The Truth

“Spicy sweetness, huh?” Daniel echoes. For a health-conscious man, he totally ignored those benefits and went straight for the sexier sounding ones.

“Yep. It keeps things interesting,” I explain.

Of course, I’m not just talking about his coffee. Daniel takes a doubtful sip and savors the flavors for a long moment before nodding. “Okay then. Did you happen to look at the report as well as stick the Post-It in there?”

For some executives, this would be a trick question. A test to see if you can keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong. But I don’t think that’s Daniel’s style at all. Inquisitiveness is more of a desirable trait to him.

“Just a quick glance. While waiting on the coffee.”

“And?”

“Quick impression?” I clarify, and he nods, waving a hand to give me the floor. “The designs are solid, but it’s because they’re nothing new. They’re not fresh and exciting enough to grab your attention and make you open your wallet.”

“Do things always have to be fresh and new to open your . . . wallet?” Daniel’s face stays even and impassive, but that was flirty, right?

I take a step closer, cursing the separation of the desk between us. “Oh, no. Sometimes, the best option already exists, so there’s no reason to settle for a weak imitation when you want the real thing. Quality is worth working for.”

“Interesting,” Daniel says, taking another sip of coffee. “Thanks, Tiffany.”

Daniel gives me a half smile and then opens the report to dig in, so I excuse myself back to Vanessa’s desk to let him work. For the rest of the morning, he’s buried in it, occasionally calling me in to find another piece of information or to send a message to someone.

I can tell he’s still not quite sure how to handle this . . . mutual attraction, so for now, I let him focus, keeping my actions and words as professional as I can while occasionally slipping in another double entendre or comment that can be interpreted in multiple ways.

There’s a time to press forward and a time to back off. Right now, I want Daniel to feel comfortable with me, to know that including me in his life isn’t going to wreck the professional career he’s worked so hard to achieve.

I want him to understand that I can make his life better, and for a workaholic like Daniel, that starts in the office.

By the time the afternoon gets underway, I sense that I’m getting through to him. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but when I brought in his lunch salad, he apologized for not being able to eat with me, and later, on his way back from the restroom, he checked to make sure I’d eaten too. And when he finished with the Colt report, he didn’t yell for me to come get it but rather brought it out to me.

“I looked through the designs again, and I think you have a point,” he’d said with a nod of praise before asking for another project file.

At around three o’clock, Vanessa comes back, a brilliant smile on her lips. “Well, you’re still here. That’s a good sign.”

“Of course, easy-peasy,” I reply. “How was it? I’m guessing a huge hit if your smile is any indication.”

“Half the executives in this office owe me a big ol’ bouquet of appreciation. Or maybe a spa day,” Vanessa says, only slightly bragging, I bet. “Seriously, though, there were a lot of good questions and practice time.”

“You think it’ll stick?” I ask, and Vanessa shrugs.

“For some of them, sure. I think everyone will be a little better, but not everyone uses spreadsheets every day, and that’s what it takes to keep the skills growing.” She taps her temple, and I’d bet she has all the spreadsheet tips and tricks stored away right there, just as organized as her filing cabinet.

“Thank you again for teaching the class. I’m sure everyone appreciated it.”

She shrugs shyly. “I hope so. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to stick to our deal and sneak out a few minutes early. Teaching a workshop is not my norm, and I’m beat.”

“Of course. Have a good night.”

Vanessa pauses, her hand on the door. “Oh, get out of here by five-fifteen or so if you can.”

“Five fifteen?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow. “Why? Don’t EAs normally stay until they’re sent home or the boss leaves?”

Vanessa chuckles. “I guess, normally. But in case you haven’t noticed, Daniel Stryker isn’t normal. If you wait for him, you’ll be here until ten o’clock, and not because he’s being a jerk. He’ll just be grinding away, oblivious to the passing hours until Mac comes by for a security check.”

“That’s . . . not healthy.”

Vanessa scoffs. “You’d think, but that man’s healthier than someone half his age. Anyway, get out of here at the end of the day. He’s self-sufficient, can make his own coffee if he needs it. Sometimes, I’ll find a blender cup in the executive coffee room from one of those gross smoothies. But he’ll make his own copies or send emails or whatever.”