She felt the now familiar heat of embarrassment that always made her fingers tingle, and she shook her hand. Normally she liked Brayburn’s copy room. It smelled like paper and productivity. And since she was the only one that used the one on the executive floor, it usually felt like her private haven when the rest of the office felt too chaotic.
But tonight her precious copy room felt like a prison holding her back from the bubble bath that awaited her at home.
Resigning herself to the battle ahead, she found a stool and carefully teetered up its wobbly steps toward the toner boxes on the top shelves, giving a little grunt of triumph when she managed to grab the box and crawl back down the stool without falling and shattering her tibia. She so did not need another ER visit.
But getting the box down was only the start of the battle. This wasn’t a simple open-the-door-and-drop-it-in type of deal. Sophie stared down at the indecipherable images masquerading as instructions. Why didn’t they just tell you how to change the cartridge?
What was this first picture supposed to be? It looked like a UFO sitting on top of a tractor.
“Need some help?”
Sophie closed her eyes. Of course he would be here. She didn’t even muster the energy to feel surprised. Even if she hadn’t known the rough voice by now, Gray was the only one who stayed in the office this late. He probably considered it a sacrilege to leave the office before the nightly janitorial crew had left.
“Go away,” she breathed, not turning to look at him.
Not exactly the cool professionalism she was hoping for, but she’d been trying for cool professional all week. It was Thursday, and her feet hurt, her hand was throbbing, and she just wanted to go home.
Instead of granting her request, he came up beside her and pulled the toner box toward him.
“Give that back,” she snapped.
“You need two hands to do this,” he said, apparently immediately understanding the hieroglyphics on the box.
“I have two hands.”
“Yes, but only eight fingers.” He still hadn’t lifted his eyes from the box.
She tried to pull the box back toward her. “CEOs do not change printer toner. Their assistants do.”
“What are you doing here so late?” he asked, finally turning his head toward her.
Her stomach gave a jolt at the eye contact, and in a second she went from irritated to hot and bothered. This whole desire-to-hump-the-boss thing was starting to get really inconvenient. Particularly since it wasn’t mutual.
“Oh, you know, just wanted to spend more time in your dazzling company,” she said with her biggest smile.
“I’m sure whatever work you still have can wait until tomorrow.”
“Not unless you want to hand-draw your sales report for the board tomorrow.”
His mouth clamped shut and she gave him a knowing look. “Exactly.”
“How can I help?” he asked, still not moving.
“By going away. Maybe falling out the window.” Losing the battle with her aching feet, Sophie finally relented and eased out of her shoes, surprised they weren’t filled with blood. She certainly wouldn’t have pulled out the new camel peep toes this morning if she’d known she’d be working a twelve-hour work day.
She let out a sigh of relief and wiggled her toes.
“I liked them on,” Gray said roughly.
For a moment she thought she misheard him, but the hot look he was giving her said otherwise, and was like a match on her already-frayed temper.
“Don’t do that,” she hissed, waving the spike of her heel at him. “Don’t you dare flirt after a week of acting like a robot.”
He batted the shoe out of his face and glared down at her. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Did we not share a meal on Friday night, Mr. Wyatt?”
His expression grew wary. “We did. And on Monday I had lunch with Beth Jennings, and on Tuesday I had dinner with Jeff Andrews. What of it?”