He sets the phone to the side. “Was there anything else you needed?” His tone is still cool, impersonal.
“No, thank you.” I force my legs to propel me to my feet and then make my way to the door.
I slip into the reception area, intending to leave it at that. This couldn’t have gone worse, even if I had come here intending to humiliate myself, which I sort of did.
What was I thinking?
I thought he would be different. I thought I could be alluring, mysterious, seductive. I’m an idiot. A lamppost has more seduction skills than I do.
Carson taps away on his computer at the desk parked right outside the door, his posture ramrod straight.
Oliver follows me out. “Did you drive here?”
Surprised, I halt just beyond Carson’s desk. No.”
I haven’t owned a car in two years. Ben convinced me to sell mine when I moved in with him, since we went everywhere together anyway. I didn’t realize at the time that it was one more way to control me.
“I took the subway.”
Oliver frowns. “Carson, call Brienne.”
“I don’t want to put anyone out,” I say.
Carson speaks, still typing, his fingers not missing a beat. “You’re not. I already had Brienne on standby. She’ll meet you at the elevator.” He nods down the curve in the hallway.
“Right. Thanks. Bye.” I escape this oh-so-uncomfortable conversation and round the bend. Out of sight, I stop to catch my breath.
What is it about Oliver Nichols that turns me into a complete chucklehead? “I want you.” I can’t believe I said that. Lord, kill me now. My face heats, and I cover my cheeks with my hands.
I’m still standing there, trying to pull my shit together, when Oliver’s voice echoes down the passageway. “Are you finished with the findings for DataBlocks?” The words are brusque and clear as day.
There are no carpets or anything soft to absorb the sounds. Everything is stark white and shiny, making voices crystal clear. I could probably hear Carson and Oliver’s conversation all the way at the elevators at the end of the hall without straining.
“Nope. I won’t be able to get it to you until tomorrow morning.”
My ears prick, surprise fluttering through me at Carson’s abrupt negative.
The response from Oliver is so low I almost miss it. “Why the delay?”
“You gave me twenty-seven other priorities. If everything is high priority, then nothing is.”
There’s a tense pause, and then Oliver sighs. “You know, I only intended for you to complete half that list.”
Carson laughs. “Figures. You’re a brute.”
My brows lift. If someone Ben considered a subordinate had talked to him like that, he would have flipped his lid.
The seconds stretch. Oliver must have gone back into his office, conversation over.
Making my way toward the elevator, Carson startles me into stopping again. “Did you need anything else?”
I glance back in the direction of the voice, half expecting his question to be directed at me, but no one is there.
Oliver speaks. “No. I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Does this moment of unusual distraction have anything to do with our last guest?” Before Oliver can make any verbal response, Carson tsk-tsks in annoyance. “Don’t glare at me like that—she’s not my type. Although, if I wasn’t gayer than Christmas at Bloomingdales, I might find myself in a similarly wordless state.”
I hold my breath. Are they talking about me? If he denies it, I don’t want to hear it. If he admits it…