Page 16 of You Can Leave Your Hard Hat On
CHAPTER SEVEN
“ANDIWANTa fifty percent raise.”
“Okay.” Sam blinked, then jerked her head up to look at her assistant. “Wait a minute—what did you say?”
Price sighed and adjusted his tiny glasses. “Just as I thought. You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
She rubbed her temples and sat back in her desk chair. “I’m sorry, Price. I’m just preoccupied.”
Price made a clicking noise and set a stack of folders in her in-box. “I don’t suppose it has anything to do with the yummy ex-boyfriend?”
She glared. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Tall as a tree, shoulders like a linebacker, eyes the color of a perfectly cut Colombian emerald.”
Sam frowned. “Not that this conversation has anything to do with Teague Brownlee, but how did you know that his eyes are green?”
“Because he’s in the lobby waiting to see you.”
She lurched forward in her chair. “Teague is here? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Price scoffed. “I couldn’t very well just usher him to your office. You’re much too busy to be so accessible.I told him you were on an international video conference, and that you’d be with him soon. By the way, you’re fluent in French.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but couldn’t be angry. She gave in to the smile tugging at her mouth. “How long has he been waiting?”
“Thirty minutes.”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “I think that’s long enough to prove a point, don’t you?”
He nodded and grinned, clasping his hands in barely controlled excitement. “I’ll go get him.”
His behavior only scattered Sam’s nerves further. The first day in three weeks that she hadn’t gone to the site, and Teague shows up at her office? Something must be wrong—why else wouldn’t he just call? Before she could form another troublesome thought, he was standing in her doorway, dressed in dusty work clothes, looking rugged and handsome, with Price a half step behind, beaming. “Ms. Stone, don’t forget your three o’clock appointment with the Carlyle board of directors.”
He had already reminded her twice—as if he needed to at all—but she recognized that he was trying to make her look good in front of Teague. “Thank you, Price.” She stood and smiled at Teague. “This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”
“Everything is on schedule,” he said, but wariness flashed in his eyes as he took in her posh office view. “I just came by to get your signature on a couple offorms.” He held up a file folder and handed it to her. “More permits.”
She took the file and gestured to her guest chairs. “Have a seat.”
“I’ve been sitting,” he said wryly. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stand.” Then he walked around her office, glancing at books on her shelves, picking up the crystal miniatures of famous buildings that she collected and setting them back down. He looked like a kid who’d been allowed into a room where he wasn’t supposed to touch anything, but couldn’t resist.
His thick hair was squashed and imprinted with the ring of a hard hat. From beneath her lashes, she studied him, watching the way he moved, the intimate fit of his jeans, the way the soft cotton of his gray T-shirt clung to his arms. She tried to tamp down the shimmer of desire that rippled through her stomach, but her body would have none of it. Beneath her fitted navy suit, her breasts grew heavy and her thighs tingled in awareness. All this from looking at the man’s back, she realized in dismay. When he turned around, she dropped her gaze to the papers she was supposed to be signing.
“Looks like you’ve done well for yourself, Samantha,” he said, gesturing to her office, her view.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Is it everything you thought it would be?”
She looked up sharply—was he referring to the hopes and dreams she’d shared with him the night in the guesthouse? Her heartbeat picked up speed and heat flooded her face. “I guess so.”
He looked at her as if he were disappointed in her, and her defenses rose like a tide. Who was he to be questioning her? “You don’t like my office?”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter whether I like it, does it?”
“No.” She pushed to her feet and walked over to the artist’s rendition of the Carlyle Library. “But I would like to know what you think about my building design.”
He moved to stand next to her to study the watercolor. At nearly a head taller than her, even with her wearing heels, he emanated male heat like a kiln.
