Page 12 of Sassy Love
Carlie looks up from under dark lashes, and the look could melt the Arctic.
Sweet Jesus. This inner monologue of mine needs to quiet the hell down before she wipes me completely. Since we need to work together and hopefully save this place, I can’t give her any reason to.
Sounds easy, in theory.
Doesn’t it?
“Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted and look over the reports. After lunch, we have an all-staff meeting. You can meet the rest of the team then.” Nadia rises, clutching cream folders to her chest. The ones she originally came in with. “If you need anything, my line is six. Feel free to shout out for anything, I’m kinda the jack-of-all-trades around here, alongside manning—or is it womaning?—front reception?”
Is she asking us?
She seems nervous as she rushes from the room.
“Thanks, Nadia,” I call out after her as she slips through the glass door.
She ducks and waves, her blue eyes lit up, before disappearing across the staffroom floor and around the corner.
“Good lord, you utter suck-up.” Sharp words snag my attention.
Carlie is standing, the papers in her hand. Her crisp white work shirt, that looks more designer than it should in a place like this, is tucked into a fitted navy skirt that hugs her frame, finishing before her knees over cream heels.
I slide my hands inside my pockets. The white shirt and blue tie I’m wearing over navy slacks with black dress shoes has me feeling underdressed next to her.
“Right, if you’re done staring, we should go over this page by page and makes some notes, review last fiscal year’s efforts, and plan from there,” Carlie says, her gaze traveling the room, looking anywhere but directly at me.
“Fine.” I roll up my sleeves like I mean fucking business and drag my chair closer to hers at the other end.
“What are you doing?” she snaps, her eyes alternating between me and the chair I hauled around the table.
“I’m not shouting across the damn table.”
Her face is unreadable as she turns back and rifles through her handbag, an oversized tote, and produces something like...
Tape?
She walks to where I stand with my hand still on my chair. Flicking a hand at me, she waits, glaring, as I push the chair back and step out of her way. She leans over, running pink fucking tape across the center of the table.
You’ve got to be joking.
She spins back, as if reading my mind, and points to her chair. “This is my side. That is yours. Never shall the two converge. Got it?”
That’s the last damn straw.
This she-devil can kiss my sweaty nuts. From everything I learned at Carlson’s, she was efficient, productive, and handled people with grace and style. I can only figure this version of her stems from what happened in that last meeting in Carlson’s office.
“Whatever you say. Just...” I push my chair back to my end of the table and sink into it. I lean back, propping my hands behind my head and crossing my ankle over my knee, the epitome of undeterred. “Next time, put it in writing. An email will suffice. If we’re going to have that kind of relationship, Lamont.”
Clearly, the woman never opened the last one I sent her.
She stalks to where I sit, and I tilt my head up as she bends down, hands on those damn hips. “Not now, or at any time, will you and I have arelationship, Rawlins. Professional or otherwise.”
I resist the urge to run my gaze over her incredible fucking curves, planting my somewhat feigned glare on her pouty fucking lips. “Don’t go makin’ any promises you’ll regret, darlin’.” I give her my best Harry and watch with utter delight as her face twitches when the Montana accent I grew up with and the vernacular my father spouts on the daily lands.
She stands, frowning, before stepping back and squatting to run the tape over the floor, cordoning off my half of the office from hers. I sit up, leaning on the desk, realizing the door is in her half. “And how am I supposed to leave?”
She turns back from tucking the tape back in her bag. “You’ll figure it out.”
A soft knock catches both our attention.
