Page 42 of Fresh Canvas
“I know.” Amantha’s face contorted as she slumped against the copy machine.
Without thinking, I closed the distance in the small room and sat my luxurious suit pants on the floor in front of her. The glossy pamphlet I took from her hand felt warm. She watched as I flipped it over.
“I’ll help,” I muttered, dropping the pamphlet and lifting a fresh one off the stack.
“I’m sorry, what?” Amantha’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head.
“Don’t look so surprised, Adams,” I said, annoyed that my chivalry was so unbelievable to her. And even more annoyed that I was offering it to begin with. “I told you I’m a nice guy.”
“Ohh. That.Right.” She had the audacity to wink her thicklashes at me, as though it were an inside joke. “The old ladies. I remember. But I thought you weren’t being a nice guy tome.Pretty sure you’re crossing some kind of line here, Russo.”
I ignored the heat creeping up my neck and changed the subject. “We’ll split the stack.” I grabbed the top half of the papers, a soft thud sounding as I dropped them beside my knee. Silence settled around us as the glossy prints began to take shape.
“Make sure you’re folding them like this,” Amantha interrupted, emphasizing the creases of her pamphlet.
“It’sfolding, Adams. I’ve got this.”
“How am I supposed to trust your skills after what you did to that ugly pottery vase?” A sly grin tugged her lips, though she continued to fold.
That playful banter again.
Against my better judgment, I let myself get sucked into it.
“You seem weirdly obsessed with that vase,” I said. “It’s unhealthy.”
My pamphlet disappeared from my hands as Amantha busted up laughing.
“Point proven! This looks terrible. It’s not a paper airplane, Russo!”
Gosh, I liked the sound of her laugh. Like sunshine and chaos.
“Fine.” I sighed and willed myself not to smile. “Show me again.”
I watched as her pink fingernails deftly folded a pamphlet. Then another one. And another.
On top of the stubborn physical attraction I felt for her, I couldn’t help admiring her dedication to her job and the people she cared about. This selfless act alone was grounds enough to begin to alter my previous perception of her.
Amantha Adams was turning out to be…something else. Not only was she pretty—pretty annoying, that is—there was something even morecaptivating inside that was undeniably bewitching.
She was…different. Driven. Didn’t put up with my crap.
I replicated her creases on my pamphlet and wordlessly held it up for her approval. She made a show of inspecting it—which incurred another eye roll from me—before she nodded. Our conversation faded into the rustle of paper and the hum of temperamental overhead lights.
“Why are you doing this, Russo? Like really. Why are you helping me?”
A quick peek at her curious expression told me she wasn’t setting me up for an insult or joke. My pamphlet stilled in my hands before I set it on the floor beside me. I leaned back on my arms, slanting my head to the ceiling tiles as I stretched out my legs. I tapped my brown leather shoes together. WhywasI helping her?
I pried my eyes from the ceiling and met her luminous gray ones.
I sighed. “I told you, I’m a nice guy.”
“Careful, Russo.” Amantha’s voice held a hint of a smile. “Keep acting like this, and I might believe you.”
A small smile tugged my lips, an unexpected warmth replacing my annoyance. I knew, underneath it all, Iwasa nice guy. It kind of felt good that someone—besides my family and Rick—maybe saw that too. That I might be okay showing that side of myself again.
“That right there.” Amantha shook her head, seeming to chuckle in disbelief as she reached for another paper. “I’msonot used to seeing you smile. You’re always stomping around with your stupidly handsome scowl?—”
“I’m sorry, my what?” I leaned forward, cupping a hand to my ear. The blood drained from Amantha’s face as she realized what she’d said. I forced my laugh to stay put and lifted an expectant eyebrow.
