Page 5 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
Well that’s depressing. Does he only focus on the bad things in life? No wonder he needs an event planner for this reopening. Without us, it would probably be the lamest party ever.
I take a deep breath, putting as much enthusiasm into my smile as I can without looking downright crazy. It’s a delicate balance. “Would you like to come to the conference—”
“Grant is running late.” He takes another sip of coffee, still looking at me like I’m on the wrong side of energetic. There’s a small spark in his eyes though.
I lose my smile. “You’re not Grant?”
With another sip of coffee, he holds out his hand. “Fischer. Grant’s assistant. He should be here any minute.”
Why in the world did he make me believe he was Mr. Bradley? “Oh,” I say. What else can I say? Now I feel stupid. But hey, it’s good to know I’m not the only assistant who knows everything about the company they work for.
“Grant doesn’t drink coffee anymore,” he adds, and I realize he’s still holding out his hand.
I take it, surprised by how soft his skin is. Fischer the Assistant must have a great moisturizing routine, and I’m tempted to ask him if he does. But I get distracted by the way my little hand seems to disappear against his. I’m small to begin with, but I like when a guy has bigger hands than me. He’s fairly slim, pretty tall—like, of the over six feet variety—and his well-tailored suit surprises me. You don’t see a lot of assistants looking this professional. I like a man who can dress well.
Not that I’m looking at Fischer as a prospective date. He’s a client, which means I should probably let go of his hand.
“How long have you been working with Bradley Properties?” I ask, tucking my arms behind my back.
Placing his free hand in the pocket of his suit pants, Fischer shrugs. “A while.”
Not vague at all. “Are you excited for the lodge reopening? This could be big for your company.”
His lips twitch. Not with a smile but with a scowl that I’m pretty sure he’s holding back. “It could be,” he agrees and then pulls out his phone, looking at the screen for a moment. “Grant just got to the building.”
Before I can respond, Lila’s voice makes me jump. “Miss Taylor! What are you doing just standing there? Why didn’t you tell me Mr. Bradley was—oh.” She comes to a stop beside me and lifts a penciled eyebrow as she examines Fischer. “You’re not Grant.”
Oh, she didnotjust slip into her flirty voice! Fischer is probably ten years younger than her! Sure, he’s relatively attractive—okay, he’s really attractive—but he’s not going to agree to go out with her just because she’s single and ready to mingle. Yeah, last week I told her she needed to get back out there when she was crying about getting divorced, but I didn’t mean for her to hit on the first attractive guy she came across!
Besides, Fischer’s eyebrows keep dipping lower with every second he’s here, and I don’t think he appreciates being ogled by my boss.
“Lila,” I say, surreptitiously stepping between them, “this is Fischer. Mr. Bradley’s assistant. Mr. Bradley is on his way up right now.”
Lila holds out her hand in that way that makes it look like she’s hoping for a kiss on the knuckle rather than a handshake. “And where did Grant find you, Fischer?”
Fischer keeps his hands to himself this time, no longer hiding his scowl. “I apologize for the delay, Mrs. Tate.”
“It’s Ms. now,” she purrs. Gross.
Fischer responds with a low noise. Did he just…growl? I’ve never heard anyonegrowlbefore. It’s one of those things that I read in books all the time but didn’t think was a real thing, but Fischer just let out a deep rumbling sound in his throat that could only be described as a growl.
I really hope it was a growl of irritation, not as a response to Lila’s purr.
Thankfully, the elevator dings again, and a man who is definitely Grant Bradley steps onto our floor. Lila’s whole demeanor shifts, and she practically shoves me aside so she can be the one to greet him.
Okay, so she literally shoves me, knocking me off balance and into Fischer. He grabs me by the shoulder, helping me stay on my feet, and that gives me an up close and personal feel of the man beneath the suit. AKA a lot more solid muscle than I expected. Sure, he probably tensed before the collision, but Fischer is hiding a lot beneath his no-nonsense exterior.
“Sorry,” I mutter, rubbing my wrist because it crumpled between my ribs and Fischer’s abs.
His scowl is still in place. “Don’t worry about it.”
Lila is talking nonstop about who knows what, but with the way Mr. Bradley hasn’t looked away from her for a second, she seems to be doing okay. Sometimes she can talk a person’s ear off and drive them crazy, so I have to be ready to cut her off if Mr. Bradley starts getting jumpy.
In the meantime, I try to sneak a peek at Fischer to see how he hides his strength so well.
That’s when I notice the coffee spilled across Fischer’s torso and the crumpled cup in his hand. “Oh! Are you sure I don’t need to worry?”
He glances down, one eye twitching. “Uh.”
