a real problem with it, Miss Lawson.”
“No, you misunderstand, I …” I inhale deeply. And even if it is the case, I think, recklessly disregarding both Annie’s warnings and my own misgivings. Even if he does have an ulterior motive, of whatever kind—do I really want to pass up the opportunity he’s giving me? I mean, hello? Jonathan Huntington wants to be nice to me. You can’t say no to that. “I’m thrilled. Really. I would like that very much.”
He’s silent for a moment, looking at me fixedly with those far-too-blue eyes of his. Testing me. As if waiting for me to change my mind again.
“Well,” he continues, standing up. “We should toast to that.”
He goes over to one of the cupboards near the leather sofa and, when he opens it, I see that it’s a bar. I look at the clock, surprised. It’s only half past eight. Does he really want to drink alcohol this early?
A moment later, he turns around. “Come here,” he prompts. He’s holding two tall glasses filled with a dark orange liquid. When I reach him, he hands me one. I examine it skeptically.
“What’s that?”
“A fruit juice cocktail.” He lifts one of the corners of his mouth, mockingly. He obviously read my mind. “I put in long days and a few vitamins in the morning can’t hurt. I don’t usually start drinking quite this early.”
“No, of course not,” I answer and I groan inwardly at the fact that I’m so transparent.
There is a brief knock at the door and a moment later the dark-haired secretary enters the room. “Mr. Huntington, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
“One moment,” he tells me, putting down his drink on the glass table in front of the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
I stand there indecisively, with my fruit juice cocktail in my hand, all alone in the big office. I’m still completely overwhelmed but then I suddenly feel a prickle of excitement. I’ve only just fully realized what this all means for me. What an opportunity!
For a minute or two, I’m rooted to the spot. But since it looks as though he won’t be back right away, I take a good look around the room for the first time—and spot a door in the wall that I hadn’t noticed at all before. It’s opened a crack.
Feeling curious, I walk around the couch and approach it. But the crack is so narrow that I can’t see through it. So I cautiously push the door a little wider and then, when I see what’s behind it, open it all the way. It’s—a bedroom. There’s a wide bed with a mesh headrest, covered by a light brown bedspread, and tall fitted closets on the walls. A further door leads to a washroom or small bathroom. The outer wall is made of glass here, too, but there are curtains in front, which could be closed when necessary.
I look at the room with astonishment. I would never have thought that he could spend the night at his office. But perhaps he often works long hours. Or perhaps …the thought of what else he might do sends blood rushing to my cheeks. Suddenly I feel a gust of air against my cheek and spin around quickly. Jonathan Huntington is standing right behind me, looking at me. He’s holding his glass again. I didn’t hear him coming.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t mean to be nosy, but …”
“But you were,” he finishes my sentence for me.
For a moment I thought I’d ruined everything. I violated his personal space and now he’s mad at me and is going to take back his offer. With baited breath, I wait for the hard words, the scolding. But he gives me one of his disarmingly charming smiles. “When it gets very late, I often don’t feel like going all the way back to Knightsbridge. So I sleep here,” he explains. “But,” he lifts his hand and I think he’s going to touch me, but instead he rests it on the door frame behind me, “I never mix business and pleasure. So don’t worry.”
I simply stare at him because I can tell that my voice isn’t under my control, and ask myself
“No, you misunderstand, I …” I inhale deeply. And even if it is the case, I think, recklessly disregarding both Annie’s warnings and my own misgivings. Even if he does have an ulterior motive, of whatever kind—do I really want to pass up the opportunity he’s giving me? I mean, hello? Jonathan Huntington wants to be nice to me. You can’t say no to that. “I’m thrilled. Really. I would like that very much.”
He’s silent for a moment, looking at me fixedly with those far-too-blue eyes of his. Testing me. As if waiting for me to change my mind again.
“Well,” he continues, standing up. “We should toast to that.”
He goes over to one of the cupboards near the leather sofa and, when he opens it, I see that it’s a bar. I look at the clock, surprised. It’s only half past eight. Does he really want to drink alcohol this early?
A moment later, he turns around. “Come here,” he prompts. He’s holding two tall glasses filled with a dark orange liquid. When I reach him, he hands me one. I examine it skeptically.
“What’s that?”
“A fruit juice cocktail.” He lifts one of the corners of his mouth, mockingly. He obviously read my mind. “I put in long days and a few vitamins in the morning can’t hurt. I don’t usually start drinking quite this early.”
“No, of course not,” I answer and I groan inwardly at the fact that I’m so transparent.
There is a brief knock at the door and a moment later the dark-haired secretary enters the room. “Mr. Huntington, I need to speak to you for a moment.”
“One moment,” he tells me, putting down his drink on the glass table in front of the couch. “I’ll be right back.”
I stand there indecisively, with my fruit juice cocktail in my hand, all alone in the big office. I’m still completely overwhelmed but then I suddenly feel a prickle of excitement. I’ve only just fully realized what this all means for me. What an opportunity!
For a minute or two, I’m rooted to the spot. But since it looks as though he won’t be back right away, I take a good look around the room for the first time—and spot a door in the wall that I hadn’t noticed at all before. It’s opened a crack.
Feeling curious, I walk around the couch and approach it. But the crack is so narrow that I can’t see through it. So I cautiously push the door a little wider and then, when I see what’s behind it, open it all the way. It’s—a bedroom. There’s a wide bed with a mesh headrest, covered by a light brown bedspread, and tall fitted closets on the walls. A further door leads to a washroom or small bathroom. The outer wall is made of glass here, too, but there are curtains in front, which could be closed when necessary.
I look at the room with astonishment. I would never have thought that he could spend the night at his office. But perhaps he often works long hours. Or perhaps …the thought of what else he might do sends blood rushing to my cheeks. Suddenly I feel a gust of air against my cheek and spin around quickly. Jonathan Huntington is standing right behind me, looking at me. He’s holding his glass again. I didn’t hear him coming.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I stammer. “I didn’t mean to be nosy, but …”
“But you were,” he finishes my sentence for me.
For a moment I thought I’d ruined everything. I violated his personal space and now he’s mad at me and is going to take back his offer. With baited breath, I wait for the hard words, the scolding. But he gives me one of his disarmingly charming smiles. “When it gets very late, I often don’t feel like going all the way back to Knightsbridge. So I sleep here,” he explains. “But,” he lifts his hand and I think he’s going to touch me, but instead he rests it on the door frame behind me, “I never mix business and pleasure. So don’t worry.”
I simply stare at him because I can tell that my voice isn’t under my control, and ask myself
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