Never Naughty Enough. Jill MonroeЧитать онлайн книгу.
stalked back into the outer office. She wasn’t there. In fact, there was no sign she’d even come in this morning. The blinds remained closed and her headset was still looped over the telephone. This didn’t bode well for a productive Monday. Especially after she hadn’t come to work on Friday.
Maybe he should call Ms. Scott. With a wary downward glance, he eyed the multiline telephone on her desk. He hated that phone. His cell would work quite nicely. But before he could press the speed dial for her number, he flicked the cell case closed. Ms. Scott would be here. She’d promised on Friday. And his assistant always kept her promises.
Feeling at a loss, he returned to his office and reclined in the executive chair, which never failed to ease his lower-back muscles. Annabelle had picked it out, always anticipating what he needed. He peered into the outer office, willing her to be there.
No reason to let this little setback throw off his day. So she was late. Everyone could be late once in a while. Once. Once being the key word.
He had to keep his wits about him to seal the Anderson merger. That merger remained crucial for the realization of his own ideas. All he’d worked toward over the last four years, the promise he’d made to his mother, to himself, that he’d leave his cutthroat job and find a use for his dad’s patents centered on this deal’s success. It would work because he’d make it.
He drummed his fingers on his desk. This was crazy. He’d built his business from the ground up. From nothing. His entire operation didn’t come to a standstill simply because he didn’t have a piece of paper waiting for him on his desk.
But first he needed coffee. He didn’t have time to run to the coffee shop as he had on Friday. With purpose, he strode to the breakroom. They called it a room, but it was little more than a storage closet with a table, two chairs, a minifridge and coffeemaker. A coffeemaker, which he had no idea how to operate.
First things first. A paper filter. He searched all over the small space, but couldn’t find a single one. In desperation, he opened the coffee bin, hoping Annabelle might have left a clean filter in there as she tidied up the area before leaving last week. He yanked on the bin handle. When had they gone to this funny little cone thing instead of good, sturdy paper filters?
Wagner spooned in what looked like enough grounds, pushed the bin home and flipped the switch. He watched as the coffee dripped into the carafe.
The dark aroma drifted to his nose and he relaxed in satisfaction. It smelled like coffee should. Why was he worried? He’d made coffee plenty of times.
A few times.
At least once.
The front door opened and closed. Annabelle must have arrived. Good. Now maybe he could get some work done. He grabbed two mugs and poured the coffee. He’d never made Annabelle coffee before. But it seemed like the thing to do. He’d taken two steps when he stopped.
What was that sound?
Was that humming he heard from the front office? Was Annabelle humming? Annabelle never hummed. It was sort of—what was the word?— sweet. He kind of liked the sound of it.
She was obviously in a good mood, obviously feeling better. He’d been concerned when she’d taken a personal day on Friday. Wagner leaned one shoulder against the wall. He’d never really noticed Annabelle ever having a mood. That was one of the reasons that they worked so well together. And she’d been working her tail off these last few weeks. After this merger, he could hire more staff to ease her load. Hopefully he’d never be this low on employees again.
He watched as she leisurely removed her pink lightweight jacket and draped it over the back of her chair. He’d never figured her for a pink kind of woman. Nor as someone who draped clothing on the back of a chair. But she did good things for pink— it was a perfect foil for the warm brown of her eyes.
What was he thinking? And about Ms. Scott. Wagner shook his head to loosen the hold of his bizarre thoughts. She’d probably be horrified if she knew the directions his mind had been taking lately. Mostly south.
He watched in fascination as she pulled a tiny ivy plant from a plastic grocery bag and placed it on her desk. As she leaned forward, a lock of her long, brown hair fell across her face. “You have curly hair,” he said.
Annabelle glanced up, a curl falling over her left eye. Her pink lips curved into a welcoming smile. He hadn’t noticed how sweet her lips looked before, either.
“What?” she asked, her eyebrows drawn in confusion.
He pointed with his coffee cup. “Your hair. I’ve never noticed how curly your hair is.”
Annabelle smiled briefly and smoothed the curls behind her ears. “The curl’s natural. I never really liked it much, but this morning for some reason, I felt like wearing my hair down.”
Before he could utter another inane, obvious comment, Wagner placed one of the mugs on her desk. “I didn’t see you at your desk when I came in. I can’t remember the last time you were late.”
That strange, swelling sensation filled him again as he watched her roll out her desk chair and sit down. After a few more moments of fiddling with things on her desk, she turned to look at him. Her face scrunched when her eyes left his face and lowered to his clothes. “I’ve never been late.”
Scratching his temple, he did a mental overview. “Come to think of it, you haven’t.”
She didn’t say anything. In fact, Annabelle just sat staring at his tie. He glanced down. Nothing on the black silk. He flicked a piece of lint off his matching black shirt.
“I need you to fax a few things from the Marsh file and please pull my calendar.” He turned to leave.
“Nah.”
He stopped halfway to his office door and turned around. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What?” he asked.
“You know, you could use a little color.”
“What?” he asked again, feeling like an idiot.
“In your wardrobe, a little red or maybe something blue to match your eyes.”
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