Collins makes the attempt to loosen his tie—although the thing never moves even a millimeter. An ahem from deep in his throat is heard, and I can easily mistake it as a chuckle. The heat from his embarrassment meets his ears, turning them red.
“Do you have a wife and kids?”
“No, ma’am.” I should really stop harassing the poor man before his ears burn off and fall on the floor of the elevator car.
When the doors open, he heaves out an audible sigh of what I assume is relief. Before I ask how many women he has had to escort in elevators to Graham’s office, he leads me to the glass doors at the end of a reception area that’s furnished with a few couches, chairs, and magazine stands. I spot one of those cool coffee makers with the milk frother attached. A tray of pastries is set up adjacent to it. Collins uses his badge to gain access through the locked doors instead of using the doorbell. He escorts me toward the pretty woman sitting behind a modern white marble desk.
Huge poster ads in black frames are mounted behind the receptionist’s desk. One features a mountain of ice, with a large diamond shining brightly in the mix. The name “Jealousy” is plastered elegantly across the top in golden letters. Another ad features a pair of red lips that are almost reflective. She has perfectly white teeth. Her tongue is stuck out with an elegant heart charm bracelet dangling from it. The entire display is highly sexual. I feel a bit naughty looking at it.
“Hello, Collins,” the pixie-haired brunette with cherry lips greets cheerfully, taking my attention away from the wall of sexy photos. “Miss McFee.” Her head nods in a soft, feminine gesture, acknowledging us. “I’m Hanna White,” she chirps, flipping over the name plate that reads someone else’s name. “I’m taking over for the previous woman who is on leave,” she explains, reaching out her hand invitingly for me to shake.
I meet her smile shyly as we connect hands. What does she know about me already? I watch as her eyes linger on Collins a little longer than I think is normal for a casual greeting. She hops around her desk, showing off her below average height and fuller body, ushering us toward the back of the office space. She has a Minnie Mouse vibe going on with her black-and-white polka dotted dress. She has a very classic but retro style. Her little bow barrette completes her look. She is adorable.
“Mr. Hoffman is waiting,” she responds, more as a filler to the quiet air. I have to smile; it’s not like Collins would ever help with the awkward silence.
I follow them down the corridor, looking at the magazine and newspaper clippings along the way that are enlarged and encased in frames featuring articles about the jewelry line. I pause and catch an article that I swear I read a few months ago. I scan over the typed print, trying to jog my memory.
We reach the frosted glass windows of a room at the end. On the plaque to the right, the words “Graham Hoffman, CEO” are etched into the flawless metal sheet. I marvel at the elegant calligraphy script and guess at the amount of people on payroll who are in charge of polishing such a piece of art. My scoff earns a raised eyebrow from Collins. I smile and recover in the best way I know how—through shameless harassment.
“Pixie likes you,” I whisper, as she presses buttons on the wall outside of the door, probably in effort to alert Graham of our arrival. She is completely oblivious to my comment, concentrating on her posture and professionalism.
Collins nearly chokes on his tongue. Wow, for someone who strives to be composed in all situations, he fumbles the ball on this one.
“He’ll be right with you,” Hanna says with a smile, turning to walk back to her desk.
I point over my shoulder without looking, not caring if she sees me or not. “Minnie Mouse. She has a thing for you,” I huff. “She was eyeing you like I eye a chocolate display case at the candy store. With want, longing, and mouthwatering desire. Totally digs you.”
His laugh earns a heated glare from Graham as the door to his office is flung open. Shit. Did I get Collins in trouble for having a half second of—dare I say it—fun? I swallow hard at Graham’s demanding stare.
“Miss McFee, you made it.” He smirks at me with wickedness. “Collins, you can leave now.” His voice turns gruff.
I glance at Collins, whose eyes are turned to the floor in deflation, and back to Graham. In an instant, Graham’s arms wrap around my waist, and I am tugged into the room. The door slams rather loudly behind me.
“You really didn’t have to do that.”
His confusion is evident in his deep V between his brows.
“Collins didn’t do anything wrong,” I defend, pushing out of his grip.
“Oh, really?” He seems unamused.
“We were just chatting, and I can be pretty funny,” I confess, trying to lighten the mood that is brewing.
“I think you want me to go to prison," he snarls, turning his gaze on me, pinning me still with his fierceness. His hands open and close repeatedly, as if he is warming them up for a fight. My breath picks up in short shallow pants. My confusion makes him growl. “You keep flirting with my most trusted employee, I’ll immobilize him and fire him right on the spot. You got that, Angela?”
“I wasn’t flirting. I was being friendly.”
“Semantics.”
Oh, the nerve of him!
“I was not flirting!” I snap, resisting the urge to make suggestions on how he can deal with his mood swings. I am pretty sure Collins has zero experience flirting anyway. “You should apologize to Collins right now. He has been nothing but respectful to me and accommodating. You could learn something from him, you know!”
“I only apologize when I do something wrong.”
“Which is probably never, since you are so perfect.”
“Quit rolling your eyes at me, Miss McFee.”