Rock Hard (Rock Kiss 2)

Throttling back an impulse that would only terrify her, he said, “Yes or no?”

A long, indrawn breath. “Yes,” she said on the exhale.

CHARLOTTE DECIDED SHE MUST’VE lost her mind as she set herself up at Anya’s former desk, T-Rex having given her fifteen minutes to get herself sorted. A gleeful Tuck helped her move her things.

“I knew the Bishop was the man,” he said, unadulterated hero worship in his tone as he used T-Rex’s famous on-field moniker.

The Bishop, Charlotte thought mutinously, was a bully. One who kept her on her toes the entire day. Five o’clock came and went with no sign of stopping. At six, unsure of the protocol of being a PA, she looked through his door—which he tended to keep open except when in private meetings—and saw him scowling at the screen of the sleek laptop he preferred over a desktop.

His tie was gone, the top two buttons of his shirt undone to offer a glimpse of the tanned skin at the vee of his throat. Fine as the fabric of the shirt was, she could make out a hint of his tattoos under the surface, see the flex of muscle as he worked.

Why did T-Rex have to be so big and gorgeous?

Throat dry, she nonetheless made herself knock. “Sir.”

“Do you know how to fix this?”

Walking over, she realized the problem straightaway. It was something that had happened to her a couple of times and she’d learned the trick of fixing it from their tech support team.

“I can…” She made to go around his desk.

He pushed away, thrusting both hands through his hair before he picked up a pen to sign a contract she’d handed him earlier. Relieved at not having to deal with his large, powerful body close to her, she quickly fixed the computer glitch and went back around to the other side of the desk.

He handed her the contracts. “Get that to the courier for morning delivery. And where’s Merrill? I need to see her.”

“She headed home a few minutes ago to have dinner with her family.” The CFO had stuck her head in to say good night. “She said she’d finish off the financial report once her kids are in bed, e-mail it through. Do you want me to ask her to return to the office instead?”

“No.” Scowling, he glanced at his watch, as if he’d completely missed the fact it was getting dark outside, the sweeping view of the harbor lost on a man who barely seemed to notice it. “Do you have to be anywhere?”

Charlotte had intended to meet Ernest for dinner, but that didn’t seem like something she should say to her boss right after a promotion. “No,” she said, consoling herself with the reminder of the considerable pay hike she’d received today.

“In that case, can you find me these contracts?” He rattled off a list.

Heading out to Records, she located the originals and gave them to him, then returned to her desk to make a call to Ernest. “We’ll have to reschedule,” she told the kind, gentle man with whom she had no trouble speaking or interacting. They’d been dating for a year, and never had he made her feel in any way threatened or overwhelmed.

“I’ll miss talking to you,” he said. “But congratulations on the promotion.”

“Thanks, Ernest.” Hanging up soon afterward, she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and glanced back to realize Gabriel had come to his office doorway. “Did you need anything further?”

Instead of answering, he raised an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?”

Her cheeks heated. “Yes.”

“Funny name.”

“What?” She frowned. “Ernest is a perfectly nice name.”

“Oh, I thought I heard you call him Ermine.” Passing her a sheaf of paper with that oh-so-offhand comment that had her eyes narrowing, he asked her to input the changes and flick the file back to him so he could finalize a contract with a London-based supplier.

After that came another task, then another. It was ten by the time she could leave. T-Rex was still in his office and showing no signs that he’d be heading out anytime soon. They’d eaten earlier, after he’d had her order in meals from a top local restaurant. Now, though, she worried he’d get hungry later. It wasn’t as if he was a small man, and his brain probably burned as much fuel per hour as most men did pumping iron.

Putting down her handbag, she went to the staff break room and hit the vending machine before returning to his office. He was standing in front of an easel on which an architect had earlier that day placed a number of design specs for the renovations of their flagship Auckland, Queenstown, and Sydney locations.

“Good night, Mr. Bishop.” She drew in a quick breath. “I got you some granola bars.” It had been the healthiest snack she could find in the machine—she’d have to speak to the stockers about filling it with more nutritional items.

“Thanks.” A frown in her direction. “A cab, Ms. Baird.”

“I called one.” That was the one company perk she’d never felt bad about using, not when she worked late. It was a matter of safety.

“I’ll walk you down.” Stretching his shoulders, he came over.

Charlotte wanted to say there was no need but decided it wasn’t worth using up her small store of courage. She kept herself from hyperventilating during the elevator ride down by silently doing the exercise her therapist had taught her. That was the only useful thing she’d gotten out of therapy.

Almost tumbling out on the ground floor, the warm, intrinsically male scent of Gabriel Bishop in her every inhalation, she released a relieved breath when she spotted the cab through the glass of the main doors, the bearded and grandfatherly Indian cab driver familiar. Gabriel Bishop walked her down the steps and opened the back door to the sedan.