back.
“Good morning?” she said tentatively.
There was throat-clearing, looks of embarrassment, and finally, a collective sort of nod. One or two people lifted a hand in greeting.
“Yes,” Shelley said before stepping into her office. “It’s great to see you all, too.”
Despite an almost overwhelming need for caffeine, Shelley gave them a full fifteen minutes to disperse. Then she headed for the break room where, once again, conversation sputtered to a stop and eyes moved to the clock on the wall then back to her.
“It’s me,” she said. “And, yes, it’s nine-seventeen.” She watched the second hand on the clock go around. “Make that nine-eighteen. Does anyone want to make something of it?”
As the room emptied, Shelley tried to shrug off her embarrassment, but their amazement stung. She poured a cup of coffee and had just finished stirring in a packet of sweetener when Ross Morgan came through the door.
His shirtsleeves were already rolled up and his tie was loosened, and she felt that immediate burst of attraction and irritation that she always felt when she saw him. His head was bent over some sort of report, and he got all the way to the coffeemaker before he looked up and spotted her. He, too, did the automatic clock-check thing, but instead of avoiding her gaze, he scrutinized her carefully. In fact, he did a very thorough scan from the top of her head down to the tips of her shoes.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Doris Day?”
That amused glint was back in his eyes.
“Debbie Reynolds.”
“Just little ol’ on-time me,” she replied. “Which seems to be throwing the entire workforce into a major tailspin.”
He put his papers down on the counter and reached past her for a mug, giving her a faint whiff of aftershave and man. “It’s just the shock of the unknown, that first stab of unreality,” he said. “This is the second day in a row. They’ll get over it.” He lifted the pot and poured coffee. “Assuming you keep it up.”
“Oh, I’m going to keep it up, all right. Now that I have that spectacular client list to deal with.”
She waited while he stirred sugar into his coffee—all three spoonfuls. “Have we heard from anyone on that list over the last six months?”
He dropped the plastic spoon in the garbage. “No,” he said. “If we don’t call them, they don’t call us. Which means nothing to bill for. Which would, of course, be why I gave them to you.”
“Right.”
He studied her closely. “Do you have a complaint?”
“Me? Complain? About that list?”
He sipped his coffee and studied her, and she had the disturbing sense that he could see past the flip tone right down to the raw place inside her.
“What would you say if I told you it wasn’t just a punishment? That I actually thought you could do something with that list?”
She stared Ross Morgan right in the eye, not at all liking the little flutter of hope that blossomed in her chest. “I’d say you were probably lying, but on the off chance that you’re not, it’s really going to piss me off to have to prove you right.”
Shelley spent the rest of the morning at her desk. For the first few hours she alternately played solitaire on her computer and stared into space, trying not to notice the curiosity-seekers who wandered by or in, on the flimsiest of pretexts. She realized it had been a while since she’d been in before noon, but she was getting awfully tired of being looked at as if she were some new specimen at the zoo.
At eleven her stomach began to rumble. It wasn’t actually food she wanted as much as lunch, preferably in a slick upscale restaurant like Medici’s, packed with men in power suits on expense accounts.
Picking up the phone she began to punch in Nina’s number, then switched in mid-punch to Trey’s, then put the phone back in its cradle with a sigh.
She had made no calls, contacted none of her clients. She was not going to lunch or anywhere else until
“Good morning?” she said tentatively.
There was throat-clearing, looks of embarrassment, and finally, a collective sort of nod. One or two people lifted a hand in greeting.
“Yes,” Shelley said before stepping into her office. “It’s great to see you all, too.”
Despite an almost overwhelming need for caffeine, Shelley gave them a full fifteen minutes to disperse. Then she headed for the break room where, once again, conversation sputtered to a stop and eyes moved to the clock on the wall then back to her.
“It’s me,” she said. “And, yes, it’s nine-seventeen.” She watched the second hand on the clock go around. “Make that nine-eighteen. Does anyone want to make something of it?”
As the room emptied, Shelley tried to shrug off her embarrassment, but their amazement stung. She poured a cup of coffee and had just finished stirring in a packet of sweetener when Ross Morgan came through the door.
His shirtsleeves were already rolled up and his tie was loosened, and she felt that immediate burst of attraction and irritation that she always felt when she saw him. His head was bent over some sort of report, and he got all the way to the coffeemaker before he looked up and spotted her. He, too, did the automatic clock-check thing, but instead of avoiding her gaze, he scrutinized her carefully. In fact, he did a very thorough scan from the top of her head down to the tips of her shoes.
“Don’t tell me,” he said. “Doris Day?”
That amused glint was back in his eyes.
“Debbie Reynolds.”
“Just little ol’ on-time me,” she replied. “Which seems to be throwing the entire workforce into a major tailspin.”
He put his papers down on the counter and reached past her for a mug, giving her a faint whiff of aftershave and man. “It’s just the shock of the unknown, that first stab of unreality,” he said. “This is the second day in a row. They’ll get over it.” He lifted the pot and poured coffee. “Assuming you keep it up.”
“Oh, I’m going to keep it up, all right. Now that I have that spectacular client list to deal with.”
She waited while he stirred sugar into his coffee—all three spoonfuls. “Have we heard from anyone on that list over the last six months?”
He dropped the plastic spoon in the garbage. “No,” he said. “If we don’t call them, they don’t call us. Which means nothing to bill for. Which would, of course, be why I gave them to you.”
“Right.”
He studied her closely. “Do you have a complaint?”
“Me? Complain? About that list?”
He sipped his coffee and studied her, and she had the disturbing sense that he could see past the flip tone right down to the raw place inside her.
“What would you say if I told you it wasn’t just a punishment? That I actually thought you could do something with that list?”
She stared Ross Morgan right in the eye, not at all liking the little flutter of hope that blossomed in her chest. “I’d say you were probably lying, but on the off chance that you’re not, it’s really going to piss me off to have to prove you right.”
Shelley spent the rest of the morning at her desk. For the first few hours she alternately played solitaire on her computer and stared into space, trying not to notice the curiosity-seekers who wandered by or in, on the flimsiest of pretexts. She realized it had been a while since she’d been in before noon, but she was getting awfully tired of being looked at as if she were some new specimen at the zoo.
At eleven her stomach began to rumble. It wasn’t actually food she wanted as much as lunch, preferably in a slick upscale restaurant like Medici’s, packed with men in power suits on expense accounts.
Picking up the phone she began to punch in Nina’s number, then switched in mid-punch to Trey’s, then put the phone back in its cradle with a sigh.
She had made no calls, contacted none of her clients. She was not going to lunch or anywhere else until
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