“Of course, of course.” He seemed a little stunned, and I wasn’t sure if it was to do with nearly running into the credenza, or if it was something else. Ten seconds ago, he was ready to leap over the desk and molest me.
Something I’d learned when I was very young still rang true.
Boys are weird.
I shook my head as my phone rang and I picked up Fin’s call.
~*~*~
The second call with Fin was shorter than the first; he seemed busy so we decided to meet up on Friday afternoon instead because he couldn’t do Wednesday. He let me pick the place, which was considerate.
I hung up and realized I wasn’t actually dreading our little coffee date. I was also dying to know what he looked like now, but I wasn’t going to creep on the internet and spoil it.
A sharp rap sounded at my door.
“Yes?”
It was Mr. Blaine and he was looking distinctly grumpy. His forehead was all furrowed, which, actually, was kind of . . .
“Your mail is here, Miss Clarke,” he said, holding up a few of interoffice envelopes that probably needed my signature. It was nothing that required him to knock on my door. I would have gotten them later.
“Thanks, Mr. Blaine, you can put them right there,” I said, indicating the basket on the edge of my desk for those very things. It was even marked MAIL.
He dropped them in the basket and his grumpy face didn’t change. I wanted to jokingly ask him what he’d got his panties in a twist about, but I was determined to make this a professional relationship from now on, at least on my side.
“Would you, um, mind bringing me some coffee, Mr. Blaine?” If anything, the grumpy look deepened. I didn’t ask for a kidney.
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.” He turned on his heel and walked out. I shook my head and started sorting through the mail.
He came back a few minutes later and slammed the coffee down on my desk, so much so that it sloshed out of the cup. That was it. I waved good-bye to any semblance of being professional.
“What is your problem?” I said, jumping up and grabbing some tissues from the top desk drawer to blot the coffee puddle that was racing toward some very important papers.
“Shit, shit, stop!” I said, blotting the coffee and trying to talk it out of ruining everything. A hand reached out and shoved the papers to the side as I mopped up the rest of the coffee, which was pretty damn hot, by the way.
I dropped the soggy tissues in the trash and pulled out a cleaning wipe from the container that I also kept in my desk.
“I’m so sorry,” he said when I finally looked up and saw him trying to fix the mess that had been made of my desk.
“It’s not a big deal,” I said, even though I was kind of pissed. “Is there something wrong?” I tossed the wipe and took the papers from him. He didn’t know my arranging system yet.
“No, nothing. I’m so sorry.” He moved around the other side of the desk, as if he was leaving.
“It’s okay, Lucas. Mr. Blaine. Are you sure you’re okay?” He stopped and gave me a tight smile that didn’t reach those gorgeous eyes.
“It’s nothing, I promise. I’ll get over it.”
“I hope so, because I’m not sure my desk can take any more.” I was very fond of my desk. It had been a present from Dad when I got promoted and I planned on taking it with me, even if I changed offices.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and then he left as if he was running away from something, and I was left wondering what the hell that was all about.
Nine
“I thought you would need this,” Sloane said, handing me a glass of wine when I stumbled in the door that night. I hadn’t been that tired after work since I’d pulled a few all-nighters a month ago.
“You’re my favorite,” I said, and gulped the wine. Ah, sweet elixir.