Three Blind-Date Brides: Nine-to-Five Bride. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Rick nodded. ‘Let me look into this. I’ll see if I can get things moving for you. Do you have a copy of the order?’
‘Right here.’ The site boss removed it from his clipboard.
Rick took it, glanced at it and passed it to Marissa. ‘At least you won’t have to note all this down.’
Their fingers brushed. His words brushed across her senses at the same time. Just words, but his gaze searched her face, took her in as though he didn’t realise he was doing it. As though he couldn’t stop himself from doing it.
‘I hope we can get back to the office soon.’ She needed the security of her desk and at least some semblance of routine. She needed Tom to get better fast and come back to work so she could hide in Gordon’s office.
More than that, she needed to stamp the words ‘dating website’ on her forehead so she remembered what she was supposed to be doing.
Not supposed to. Wanted to. Must do. Was doing! ‘So I can get to work on this transcribing.’
They made their way back to work with Rick dictating on the way. Once at the office, Marissa worked on his department memos and, because they were so pushed for time, they ate lunch at their desks. The busy afternoon that followed shouldn’t have allowed time to feel anything but the strain of hours of hard work, and yet she felt a great deal of other strain.
Marissa wished that strain away as she made yet another phone call for her boss. ‘This is Marissa Warren. I’m filling in as Rick Morgan’s secretary and need you to supply me with a list of names of all the people who’ve worked on the Chartrel project.’ She clasped the phone against her ear and smelled Rick’s scent on it from when he’d taken a call at her desk minutes earlier.
Marissa closed her eyes and inhaled before she could stop herself. When she lifted her lids again, Rick’s gaze rested on her from the other room, deep grey eyes honed on her.
She forced her attention back to her work, buried herself in it. Maybe she should never emerge again. That might fix things. When Rick came to her desk an hour later, she knew it hadn’t fixed anything at all.
‘I need you to take these to the departments personally, Marissa.’ He held out several signed memos. ‘I know we’re busy, but I want you to wait for their responses.’
‘All right.’ She agreed without hesitation. Eager to please him. No. She wasn’t overly compliant or willing to go the extra mile. She certainly didn’t think they were equals in this and would both be rewarded at the end. The roles were clear. Hers and his. This wasn’t the same as the past.
Rick wasn’t using her to try to make himself look bigger or better.
Maybe not, but he was still using her in his own way. He’d swept her into working for him without giving her a choice.
Your employment contract states: ‘and other duties as required’. He didn’t ask you to do anything you’re not obliged to do.
Fine. The man had every right to commandeer her. He was still too similar to Michael—all business orientation and focused on his work goals. Marissa held the thought up like a shield, and added another. She wanted to find a safe man, an ordinary man, and yes, okay, maybe she did want to get married and fulfil the promise of the Blinddatebrides.com website.
She was almost thirty. Surely a desire for genuine commitment was acceptable at that age? Her mother had been married a decade by then, with a child—what if Marissa could only have one baby, like Mum had?
Didn’t it make sense that Marissa might be thinking of getting started on that? That was nothing more than a logistics thing.
She wheeled about. ‘When I get back, I’ll do something about the explosion out here that was once my … that is … Tom’s desk.’
Not her desk.
Tom’s desk.
Tom’s chair.
She was keeping it all warm for Tom and nothing more. On this fortifying reminder, she left. Graciously and calmly, as befitted someone totally in control of her life, her hopes, her dreams and herself.
By the middle of the afternoon it was raining—a drenching fall that obscured the skyline and turned the water in the harbour choppy. Marissa stared at the dismal view before she turned back to the photocopier.
‘Deep breath,’ she muttered. This was an irritation, after all, not a major problem. She eased open the three side doors on the machine, the one at the back, and pulled out both paper drawers and hit the spring catch on the feed cover so she could see in there as well.
Paper jams happened and, yes, there would now be pages missing from the report and she’d have to figure out what she’d lost, but that was fine.
The printer had needed a new ink cartridge an hour ago. One of the computer applications had quit mid-keystroke and she’d lost a few minutes of work. The phone continued to ring hot and there’d been more people from other departments through the door today than in the entirety of last week. She had enough typing sitting on her desk to take her the rest of the day by itself.
Rick was also busy. He was deep in phone talks about some crisis or another right now and it was clear from the content of the several tapes he’d asked her to work on ‘urgently’ that he was handling the equivalent of photocopier breakdown times about a thousand from his desk.
The corporate shark was doing his thing with a great deal of style today, controlling his world, working through problems, making it all come together despite the difficulties and … thriving on it and being cheerful about it as he went along. Marissa did not find this at all stimulating, and it did not show her a different side of her boss, making it exponentially more difficult for her to keep viewing him as a corporate danger zone.
‘Let’s go. We’re finished with this for today.’ The day had felt interminable to Rick. From that trip up the building construction, when he’d wanted to protect Marissa, keep her safe, never let anything happen to her, through the rainy afternoon and on into this evening, Rick had struggled with his attraction to her.
She was amazing, the way she got down to work without a word of complaint, no matter what was thrown at her. And he … found that too appealing about her.
Maybe that explained this current madness, because not only was he determined to take her out of the office and feed her, he had no intention of letting her refuse. He took her bag from the desk drawer and pressed it into her hands, and drew her out of her chair.
Well, it was no big deal. Marissa deserved a reward for working so hard. As her boss, he wanted to give her that reward. He’d done the same for Tom countless times.
But this wasn’t Tom and, the moment Rick touched Marissa, desire buzzed through his system and threatened to overwhelm him. Well, he would control that desire by the force of his will—maybe he needed to show himself he could do that.
‘Wait. What are you doing? I have work up on the computer and I’m nowhere near finished.’ She dug her shoes into the carpet, her eyes wide and startled as surprise and uncertainty and the same fire he fought in his bloodstream all bloomed in her gaze.
‘We’re going to eat and then go to our respective homes to get some rest.’ That sounded suitably businesslike. A pity he ruined it by adding, ‘The office can wait until tomorrow.’
Not only had he not intended to downplay the importance of his work, but his voice had mellowed as his gaze roved over her, over the hair sticking out from the times she’d whipped the transcription headset on and off, and bent over the photocopier cursing.
She had trousers on today. Pale tan trousers and a black cashmere top that hugged her curves, and soft leather lace-up shoes she hadn’t needed to change for their fieldwork.
Though the clothing screamed ‘comfortable’ and ‘sensible’ it also lovingly displayed every curve. He’d believed himself