Ego Maniac

My eyes followed. I bet they taste good. I had the sudden urge to lean over the desk and bite one. Shit. Not a good thought.

Yet I was still staring at her lips when she looked back up at me. I should have stopped, but the way they moved when she started to speak held me captive.

“Okay, Mrs. Logan. Let me see if he’s available.”

That broke my gaze. I waved both hands in front of me, motioning to her that I wasn’t available. She put the phone on hold for five seconds and then returned to the call.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Logan. He seems to have stepped out.” A pause. “No, I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to give out Mr. Jagger’s cell phone number. But I will tell him you called.”

After she hung up, she said, “You know what I just realized?”

“That your voice sounds sexier after a few drinks?”

She bli

nked. “My voice sounds sexier?”

I gulped a mouthful of my second drink. “Yeah. You were flirting answering the phone.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

I shrugged. “Whatever. I liked it. What were you going to say you realized?”

“I don’t even remember now. I think those two little drinks went right to my head.”

“And your lips,” I grumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh! I remember what I was going to say.” She pointed a finger at me. “I’ve taken at least twenty phone calls in three days and saw a ton of appointments on your calendar. That was the first Mrs. that called. You don’t have any clients named Jane, Jessica, or Julie.”

“That’s because I only take male clients.”

“What?” She looked at me like I’d just told her the sky was purple.

“Male clients. You know, they’re like women, except with less drama and bigger di—” I quieted mid-word, hearing the front door open. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No. Why?”

“I just heard the front door open.” I stood and walked to the hallway. “Hello?”

A guy I’d never seen before popped his head around the corner from the lobby. “Hi. I’m looking for Emerie Rose?”

I squinted. “Who are you?” I was concerned that the Dawson douchebag had come back to start trouble. But this guy looked like the last trouble he saw was when the kids picked on him in elementary school.

I turned back to Emerie, who was already heading toward me. She joined me in the doorway.

“Baldwin? I thought that was your voice. What are you doing here?”

“Thought I would surprise you.”

The guy raised flowers I hadn’t noticed at his side; their color matched his crooked bow tie. They were lame—looked like he bought them at the Chinese market down the block for $7.99.

“That’s so sweet.”

Emerie stepped out of the doorway where we were nice and close and walked to the guy, giving him a hug and kiss. For some reason, I stayed put, watching it all.