“The old man said your work had heart. He’s been promoting you.”
“Well, I’m . . .” Shocked. “Pleased to hear that.”
And dearly hoped “old man” Mr. Preston—already promoting her while she still had forty days to deliver her proposal—wouldn’t have reason to regret it.
As soon as she and Hawkins finally hung up, she caressed her neck and got a fuzzy feeling in her stomach. Grey. She sauntered into the bedroom to rummage through her closet. His side was predictably in perfect order. Pants lined up by color, shirts and coats lined up by color, ties lined up by color. Her side was a mess, but somehow among that mess Toni had full knowledge of where she kept everything, and she refused to feel guilty about being a tad disorganized.
In fact . . .
Reaching into his side with a wide smile, she switched a black pant to the area of his gray ones, then brought a shirt from the top and stuck it between his jackets. “There we go, baby. Let’s get you a little messy.”
She anticipated what he’d do tomorrow morning. The same thing he’d done yesterday and the day before. He wouldn’t say a word and quietly set his clothes back in order.
When a morning came when he said something about it, anything about it, she’d celebrate.
Moving to her tangled section, she rummaged through her tops, thinking he was up to something. Something . . . wicked. Grey worked that way. He plotted and schemed and planned, and Toni knew, without a doubt, he had some plans for her sash.
She didn’t know what to do.
She knew he’d turned the possibilities around in his head while he’d twirled her sash around and come to a decision.
There was no moving Grey from a decision, just as there was no moving a wall.
The man was so confident in himself Toni had yet to see a day when he felt challenged and didn’t step up to the plate. That episode in Aspen when Toni had been determined she could snowboard with him, Grey had asked, only once and in amusement,“Are you sure about that,Toni?”
“Of course, Grey. I can ski, can’t I? I can snowboard.”
She’d landed in places she hadn’t even imagined the mountain had. It had been awful. And she wouldn’t even get into the time they went horseback riding in Cabo. Damn.
If he dared give her sash to Heath Solis . . .
Pushing the alarming, tantalizing thought aside, she threw on the first pair of jeans she found and a downy cashmere pullover, then strolled down the hall.
After pouring herself some coffee, she maneuvered around the couch to her workspace. Light filtered into the living room through the window overlooking the street, enough light for her to work with during the day. Setting her cup on her small, cluttered desk, she took her chair, lifted her laptop lid, and scanned her flagged e-mails from clients.
Unable to concentrate, she eyed the screen, and found her finger rising almost of its own volition, caressing Grey’s mark.Tempted to see if he was out of his usual morning conference, she logged into an online messenger and typed him a message.
designgirl78: I have the oddest bite on my shoulder. I think I was ravaged while I slept.
Nothing returned for a couple of seconds, so she answered one more e-mail and opened her work files. Then the orange screen popped up.
RICHARDSGREY: You were.
She bit her bottom lip, her smile widening as she typed.
designgirl78: So there must be a werewolf in the neighborhood, ’cause it doesn’t quite look like a vampire’s.
RICHARDSGREY: It’s mine.
designgirl78: Ahhh!! Then maybe you’ll indulge me with a repeat when I’m awake.
RICHARDSGREY: I will
Her hands paused on the keyboard. She gathered her courage, drew a long, tremulous breath, and typed . . .
designgirl78: Grey, about the sash . . .
RICHARDSGREY: It’s done.