Relentless (Mason Family 4)

I nod.

“That’s his office.” She points at the office behind her desk on the right. “And that one is yours. They connect on the inside, which you’ll see shortly. The offices to my left are Holt Mason’s and his EA, Miriam’s.”

“Okay.”

“One of the offices back there is Boone Mason’s. He’s … he’s fun. Keeps things lively. The other is used for meetings.” She stifles a smile and motions for me to follow her. “Let’s get you situated before Oliver gets out of his meeting.”

My gaze lingers on Oliver’s door as I follow Kelly to my office. She flips the lights on and steps inside.

The first thing I note is the prominent, deep-colored wood desk. Nice. Behind it, a cabinet is set up along one wall, and another connects to the two on one side, forming an L. As Kelly noted, a door on the other wall is closed that apparently leads into Oliver’s office.

I fight off a surge of anxiety that threatens to creep up my spine.

Two chairs face the desk, and a coatrack stands next to the door. Besides a piece of art in the same vein as the one in the conference room yesterday, there’s nothing else to note except a computer and a stack of folders.

“Take a look around and get comfortable,” Kelly says. “There are office supplies inside the desk. If there’s anything you need that you don’t have, let me know. There are some files on the desk with basic project information, a few things that just came in that need Oliver’s attention—that kind of thing. It would probably help you to skim over that. It’ll give you a good feel of what’s to come and then I’ll come in and check on you in a little while.”

“Sounds good. Thanks, Kelly.”

“Absolutely.” She glances over her shoulder at the phone that starts ringing again. “Oliver and Holt should be back any time now. I expected them already, to be honest.”

“It’s fine. I’ll just get settled.”

She gives me a final smile before scooting off toward her desk.

I blow out a breath and sit in the brown leather chair. I pull open the large bottom drawer on my right and plunk my purse inside.

My heart races as I give myself a second to become acclimated to my new setting. It’s reminiscent of my office at Monroe Companies, yet a level or four up. Every detail from the light fixtures—a sleek modern chandelier in my office—to the faint flecks of gold in the otherwise dark tile seem intentional. Even though I had nothing to do with it, it gives me confidence.

I can do this.

Riding the wave of confidence, I ignore Oliver’s office door and turn to the computer instead.

The log-in information Toni gave me works and I start clicking around on various icons. There are already a couple of emails from Toni with copies of things I signed downstairs, as well as one from Kelly with a list of names and numbers of people I might need. I find the calendar and take a quick glance at Oliver’s schedule. Everything is color-coded. I don’t know who is responsible for the hot-pink notes, but they’re hilarious and very needy, from what I can tell. Also, whoever controls the olive-green notes doesn’t seem to find Hot Pink funny.

“These have to be Oliver’s brothers,” I whisper, looking for a color key and coming up empty.

I do a little more investigating on the computer, checking out the shared drive as well as the systems that the company uses. It’s all pretty standard. That’s a relief.

My attention shifts to the stack of papers on my desk. I’m sorting through them, familiarizing myself with things, when a knock raps softly on the door to my right. I glance up from a memo about a project called Greyshell and bite back a gasp.

Oliver leans against the doorway. A pair of dark denim encases his thighs. A bright white T-shirt that looks soft and silky is stretched over his chest. On top of that is a steel-gray blazer that hangs open.

His hair is perfectly coiffed in an I just rolled out of bed, or I took fifteen minutes on this look kind of way. My mind shifts to the fifteen minutes option because visualizing Oliver and bed at the same time is not the way to start my day.

Or, rather, it is but not when I work for him.

“Oh,” I say, the single word somehow becoming multi-syllable.

He lifts a coffee cup to his lips and takes a sip. He watches me over the brim, his eyes twinkling.

I kick myself for just reacting and not being prepared for him to look this delicious. It’s not like I didn’t know. What I didn’t account for was the way his gaze feels welcoming, nearly caressing me from across the room.

Don’t go there, Shaye.