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Authors: Christina Routon
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sheets of paper from her bag. "You and Michelle seem to have hit it off. Isn't that nice."
She heard the iron in her voice, hated the way the hard tone made her sound. She sounded jealous and petty and mean. But so what. She felt jealous and petty and mean. "Here." She handed the papers to Trace. "I think the studio has already let Michelle know about the interviews. You need to be there at eight tomorrow morning."
She watched him glance over the information and her heart thudded against her chest. How could it break when they weren't in a relationship? When they'd just met? But it was breaking and she couldn't help it. She'd been the one to stop everything after all.
"Do you need a ride to the interviews? I can send a car for you." Lisa went into manager mode, still hearing the shrill, business-like tone in her voice.
"No, I'll drive my truck. I know where to go." He looked up at her and Lisa felt like drowning in his dark brown eyes. Before she got too comfortable in their depths, she turned away, back to business.
"Okay, I'm heading back to the office. I'll check back with you later." She turned to leave, but Trace took her arm.
"Hey," he said, holding her in a gentle grip.
"What?" she answered, her voice raw and rough.
" Michelle kissed me." He let her arm go. "Just wanted you to know."
"None of my business, but okay." Lisa blew it off, tried to blow it off, but inside she felt peace flow over her aching heart. "See you later." Those words weren't harsh and rough and mean. They'd grown soft. She couldn't continue to feel that away about him and someone from his past. That's what it was, his past. And she was the one who'd stopped anything from happening between them anyway. It was none of her business if he wanted to date someone else.
She told herself these things as she walked away from the studio, struggling to help her brain accept what her heart kept saying wasn't true.
Chapter Eight
Trace's truck parked in the garage attached to Cahill-Waters just before noon Wednesday. He grabbed the bags full of Chinese food he'd bought, locked his truck, and stepped into the lobby of Cahill-Waters.
It had been a while since he'd been there. The reception area looked the same -- tile floors, reception desk, offices to the back. The furniture had been updated. Instead of the inexpensive chintz sofa and chairs Charlie had bought years ago for the lobby, Trace saw a sophisticated, contemporary leather sofa flanked by two similar looking chairs.
He must have seen Lisa there at some point since she said she'd worked for Charlie for about six years. He didn't remember Charlie mentioning her, but that didn't surprise him. Trace knew there were days, weeks, months, hell, even years, that he couldn't remember.
He walked through the reception area and over to the desk where the receptionist was stacking files.
"Excuse me, Ellen," Trace read her name from the placard on her desk. He'd surprised her -- she startled when he said her name. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I wanted to see Lisa Jenkins. I brought lunch."
"Oh, how thoughtful. Lisa is to the right and down the hall."
"She's in Charlie's office? I guess that would make sense."
"She's always worked in Charlie's office." Trace heard Ellen's voice slow, becoming wary. "I need to call and let her know you're coming back."
"Sure, no problem. It's Trace Harper. I'm a client of hers."
"Of hers?" Ellen had the strangest look on her face, as if she had bitten into a sour candy.
"Yes, hers. Go ahead and call her."
Ellen picked up the phone and pressed a button, never taking her eyes off Trace.
###
Lisa sat at her desk, paperwork scattered all over the desktop. She was clearing out all of Charlie's files so that Boyd and the other managers could deal with the clients they'd kept. There was material in the files that hadn't been touched in years. She went through each file, making a decision for storage or to keep in the office. She wanted everything to be
She heard the iron in her voice, hated the way the hard tone made her sound. She sounded jealous and petty and mean. But so what. She felt jealous and petty and mean. "Here." She handed the papers to Trace. "I think the studio has already let Michelle know about the interviews. You need to be there at eight tomorrow morning."
She watched him glance over the information and her heart thudded against her chest. How could it break when they weren't in a relationship? When they'd just met? But it was breaking and she couldn't help it. She'd been the one to stop everything after all.
"Do you need a ride to the interviews? I can send a car for you." Lisa went into manager mode, still hearing the shrill, business-like tone in her voice.
"No, I'll drive my truck. I know where to go." He looked up at her and Lisa felt like drowning in his dark brown eyes. Before she got too comfortable in their depths, she turned away, back to business.
"Okay, I'm heading back to the office. I'll check back with you later." She turned to leave, but Trace took her arm.
"Hey," he said, holding her in a gentle grip.
"What?" she answered, her voice raw and rough.
" Michelle kissed me." He let her arm go. "Just wanted you to know."
"None of my business, but okay." Lisa blew it off, tried to blow it off, but inside she felt peace flow over her aching heart. "See you later." Those words weren't harsh and rough and mean. They'd grown soft. She couldn't continue to feel that away about him and someone from his past. That's what it was, his past. And she was the one who'd stopped anything from happening between them anyway. It was none of her business if he wanted to date someone else.
She told herself these things as she walked away from the studio, struggling to help her brain accept what her heart kept saying wasn't true.
Chapter Eight
Trace's truck parked in the garage attached to Cahill-Waters just before noon Wednesday. He grabbed the bags full of Chinese food he'd bought, locked his truck, and stepped into the lobby of Cahill-Waters.
It had been a while since he'd been there. The reception area looked the same -- tile floors, reception desk, offices to the back. The furniture had been updated. Instead of the inexpensive chintz sofa and chairs Charlie had bought years ago for the lobby, Trace saw a sophisticated, contemporary leather sofa flanked by two similar looking chairs.
He must have seen Lisa there at some point since she said she'd worked for Charlie for about six years. He didn't remember Charlie mentioning her, but that didn't surprise him. Trace knew there were days, weeks, months, hell, even years, that he couldn't remember.
He walked through the reception area and over to the desk where the receptionist was stacking files.
"Excuse me, Ellen," Trace read her name from the placard on her desk. He'd surprised her -- she startled when he said her name. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I wanted to see Lisa Jenkins. I brought lunch."
"Oh, how thoughtful. Lisa is to the right and down the hall."
"She's in Charlie's office? I guess that would make sense."
"She's always worked in Charlie's office." Trace heard Ellen's voice slow, becoming wary. "I need to call and let her know you're coming back."
"Sure, no problem. It's Trace Harper. I'm a client of hers."
"Of hers?" Ellen had the strangest look on her face, as if she had bitten into a sour candy.
"Yes, hers. Go ahead and call her."
Ellen picked up the phone and pressed a button, never taking her eyes off Trace.
###
Lisa sat at her desk, paperwork scattered all over the desktop. She was clearing out all of Charlie's files so that Boyd and the other managers could deal with the clients they'd kept. There was material in the files that hadn't been touched in years. She went through each file, making a decision for storage or to keep in the office. She wanted everything to be
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