I bite my tongue.
You can’t argue with stupid, and you can’t reason with crazy.
“I’ve got a conference call in forty minutes that I’d like you to sit in on,” he says, thick fingers clacking against his keyboard. “In the meantime, I’ve had IT set up an office for you next to Ms. Keane’s.” He points toward the door. “Turn left out there, fifth door on the right. I think you’ll be quite pleased.”
Oh, joy. A corner office in a skyscraper.
Just what I’ve always wanted.
I’M MIDWAY THROUGH composing a text to my brother when a knock at my door sends a shock to my heart, causing me to nearly drop my phone at my feet.
When I glance up from my desk, I spot the unapologetically masculine silhouette of Calder Welles II standing in my doorway, an iced coffee in hand—much like the one from yesterday.
“Yes?” I ask.
“Peace offering.”
He places the sweaty plastic cup on my desk, and I waste no time relocating it to an I Heart NY coaster I picked up from a street vendor on the way to work this morning.
Wiping the ring of condensation off the wood top of my desk, I breathe a quick “thank you” before wondering why the hell he’s still standing here.
My gaze lands on his shoes—white Chucks. I don’t know a lot of men who can pull off the slim-fit gray khakis and Chucks look, but he not only pulls it off, he looks like he pulled the look off a billboard in Times Square, but in a way that’s all his own.
Calder takes the seat across from my desk, crossing his legs wide and studying me. The sleeves of his cobalt blue sweater are shoved up to his elbows, and I can’t help but notice he doesn’t wear a watch.
I’m sure he could afford any Breguet, Chopard, or Rolex he wants, but his wrist is naked. This man might be an asshole, but he’s quite possibly the most down-to-earth asshole I’ve ever met—externally speaking.
Facade only.
His rich, creamy center is still an overpowering mix of arrogant, pedigreed douche.
“Can I help you with something?” I ask, brows lifted as I take a drink of his peace offering.
It’s delicious.
A quick glance at the sticker on the side of the cup shows that it’s exactly what I ordered yesterday morning. Double espresso. Sugar-free caramel syrup. Coconut milk. One Splenda. Extra ice.
“How did you know …?” I ask.
“The barista remembered you from yesterday,” he says. “Apparently you made quite the impression.”
“I did?”
Oh. Yeah. I re-organized the sugar and creamer stand while she made my drink. But I couldn’t help myself. The little colored packets were shoved every which way, some upside down, some blues mixed in with some pinks. And the milks and creamers needed to be in order of lightest to heaviest. The thing was practically screaming my name, and it looked damn fine by the time I was done with it.
“You’re good at that, aren’t you?” he asks. “Leaving impressions.”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t go around asking people what they think of me.” I return my coffee to the coaster and cross my legs. “Was there something you’d like me to get started on?”
“Yes, actually,” he says. “I’m going to be emailing you a few reports. Since I don’t have time to read them thoroughly, I’d like you to do that for me and then summarize them.”
Folding my hands and resting my elbows on my desk, I say, “Of course. And when would you like the summaries?”
His brows knit. “As soon as possible, Ms. Keane. We only have twenty-nine more days together, as you know.”
Calder points to the small calendar just below my computer monitor, where I’ve already put a perfect ‘X’ through today’s date. Okay, so maybe the countdown is a little over the top, but after leaving Mr. Welles’ office this morning, I wasn’t exactly in a calm, cool, and collected state of mind, and dragging my pen across that little square was just what I needed to soothe my sour mood.
But I’m better now.
Especially since it seems like Calder is attempting to turn over a new leaf. If this continues and he’s actually being sincere (and I have no reason to believe he isn’t), the next four weeks might not be so bad?
“Right,” I say. “Okay. I’ll watch for that email.”
I can’t help but think there’s something more he wants to say. He wouldn’t come in here and take a seat for the sake of telling me he’s sending me some reports to summarize, right?
“Was there anything else?” I ask, shaking the mouse to my desktop machine.
“Oh, there you are, sir.” Lillie’s hourglass figure fills my doorway. “Marta was looking for you.” Her gaze soars to mine and she gives a curious half squint.
Calder stands. “I’ll email you shortly.”
Lillie waits for him to leave before rushing into my office and shutting the door. “What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you were going to quit today?”