile. She nodded and returned to her desk.
After a few moments, I rose from my chair, opening the door she had pulled partially closed. She was on the phone, glancing up as I walked past her. I dug around in the file cabinet, picking a folder at random, and headed back to my office, leaving the door open. I sat down, opening the file, pretending to study it, while I covertly watched her.
Something was wrong. She was polite and professional on the call, as she always was, but her friendliness was off. Her voice wasn’t right. The pitch was wrong. Something had upset her, but I wasn’t sure what that was. I knew I was right when she hung up and didn’t blaze into my office, informing me not to touch the files or that I was doing her job. She simply began working on the budgets I had given her to go over.
I shook my head at my wayward thoughts. It wasn’t my place to wonder what was upsetting my assistant. She was an employee. Everyone had bad days.
I turned back to the design I was working on, pushing away all thoughts of anything else, ignoring the voice that whispered she’d been fine before she’d left to get coffee. Whatever had caused her distress happened in twenty minutes.
It took all my concentration to shut out those thoughts.
At six, Myers came into my office. “Do you need anything else before I leave?”
I looked up, narrowing my gaze at her. She looked like herself, except the polite smile. “No.”
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
The question was out of my mouth before I could stop it. “Myers, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
Her response was too fast, too short, and too wrong.
“Anything on your mind?” I asked.
“Um, well…”
“Yes?” I prompted.
“I was wondering if I was really required to go to the awards dinner tomorrow.”
Her question was innocent enough. It was the way her fingers tangled in the lace of her sleeves, pulling on the delicate trim, that caught my eye.
“Required, no,” I mused. “But I thought you were looking forward to it.”
“Oh, um, I thought perhaps someone more important, better, I mean, um, more essential to the firm should go.”
I sat back, tilting my head. “If you don’t want to go, I won’t force you, Myers. But as a member of my office, an important one, I would like you there. It’s a chance for you to see some of the other people in the industry, other key people here, in a different light. We’re up for several awards—you don’t want to cheer your favorite boss on?”
“Oh no, of course. I was just, ah, checking.”
At this point, I wasn’t sure I would ever see that blouse again. Soon, there would be nothing left of the sleeves the way she was tearing at the lace.
“I assure you, I would like you to attend. It would be nice to see a friendly face when they call the name of the award winner and it’s not mine,” I said jokingly.
“You will win!” she said breathlessly, letting her sleeves go. “Your designs are incredible.”
“Then be sure to be there to see it for yourself.”
“Yes. Of course.” She huffed a breath. “Goodnight, Bane.”
She turned and walked out, leaving me puzzled.
Bane. She’d called me that a few times, but I was Mr. Bane earlier. And she always addressed me as such in front of colleagues or other staff members. She was exceedingly professional all the time. She was, in fact, a great assistant.