Read Online The Lives Between Us by Theresa Rizzo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Theresa Rizzo
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whole decor flowed to soothe and reassure clients—tasteful.
The receptionist sitting in front of a built-in computer desk excused herself from her phone conversation and looked up at Skye. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mark Dutton."
“Your name?”
“Skylar Kendall.”
The receptionist picked up her phone and murmured into it, then turned back to Skye. “Mr. Dutton is taking a conference call, but he’ll be done shortly.
“Thanks, I’ll wait.” Skye went to one of the end tables and stared at the magazine rack bolted to the wall. Science, Nature, New England Journal of Medicine , or...the newspaper? Hmm. Scintillating reading. Skye picked up the paper.
“Ms. Kendall.” The receptionist opened the inner door for her. “If you’ll just sign in and attach this pass, you can go on back. Mr. Dutton’s office is the second one on the left down at the end of the hall.”
Skye signed the log and looped the visitor’s pass lanyard around her neck. She walked down the long hallway, slowing as a woman talking on a cell phone drew near. Tall and elegant, the pretty blond approached on three-inch heels and in a cloud of Coco perfume. Her white lab coat lofted open as she strode forward. DR. EILEEN WARREN was boldly embroidered in navy thread over her left breast pocket. She brushed an index finger across her phone, then dropped it in her lab coat pocket before sizing up Skye with an acute two-second glance.
“You look lost.”
Dr. Warren exuded breeding and confidence from the tip of her highlighted blond head to the bottom of her designer alligator stilettos. She looked to be in her mid-forties—far too young to have accomplished all her bio claimed. With her designer suit, fashionable shoes, and expensive perfume, Dr. Warren resembled a socialite more than a serious researcher. Skye felt like going home and throwing away her jeans, clogs, and sweater to change into a skirt and stylish top.
Shoot. What would Mark Dutton turn out to be like? A child prodigy?
“I’m looking for Mark Dutton’s office.”
“Straight ahead, next door on your left.”
“Thank you.” Skye hurried forward before her nerve left her. She stopped in front of a dark wooden door with an etched plaque identifying it as Mark Dutton’s office. Skye knocked and, at his invitation, opened the door.
A guy in tight blue jeans and a white dress shirt crouched in front of a large wooden desk over a box of squirming bundles of fur. His thick hair was pushed to the side revealing coffee brown eyes. A hint of a beard shaded his chin and face, giving him a disheveled, outdoorsy kind of appearance.
“Mark Dutton?”
He stopped petting a puppy and put it back with its whining littermates. Standing, he wiped his hand on his thigh, and reached out to shake her hand. “You must be Skylar Kendall.”
This was Mark Dutton? Crap. Not elderly—at least not for another thirty years. Skye took an involuntary step backward, frowning. He had dark hair. And he was large, muscular, and fit, not the scrawny, anemic nerd she’d expected. She stared at his proffered hand before taking it. Part of her registered the warm, firm handshake, while the other thought, No scientist geek, either .
“Please, call me Skye. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze wandered around the office from the box of puppies to framed photos of an older couple and a large family, to the encased Bronco Jersey signed by Peyton Manning on the wall over a worn leather couch. On the credenza sat a collection of various group pictures, and one of Mark Dutton and...
Mark leaned back to rest his butt on the credenza and knocked over the picture she’d been looking at. He barely glanced at it before flipping it over. What was he hiding? A wife? Her glance dropped to his hand. No wedding band.
“Pardon my appearance. I usually dress a little nicer for work, but I didn’t have any meetings today, and I had these guys to take care of.” He bent to run a comforting hand
The receptionist sitting in front of a built-in computer desk excused herself from her phone conversation and looked up at Skye. “May I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mark Dutton."
“Your name?”
“Skylar Kendall.”
The receptionist picked up her phone and murmured into it, then turned back to Skye. “Mr. Dutton is taking a conference call, but he’ll be done shortly.
“Thanks, I’ll wait.” Skye went to one of the end tables and stared at the magazine rack bolted to the wall. Science, Nature, New England Journal of Medicine , or...the newspaper? Hmm. Scintillating reading. Skye picked up the paper.
“Ms. Kendall.” The receptionist opened the inner door for her. “If you’ll just sign in and attach this pass, you can go on back. Mr. Dutton’s office is the second one on the left down at the end of the hall.”
Skye signed the log and looped the visitor’s pass lanyard around her neck. She walked down the long hallway, slowing as a woman talking on a cell phone drew near. Tall and elegant, the pretty blond approached on three-inch heels and in a cloud of Coco perfume. Her white lab coat lofted open as she strode forward. DR. EILEEN WARREN was boldly embroidered in navy thread over her left breast pocket. She brushed an index finger across her phone, then dropped it in her lab coat pocket before sizing up Skye with an acute two-second glance.
“You look lost.”
Dr. Warren exuded breeding and confidence from the tip of her highlighted blond head to the bottom of her designer alligator stilettos. She looked to be in her mid-forties—far too young to have accomplished all her bio claimed. With her designer suit, fashionable shoes, and expensive perfume, Dr. Warren resembled a socialite more than a serious researcher. Skye felt like going home and throwing away her jeans, clogs, and sweater to change into a skirt and stylish top.
Shoot. What would Mark Dutton turn out to be like? A child prodigy?
“I’m looking for Mark Dutton’s office.”
“Straight ahead, next door on your left.”
“Thank you.” Skye hurried forward before her nerve left her. She stopped in front of a dark wooden door with an etched plaque identifying it as Mark Dutton’s office. Skye knocked and, at his invitation, opened the door.
A guy in tight blue jeans and a white dress shirt crouched in front of a large wooden desk over a box of squirming bundles of fur. His thick hair was pushed to the side revealing coffee brown eyes. A hint of a beard shaded his chin and face, giving him a disheveled, outdoorsy kind of appearance.
“Mark Dutton?”
He stopped petting a puppy and put it back with its whining littermates. Standing, he wiped his hand on his thigh, and reached out to shake her hand. “You must be Skylar Kendall.”
This was Mark Dutton? Crap. Not elderly—at least not for another thirty years. Skye took an involuntary step backward, frowning. He had dark hair. And he was large, muscular, and fit, not the scrawny, anemic nerd she’d expected. She stared at his proffered hand before taking it. Part of her registered the warm, firm handshake, while the other thought, No scientist geek, either .
“Please, call me Skye. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her gaze wandered around the office from the box of puppies to framed photos of an older couple and a large family, to the encased Bronco Jersey signed by Peyton Manning on the wall over a worn leather couch. On the credenza sat a collection of various group pictures, and one of Mark Dutton and...
Mark leaned back to rest his butt on the credenza and knocked over the picture she’d been looking at. He barely glanced at it before flipping it over. What was he hiding? A wife? Her glance dropped to his hand. No wedding band.
“Pardon my appearance. I usually dress a little nicer for work, but I didn’t have any meetings today, and I had these guys to take care of.” He bent to run a comforting hand
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