Corner Office Confessions

“On the contrary.” Ericka reached out and relieved Charlotte of part of her burden. “I’m convinced that reading them would significantly improve his temperament to the benefit of all.”

“As much as I’d love to dish,” Charlotte said, scratching her shapely calf with the pointy toe of her shoe, “I have expense reports to finish and I haven’t even started picking the menus for the awards banquet at Supply Side West. Not to mention coordinating the executive sand dune excursion for the supplier appreciation event in Fort Funston.”

“That settles it,” Ericka said. “You’re having coffee with us. Lady bosses gotta stick together.”

Charlotte blew a tendril away from her black-framed glasses. “You two are lady bosses. I’m the girl who works for man bosses.”

“What have I told you about that kind of limited thinking?” Ericka challenged.

Charlotte made a decidedly unladylike sound.

“Tell me that when you get barked at for bringing Parker Kane coffee in the wrong mug.”

“If it were me, he’d be wearing it.”

Ericka looked down at her smartwatch. “Give me fifteen minutes to answer a couple emails and then we rendezvous in the kitchen at eleven thirty?”

Arlie glanced at the ornately carved grandfather clock in the corner of the conference room. That would give her time to bolt down the energy drink secreted in her nondesigner purse. “Perfect,” she said.

But when she descended ten floors to her brand-new blank cube of an office, she discovered Samuel Kane waiting for her in it.

Arlie froze in the entryway, the air abruptly vacuumed from her lungs.

Unlike his own palatial floor-to-ceiling windows with their jaw-dropping views, Arlie’s office only enjoyed a sliver of daylight, afforded by a vertical window much like those used by medieval archers. Samuel stood facing away from her, hands clasped at the small of his back as he looked out through the narrow rectangle. Today, his armor was a sleek midnight-blue suit.

She hadn’t had time to alert him to her presence when he turned, her stomach fluttering when their eyes met.

“Miss Banks,” he said with a polite nod.

Though she was sorely tempted to inform him that such formality might not be necessary after his tongue had been in her mouth recently, she suspected that this might not help her cause.

Well, causes.

First, keeping her job.

Second, keeping Taegan Lynch off her ass.

Third, keeping herself from leaping into Samuel Kane’s Brooks Brothers bedecked lap.

Fourth, keeping her job.

“Mr. Kane,” she said, trying to achieve the same tone of cool formality. Forcing her legs to work, Arlie crossed the distance and set her things down on her desk, pretending that she really belonged there. “Please.” She motioned toward one of the chairs across from her desk, noticing Samuel’s hesitation as he looked at her, then the chair, then at her again.

Arlie had offered the seat as a way of gauging exactly why he’d come. Anything work-related would most likely be delivered while standing. Hasty, awkward, over as soon as possible.

An apology, on the other hand. That, Samuel would definitely want to conduct while sitting opposite her.

He seated himself.

Shit.

Arlie did the same.

“I just wanted to...to apologize,” he began. “For what happened. On the yacht.”

“That?” Arlie laughed, trying to conjure Kassidy’s effervescent playfulness. “No apologies needed. I’d already forgotten.” She heard the lie leave her lips and instantly hated herself even more.

As if that were possible.

“Oh?” Samuel’s eyes flicked from her face to her sparse desk.

Arlie found herself wishing she’d added some personal touches. Some framed pictures of her mother and father. The pithy, ironic paperweight in the shape of a banana that had graced every office she’d occupied. One of the plants she’d hauled home from her previous job under such ignominious circumstances. Anything to keep him from looking at her with that half sorry, half hurt gaze.

“Of course. I mean, if I had a dollar for every whiskey-fueled kiss, I wouldn’t even need this job.” The laugh that she had meant to sound warm and forgiving came off shrill as a rusty teakettle.

Samuel smoothed the crease in his slacks. “Well, I’m certainly relieved to hear you weren’t offended.”

“Not in the least. It was an accidental slide down memory lane. There’s nothing to worry about. It didn’t mean a thing.”

“Not a thing,” he agreed.

“Knock, knock.” Arlie looked up to see Mason Kane slouching in her doorway, a walking ad for expensive aftershave or top-shelf self-tanner.

Samuel shot out of his chair like his joints had been replaced with springs.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mason said, his ludicrously perfect teeth gleaming in an amused smile. “I was going to borrow Miss Banks for a quick cup of coffee.”

“You’re not interrupting,” Samuel said, all elbows and haste. “I was just leaving.”