by Nalini Singh
It still made her stomach flip, even after close to three months in his proximity.
Blowing out a quiet breath, she began to type, focused on getting the details exactly right. It was why she had this office, this position, despite her shortcomings... despite the fear that lived inside her even after all the other strides she'd made, a sinuous, mocking beast that still woke her some nights in a cold sweat.
Last night had been a bad one.
Heart pounding hard enough to make her feel sick, she'd had to get out of bed, check she was alone in the house before she could close her eyes again. But no matter the fear, she was living a good life. Maybe it wasn't exciting, she admitted, and maybe her timidity and continued inability to not be afraid was increasingly frustrating... and maybe she'd never have the passionate connection Molly had found with her rock star, but--
"Ms. Baird."
Jerking at the sound of Gabriel's voice mixing with that on the tape, she removed the headphones to see him scowling at her. "I'm almost done."
"Good. Once you finish that, I need you to find Finley and get his ass in here."
Realizing the scowl hadn't been for her, she finished up the document, proofed it, then printed it off and handed it to him. Simon Finley had left the office at five, was having a beer at home when she located him.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "That bastard has no life and thinks no one else does either."
Hanging up on the other man after getting a promise he'd be in within a half hour, she knew Finley was wrong. As shown by the parade of red roses, Gabriel did have a life outside work, one filled with long-legged beauties who not only had va-va-voom bodies and faces but brains. Even the models Gabriel dated weren't simple clotheshorses; they all had their own perfume or clothing lines, other business ventures.
Yeah, she was never going to be in that league, she thought, picking up the phone to answer a query from the security guard downstairs. "Charlie, delivery guy just dropped off takeout for the boss. I can't leave my post right now with Steven on break--you okay to come grab it?"
"I'll be right there."
After picking up the food, which she saw was from a top-tier restaurant Gabriel liked, she brought it up and carried it through to his office. It was a routine they went through at least three times a week, Gabriel pulling more hours than anyone else in the company.
As usual, the last container was marked "Charlotte." Normally, she was the one who placed the order, but on the rare occasions he did so himself, he never forgot to order for her, and he never got it wrong. She had no idea how he'd noticed she liked certain things and not others, but he had.
"Finley?" Gabriel asked without looking up from the computer screen.
"On his way back into the city. He's in Albany, so it'll be twenty minutes at least with the current traffic."
No answer, his concentration on work. Taking her dinner back to her desk, she opened it to reveal fragrant jasmine rice with a plastic tub of Thai green curry beside it, a prettily cut cucumber on the rice as a garnish. Mouth watering, she grabbed the included fork and began to eat at her desk.
"Ms. Baird."
She almost dropped the fork at Gabriel's quiet but penetrating call. Damn man. Leaving her food, she went to the doorway of his office. "Is there a problem with the document?"
"No. Bring your dinner in here."
Blinking, she went back to retrieve the container. They never ate together--he was usually working and eating at the same time, and she had to eat quickly in case he wanted her to enter last-minute changes or organize meetings or phone conferences as soon as he was done with whatever he was working on.
Last week, she'd had to call suppliers in London, Namibia, and Finland, all in the space of a single--long--day. Saxon & Archer was once more being lauded as the luxury department store in Australasia, and it had a great deal to do with their rejuvenated supply chain as well as the rising staff morale. All driven by the inexorable force known as Gabriel Bishop.
When she returned to his office, it was to find he'd come around to the black leather seating area to one side that he sometimes used for more casual meetings. His tie was off, the top two buttons of his shirt unbuttoned and his sleeves rolled up as was standard by this time of day. Dark stubble shadowed his jaw. The sensual curve of his lower lip was the only point of softness on him.
In her madder moments, Charlotte sometimes wondered if he was rough in bed or if he had tenderness in him.
"You know he's hot, right?"
Molly had said that to her when Charlotte had been complaining about Gabriel back at the start. While Charlotte had denied it at the time, they'd both known she was lying. Now, if she could only forget his attractiveness and focus strictly on the job, she'd be well on her way to a successful long-term career.
Taking a seat on the sofa opposite him on that reminder, she ate in silence as he alternately frowned at the document he was still reading and went through his food quickly and neatly, as if it was simply fuel. It was a tragedy, the meal exquisitely prepared by one of the top chefs in the country.
"Ms. Baird, why are you staring at me as if I'm killing baby kittens?"
10
Half-naked T-Rex and Ice Cream (Sadly Not at the Same Time)
He really should stop doing that to his pretty little admin, Gabriel thought with an inward grin. Every time he caught Charlotte staring at him, she turned bright red and couldn't speak for at least a minute. He didn't mind the red--it made him wonder if she blushed all over her body--but he minded the way she still went mute around him every so often. Usually, it was simply because he'd inadvertently startled her, but sometimes, he scented fear and it pissed him off.
Gabriel didn't hurt women, had never hurt women. Hell, even his piss-poor excuse for a biological father wasn't violent. Brian Bishop might have used his wife like she was an automatic teller machine, but he'd never lifted a hand to any of his family.
That was the only good thing Gabriel could say about the man.
Charlotte hadn't been so lucky. Someone had brutalized her to the point that the scars lingered deep within; he'd like to get his hands around the neck of the fucking bastard, give him a taste of his own medicine. One day, when she trusted him enough, she'd tell him, and he'd make sure she had no reason to fear her abuser again.
"You should appreciate your food. Someone put a lot of time and effort into it."
He was so surprised at the feminine rebuke that he leaned back and looked at her. Breaking the eye contact almost at once, she focused on her own meal. He watched the fork travel through her lips and thought about that pretty, pretty mouth on his cock, her tongue licking along the vein that ran along the bottom.
Christ. Wrenching his mind off that particular trajectory before it became rigidly obvious what he wanted to do to her, no doubt terrifying her into running, he started eating again. "I appreciate food when I have the time," he said, considering once again how to take this to the next level. Charlotte had finally stopped jumping when he was nearby, and today, she'd shown more than a hint of temper. He wasn't about to allow that progress to stall. "We might have time for a proper meal together in Rotorua next week."
Her eyes flicked up at the mention of the city famous for its high geothermal activity, complete with geysers and bubbling mud pools. "Rotorua?"
"Uh-huh." Glancing over her shoulder, he said, "Come in, Finley. Ms. Baird and I were just finishing dinner." He picked up the printout he'd edited earlier, as Charlotte put down her fork and closed the lid on her empty container.
Handing the pages to her, he said, "Can you input these changes tonight?"
"Yes, of course. Would you like me here for the meeting at ten?"
He took a second to run through the details in his head. The call was scheduled so late because of the time difference with London, home of the man with whom Gabriel was doing a deal critical for Saxon & Archer's future growth. "Yes," he said, "I might need you."
Glancing at his watch, he saw it was alm
ost eight. "If you like, you can go home for an hour and a half after you finish the edits, get back here ten minutes before the meeting."
Nodding, she left, closing the door behind her, and Finley took her place. Whereupon Gabriel looked the man in the eye and said, "Would you care to explain to me why there's a hundred thousand dollars missing from the operating budget for your department?"
Charlotte didn't go home as Gabriel had suggested. Instead, putting on her coat, she took a walk down to the waterfront, the city streets vibrant with life despite the winter chill, the sea wind refreshing against her skin. Leaning against the railings by the ferry terminal, she watched the ferries come in and thought about how many ice creams she and Molly had shared on the nearby steps.
She missed her best friend each and every day, but she was fiercely happy that Molly had made the brave decision to fight for her dream and moved to LA. They still spoke or e-mailed every day, and Charlotte had no fear that would ever change. No matter if Molly was now with one of the biggest rock stars on the planet, she was still Molly, still Charlotte's sister of the heart.
One who'd sent her a message two days ago that said:
Fox told me today that the band decided to get their own private jet. Yes, my jaw fell too. But apparently it's a good investment--and the best news is that you can fly in style when you visit. I can't wait until you can take a vacation and come over so I can show you LA!
Has T-Rex fired you this week? Or has he been behaving? Tell me all! I get suspicious when you go quiet on the subject of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Carnivorous. Oh, hope the fancy cake you wanted to make came out okay. I miss your baking, especially those chocolate chip cupcakes with orange cream frosting.
And talking of baking, your new cooking class buddies sound like a hoot! Juliet and Aroha are my kind of women. Hope your next coffee date is just as much fun.
- Love, Molly
p.s. A pressie attached for you. VERY NSFW.
The attachment had been a shot of Gabriel in his rugby playing days, sans his playing jersey. It had definitely been very not safe for work. The jersey had ripped during what Charlotte knew had been a particularly brutal tackle--she'd watched that game with her father by her side, both of them wincing at the punishing hit Gabriel had taken.
He hadn't gone down, however. No, he'd made the try. Afterward, the fresh cut on his cheekbone still bleeding, he'd pulled the torn jersey off; the shot Molly had sent was of him pouring water on himself to cool down while a member of the team staff went to grab him a replacement jersey.
Charlotte had turned into a puddle in her bed at home when she'd pulled up the message and downloaded the image. The water dripping over the breadth of his shoulders, over his pecs, along the hard ridges of his abs, into the waistband of his playing shorts...
Charlotte waved a hand in front of her face.
Yes, the man was hot. Seriously, dangerously hot. A week ago, she'd walked in on him while he was changing into a fresh shirt to attend a dinner party he was heading to straight from work.
Her mouth had watered before it dried up, her skin taut over her body. She'd lost the ability to speak, so it was as well that he hadn't been annoyed at the interruption, had simply started giving her instructions about something he needed done. Charlotte had heard none of it, though later she discovered she'd taken notes.
All she'd seen right then were the impossibly beautiful ridges and planes of his body, followed by the efficient movements of his fingers as he did up the buttons. She'd almost whimpered as he slipped each small disk into its hole, the view disappearing before her eyes. His chest was lightly furred with dark hair, just enough that her nipples throbbed at the memory even now, her body happily informing her the rasp of sensation would feel exquisite.
As for his hands, they were big and strong and a little rough from the rugby he still played when he coached a local high school team twice a week. With the season in full swing, she had standing orders to juggle his schedule so he could make all the training sessions; she knew he attended all the team's weekend games as well.
Apart from the parade of one-date women, that appeared to be his only downtime.
If she sometimes imagined what those capable, strong hands would feel like against her skin, that was her secret fantasy. No need for anyone to know. Especially not Gabriel.
"You know, Charlotte, there's probably a law against ogling the boss," she muttered to herself, but knew she wasn't going to stop.
A woman had to have some vices, and her ridiculous fantasy crush was Charlotte's. Because that was all it was, she told herself for the hundredth time: a crush on a gorgeous man who scrambled her neurons. She refused to consider how much she liked and respected him, how fascinated she was by his brain. Going down that road would lead only to heartbreak.
No, far better to focus on his thickly muscular thighs, the lickable broadness of his chest, the strength of his forearms. Suiting action to words, she took out her phone and pulled up the image Molly had sent her, sighed. And thought about what it would be like to have him tied to her bed so she could kiss and pet him all over as much as she wanted while he called her "Ms. Baird" and gave her increasingly aroused orders in that deep voice that made her nipples go tight.
Overheated despite the crisp sea air, Charlotte walked back to the office about forty minutes after she'd left. Swinging by a convenience store on the way back, she bought a single-serve tub of chocolate macadamia ice cream for herself, then, for no reason that she could consciously articulate, a tub of boysenberry swirl for Gabriel. He didn't like chocolate, but he always ate the fresh berries she often included as dessert when she ordered him lunch.
His office door was still closed when she arrived. Grabbing her laptop, she headed down the otherwise deserted hallway to the staff break room and put the ice creams in the freezer, then sat down at the table set beside a tall window that overlooked the sparkling cityscape. She had a good idea why Gabriel had pulled Simon Finley in, and she didn't particularly want to be there when the man exited.
She'd just finished booking airline tickets for Gabriel's next trip to Sydney when a shadow fell across her screen.
"You didn't go home," he said, opening the fridge then shutting it without taking anything out.
"I got you boysenberry ice cream."
He opened the freezer compartment. "Shut down the laptop, Ms. Baird. It's time for ice cream."
Obeying, she moved the computer to the side of the table and picked up her ice cream as he grabbed spoons and took a seat across from her. His legs sprawled out on either side of her own, his big body taking over the room, but he didn't push at her as he usually did in subtle but maddening ways.
For the first time since she'd met him, he actually looked tired.
"Finley," she said quietly. "It was about the money, wasn't it?"
A nod. "When did you figure it out?"
"When you asked me to pull his expenditure reports. I didn't understand all of it, but I could tell something was off."
"He'll be paying it all back over the next year or he'll be going to jail." Jaw grim, he said, "I dislike thieves, but it's not worth the bad press for the company if this gets out. Not now, when I've finally got Saxon & Archer in a viable position."
Charlotte nodded, the two of them not speaking for the next couple of minutes. It was odd to be quiet with him when her skin thrummed in shivering awareness of his presence, but funnily enough, it wasn't difficult.
"Here, try this."
Looking up, she saw he was offering her a scoop of his ice cream. "No." She blushed despite herself. "Mine's good."
"Be wild, Ms. Baird." The spoon brushed her lips, and when she parted them to reply, he slipped it in, the sweetly tart flavor bursting on her tongue. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Heart in her throat, Charlotte shook her head. It had to be her imagination, but she could almost believe he was flirting with her. Idiot. A man like Gabriel Bishop didn't flirt with mice like her, even if her best friend, Molly,
was convinced otherwise. Molly, however, had been sure something was up from the start and nearly three months later, Charlotte was still single and Gabriel Bishop was still spending a fortune on red roses.
No, what he was doing was amusing himself by driving her insane. Every time she tried to see Ernest for dinner, he suddenly needed her to stay late--she swore he had radar when it came to her seeing Ernest. It was as well that Ernest was so sweet about the way she had to keep canceling or postponing their plans.
Too sweet.
Molly had been right all those weeks back when she'd pointed out that while Ernest might be someone Charlotte wanted to see as a man she could be in a relationship with, theirs was more of a friendship, nothing else. And she did occasionally want to see her friend, especially now that Ernest was actually dating a woman--and he wanted her advice on how to propose.
Charlotte was the least qualified person on the planet to offer relationship advice, but poor Ernest didn't know any other women except his girlfriend, so Charlotte was it. That in mind, she girded her loins against the battle about to come. "I can't work late on the fourteenth."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. "Ervin?"
"Ernest. And yes." When he snorted, she'd had it. Slamming down her tub of ice cream, she glared at him. "He's a very good friend, and since you know nothing about him, I'd appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself!"
Gabriel's eyes--that steely gray that could almost be silver when he laughed--glinted. "You're dating him and you still call him a friend?"
So maybe it was a teensy bit her fault he thought she was still dating Ernest. Blame her pride. Ridiculous as it was, she hadn't been able to bear for him to think no one wanted her, especially when he was out with a different glamorous woman every time she turned around.
It would, however, be a little difficult to explain why she would soon be attending the wedding of the man she was "dating."
"Ernest is my friend," she muttered, stabbing her spoon into her ice cream. "It's his birthday on the fourteenth."