Eight
Everything was back to normal by the end of the week.
Sort of.
Royce had been mesmerized by numbers and reports come Friday morning until Taylor marched in, arms flying. And he did mean marched.
She’d come in to complain about Lowell Olson—the owner of Box, an elite electronics store. Lowell was in discussions about where and how to shelf ThomKnox products—something Box had never done before.
“Apple is not the only sleek, sexy product on the market, you know. We have a good—no, better—tablet right around the corner and he acts like we should pay him double what they’re paying for premium shelving!” While Taylor talked, one of the pearl buttons on her silk shirt wiggled loose.
Royce tried to reroute his eyes—honest to God—but they kept flitting back down to that gap showing a swatch of pale pink bra. His body tightened, the memory of the kiss slamming into his gut like a two-by-four. Finally, he looked down at the tablet in front of him and pretended to read the notes he’d taken at yesterday’s meeting.
“Are you listening to me?”
He repeated her last sentence back to her. “‘Lowell is a buffoon if he thinks ThomKnox can’t stand up to any brand on the market. And his company’s bottom line is as tiny as his prehistoric brain.’”
She bit her bottom lip, trying to hide a smile. That attraction he’d been trying to ignore? Wasn’t working. She’d been carrying on as usual. He’d been barricaded in his office, only attending meetings he was required to attend simply to let the—whatever was between them—pass. It would. He’d see to it.
“Was I close?” he asked.
“Spot-on. It sounded funny in your serious tone.”
“I’m one-note. Can’t help it.” His eyes strayed to her shirt again and the bra playing peekaboo.
“You are not.” Her smile suggested she saw him differently than a rigid numbers guy. It was oddly appealing.
“Are you looking at my shirt?”
“No.” He averted his eyes.
“Royce! You could have told me I was flashing you.” She quickly fixed the open button.
“I didn’t want you to think I was harassing you at your place of business. You are a colleague and I respect you.”
She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Well, the next time my breasts are on display, or any other body part, please tell me.”
He frowned. Mainly because now all he was thinking about was what the rest of her would look like on display.
“Okay.”
“Anyway. Hopefully Lowell will come around before the new tablet launches. We need as many eyeballs on it as possible.” She pointed to the interoffice mailer she’d dropped in his inbox when she’d walked in. “Can you sign that really fast?”
“What is it?” he asked, opening the envelope.
“Birthday card for Addison.”
“Could you have chosen one with more glitter?” He brushed the stray gold specks from his desk before scribbling his name into the card and handing it back to her. “Is there a reason you’re taking her card around personally?”
“I need to run off the steam that built after the interaction with Lowell.”
“It’ll work out.”
“I’m also seeing to it that Addison receives her birthday card from me personally.” Taylor took the envelope. “As a gesture of goodwill. Well, this and a giant bouquet of Please Stop Hating Me flowers.”
“Addison doesn’t hate you. She likes everyone.” She was bright and smiley and professional. Bran wouldn’t shut up about what an amazing assistant she was whenever he mentioned her. Which was usually when Bran was trying to talk Royce into hiring an assistant of his own on a permanent basis. Royce utilized the interns for delegation. A personal assistant seemed too...in his space.
“She shot daggers at me through Bran’s office window when she saw me hug him.” Eyes rolling to the ceiling, Taylor missed Royce’s reaction. He went stock-still, his fist choking the life out of the gold-and-black Mont Blanc pen in his grip.