Page 2 of Don't Run
That isn’t the truth. I have access toeverythingMr. Carter does. He’s all-consuming in his demands, and I’d adapted to it before the end of my first month five years ago. It was either that or find a new job.
Everything from his morning coffee to his bedtime supplement routine is mirrored on my screen at all times, ready for last-minute adjustments.
But even I don’t know what he has going on tonight. Friday nights are usually for hitting the cigar lounge with his frat brothers, but tonight the space is blank. Once he leaves here at 5, I have no idea what he’ll be up to until Sunday night.
Which is fine by me. Still, it leaves me curious.
“Ladies.”
The gruff voice snaps Journey’s posture back in place.
Chin lifted, she bats her long lashes at Tahj. At five-eleven, she doesn’t have to crane her neck to meet his gaze but drops her head in a demure tilt anyway.
“Hey, Tahj,” she greets, her voice dripping in seduction.
Tahj tightens the knot of his tie and cocks his brow.
The subtle shift in his expression makes my lips quirk. For the first six months after Journey came on board at Carter Enterprises, I thought he was oblivious to her advances. Until I overheard him on a call one day and realized he was playing clueless. Needless to say, he plays into the nerdy executive so well that sometimesIbelieve him.
I can’t say I don’t see what she sees in him, but he’s not my type.
He’s too perfect, and I’ve always preferred my men not so…buttoned up.
Standing just over six feet, he’s hard to miss. With his dark sable skin and the neatly groomed black ringlets that stop shy of his forehead and curl above his ears, he looks like the poster child for Black corporate excellence. Especially when you factor in his affinity for the rectangular lenses perpetually resting on the bridge of his nose.
In my head, he’s the Black Clark Kent.
Monday through Friday, he drapes his muscular frame in the same uniform: crisp tailored shirts, black tailored pants and genuine leather oxfords.
Add in his timid disposition and he’s perfectly unremarkable.
We have that in common.At least on the surface.
“We were just talking about you,” Journey continues, breaking into my thoughts and needlessly tucking her hair behind her ear. “Are you sure you can’t come out tonight?“
“Positive.” He doesn’t spare her another glance before he shifts his eyes to me. “Do I have any messages?”
Like a deer caught in headlights, I blink as a funny feeling invades my stomach under the weight of his espresso eyes.
It’s then I notice his ever present glasses are missing.
“Sir, where are your glasses? Do you need me to call in a pair of replacement frames so you can pick them up on the way h?—”
“I’mgood, Ms. Shaw.” He sounds…annoyed? I force a swallow as his stare singes me, and all I can think about is how much his eyes match the Americano I fetch for him every morning.
How had I missed that?
I suppose I never really paid attention.
“Ms. Shaw?”
His terse tone wraps around my name like a warning, pulling me back to the present.
“Yes, sir?”
“If I don’t have any messages, you’re free to go home for the weekend.” He spins on his heel, the expanse of his broad back effectively dismissing me as he saunters toward his office at the end of the hall.
“He’s in a mood,” Journey sniffs.
