Play with Me

“Got it. I’ll handle it.”

“Like you handle me,” he says softly.

“I’m not sure that’s a true statement.”

His lips quirk. “Well, you’re all mine now, so I guess we’ll see soon.” He heads back into his office.

* * *

The press department swears to me they are taking the calls, but after I answer another ten calls, I’m at my wit’s end. When I discover we haven’t even sent out a press release, I think Damion has some issues in his PR department—namely the manager. I’m never going to get to the charity event if I’m taking these calls, so I decide to take action. I type up a press release.

For immediate release:

Due to a power surge, all three of the Vantage properties were shut down temporarily on November 5, 2013 to avoid vulnerability to security breaches. All operations are functioning as normal. No further statements will be given.

The minute I see Damion’s line blink, I know he’s off his call. When I knock on his door, he calls out for me to enter and turns from where he’s standing at the window.

“Can I get you to sign off on something?”

“Of course,” he agrees, and meets me in front of his desk, grabbing a pen and accepting the release from me. He glances up after reading it. “Is this from the PR department?”

“No. They haven’t sent one out, and we are still getting pounded, despite their claim that they’re taking the calls. I’d like permission to send this in a press wire myself, so I know it’s done and we can get on to other business.”

“Yes. Send it, and John Alexander is the VP over that division. Tell him he’s got a problem. Fix it or I will.”

“Gladly,” I say, and I can smell his cologne. He’s too close. I could reach out and touch him, and I want to. “I’ll get on this.”

His eyes glow with warmth … approval? Heat? “Thank you, Ms. Miller.”

“Just trying to please the boss.” It’s out before I can stop it, and blood rushes to my cheeks. Quickly, I turn away and head for the door.

“Ms. Miller,” he calls out before I escape.

“Yes?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.

“Are you running now?”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No. I do not want you to run.”

“I’m not,” I say, and, damn it, my voice cracks. So much for handling my boss well. I swallow hard and exit the office, certain of only one thing: We are on time-out number two and it’s not even lunchtime.

* * *

Damion leaves for a meeting at noon, and I take the opportunity to run down the road to grab a take-out sandwich and go to the bank. When I return, Dana is still on her break, with the switchboard forwarding to the front desk. Or so I think.

I round my corner to find her at my desk, digging in my drawer. “What are you doing?”

She jerks her head up and turns redder than I did over my “please the boss” slip. “I needed a message pad. I’m sorry. I should have waited for you.”

A message pad? Unease roars through me. I walk toward her. “Did you find it?”

“No. No. I’ll go to the supply room downstairs. If you want, I can show you where it is?”

“No thanks. I want to eat and get to work.”

Still looking nervous, Dana rushes away and I settle at my desk. I decide to inhale my sandwich before I start calling the hundred or so names I need to confirm for the charity list, including a few from Hollywood. Any doubts I had that this job will help me grow to the next level are fading fast.