Sweet Surrendering (Surrender Saga #1)(17)
Author: Chelsea M. Cameron

That’s right. I was a goddamn professional.

No guy with stormy eyes and a f**k me smile and a magic tongue was going to stand in the way of that.

Because I was a goddamn professional.

My confidence in my ability to be professional lasted as long as it took for me to walk to his desk and tell him that he could take his break.

The second I met those eyes and saw that mouth forming words, I was lost again.

“You okay?” He caught on, of course.

“Yeah, I just had a mimosa and I think it went to my head.” Wow, brilliant save there Rory.

“Or maybe you’re just going to swoon in my presence. Would you like me to catch you and then fetch the smelling salts?” And just like that, I was wondering how I ever found him attractive.

“You get a half hour. No more. Be back here at one-thirty or you’re fired.” I stomped back to my office and shut the door. Seconds later, I heard his footsteps walking toward the elevator. I turned on my computer and threw myself back into work. Ah, work. My sanctuary.

I went back to working on the presentation, but checked the clock every few seconds. At one-thirty on the dot, there was a knock at my door. Damn.

“I’m back, Miss Clarke,” he said, actually coming into the office this time and closing the door behind him. The place felt like it grew increasingly smaller until it was barely a closet.

“Thank you for your punctuality, Mr. Blaine.” I straightened some papers on my desk, trying to breathe normally.

“You are most welcome, Miss Clarke,” he said, sauntering toward the desk and resting his hands on it and leaning forward. “And please, if there’s anything I can do for you, anything, all you have to do is ask.” His voice dipped into a lower register that made my insides do funny backflips and cartwheels as his face came within a foot of mine.

“Anything,” he breathed.

I found myself involuntarily leaning forward and our lips were a whisper away . . .

And there was a knock at the door and we broke apart like teenagers getting busted under the bleachers. I banged my knee on the desk and he nearly crashed into the credenza near the door trying to put space between us.

“Come in,” I said, rubbing my knee and trying not to wince too much as Lucas (Mr. Blaine) straightened his tie.

“Sorry to bother you, dear, but I just had a call for you and I didn’t see Mr. Blaine at his desk, but clearly he is here. Would you like me to transfer it?” Mrs. Andrews, bless her heart, seemed totally oblivious that she’d walked into a wall of sexual tension. Still, it’s a little strange that she walked all the way down here to tell me about a call when she could have just called my extension and the put the call through. Huh.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Fintan Herald.” Fabulous.

“Sure, you can transfer him, Mrs. Andrews.” I gave her a smile and she nodded, her hand still on the doorknob.

“Of course, dear.”

“Nice to see you, Mrs. Andrews,” Mr. Blaine said to her.

“It’s nice to see you as well, Mr. Blaine. I hear we have high expectations for you.” Obviously, she’d talked to Dad about him. I would have been surprised if they hadn’t talked about him.

“I will do my best to live up to those expectations and exceed them.”

“You’d better,” Mrs. Andrews said with a mock straight face. Yup, she was part of his fan club. She gave me a smile before leaving. A few seconds later my phone rang with the transferred call from Fin.

“I need to take this,” I said, as Lucas (JE-SUS CHRIST, MR. BLAINE!) started to back out of the office and got back to his desk.

“Of course, of course.” He seemed a little stunned, and I wasn’t sure if it was to do with nearly running into the credenza, or if it was something else. Ten seconds ago, he was ready to leap over the desk and molest me.

Something I’d learned when I was very young still rang true.

Boys are weird.

I shook my head as my phone rang and I picked up Fin’s call.

The second call with Fin was shorter than the first; he seemed busy so we decided to meet up on Friday afternoon instead because he couldn’t do Wednesday. He let me pick the place, which was considerate.

I hung up and realized I wasn’t actually dreading our little coffee date. I was also dying to know what he looked like now, but I wasn’t going to creep on the internet and spoil it.

A sharp rap sounded at my door.

“Yes?”

It was Mr. Blaine and he was looking distinctly grumpy. His forehead was all furrowed, which, actually, was kind of . . .

“Your mail is here, Miss Clarke,” he said, holding up a few of interoffice envelopes that probably needed my signature. It was nothing that required him to knock on my door. I would have gotten them later.

“Thanks, Mr. Blaine, you can put them right there,” I said, indicating the basket on the edge of my desk for those very things. It was even marked MAIL.

He dropped them in the basket and his grumpy face didn’t change. I wanted to jokingly ask him what he’d got his panties in a twist about, but I was determined to make this a professional relationship from now on, at least on my side.

“Would you, um, mind bringing me some coffee, Mr. Blaine?” If anything, the grumpy look deepened. I didn’t ask for a kidney.

“Cream and sugar?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” He turned on his heel and walked out. I shook my head and started sorting through the mail.

He came back a few minutes later and slammed the coffee down on my desk, so much so that it sloshed out of the cup. That was it. I waved good-bye to any semblance of being professional.

“What is your problem?” I said, jumping up and grabbing some tissues from the top desk drawer to blot the coffee puddle that was racing toward some very important papers.

“Shit, shit, stop!” I said, blotting the coffee and trying to talk it out of ruining everything. A hand reached out and shoved the papers to the side as I mopped up the rest of the coffee, which was pretty damn hot, by the way.

I dropped the soggy tissues in the trash and pulled out a cleaning wipe from the container that I also kept in my desk.

“I’m so sorry,” he said when I finally looked up and saw him trying to fix the mess that had been made of my desk.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said, even though I was kind of pissed. “Is there something wrong?” I tossed the wipe and took the papers from him. He didn’t know my arranging system yet.

“No, nothing. I’m so sorry.” He moved around the other side of the desk, as if he was leaving.