"Thank you, Harbour."
Vivian takes the two coffees and heads back to the boardroom to finish preparing for the meeting. Before I get a chance to walk away, Lincoln leans forward with a cocky grin on his perfect face "Cindy, your American accent needs some work."
I blush and smile up at him. He breathes against my ear and goose bumps form down my arms. I have to work really hard to hold in the highly inappropriate moan that wants to escape my lips. "You have hair."
What. The. Fuck? You have hair? Really, Harbour? Both my good and bad consciences are shaking their heads, clearly embarrassed for me.
He laughs and I make a hasty retreat to my desk to put my things away, trying not to show him how strongly he affects me.
Jesus, if I have to work with this man everyday I'm going to need to bring a spare change of panties in.
Chapter Six
We take our seats in the boardroom. Lincoln is seated at the head of the table and from what I can see; there will be at least twenty other people joining us. I’m somewhat comforted by this as I didn't want it to be just the three of us.
I look around the room nervously, and I can already tell Vivian is mentally preparing her questions for my interrogation. Lincoln is still smirking at me. I can't help but watch him as he drinks his coffee from the stylish latte glass Vivian has put it in. His lips are so full, and he closes his eyes slightly when he takes a sip. His long, black lashes fan out on his cheeks, and he makes a face that makes me think he hasn't had a good coffee in a while.
There are so many thoughts rushing through my mind as to how I could get that satisfied look back on his face with no coffee involved. Damn, this man is sexy. It’s utterly distracting. I don't know how I'm going to work next to him, especially if he makes drinking coffee look so hot! Add the fact that I know what those lips feel like on mine and I'm sunk.
Ugh! Get a grip, Har! He's just a guy . . . A rich, sexy guy who can have any woman he wants. I'm sure my feelings of reliving the night aren't going to be reciprocated.
I need to focus. I look down at my iPad, ready to take the minutes from the meeting when Vivian calls out to me.
"A quick word in my office, Harbour."
It wasn't a question, and by the look on her face this will be more than a few quick words. I look over at Lincoln who flashes me an "oh, shit" look, like I'm in trouble. Oh, God.
I rise from my seat, iPad in hand, hoping it’s just to discuss what my duties are once everyone else arrives. I check the time and it’s 8:50a.m, which means she can only have a "quick" word with me for ten minutes.
I step inside her office and take a seat in front of her desk. "Are you ill?" Her question is laced with sarcasm.
"Um, no, I feel fine."
"Well, you look like you've seen a ghost." She pauses and raises her left eyebrow. I try to hold her stare but she wins. "So tell me: you met Mr. Whitmore at the masquerade ball? You didn't feel the need to share this information with me?" Here we go . . .
"In my defense, he never told me his name, so I had no idea."
She looks at me incredulously. "Right, and you didn't ask around? Search for the ‘new CEO of Whitmore Industries’ on the Internet? You expect me to believe you had no idea who he was?" She's livid. She shakes her hands in the air like an angry Italian grandmother.
"I'm on a Google diet, and anyway, you kept referring to him as 'the boss' so I couldn't very well use that to help my research." She gives me an odd look that makes me feel stupid. Of course I should've known who he was. How did I not realize when Lola and Kelly kept referring to the potential new CEO as the 'sexy junior Whitmore’? I feel like a fool.
"Well, as strange as that sounds, if he didn't tell you who he was then I can understand you not
knowing. But you caught the elevator up with him? What did he say that has you so flustered?" She sounds exasperated. Why does she even care?
"Yes, he caught the lift up with me."
"And?" What and? What did she want me to say? "Why the fuck didn't you warn me he looked like a sexy, young male model?" Or maybe, "I kissed him in Times Square on New Year's Eve and have been fantasizing about him for two months?"
"And nothing. He was polite; we made small talk. That's it."
Vivian makes a noise that is a cross between a groan and an exasperated sigh. "Well, your face would imply otherwise. Look, I'm telling you this because you have really proved yourself in the last few months and frankly, I can't be bothered replacing you. There can be no funny business with Mr. Whitmore."
I bite my lip. "Funny business?"
"Yes, Harbour! I'm not blind. He's obviously an attractive young man." Understatement of the century. "But he's your boss, our boss, and I will not deal with the repercussions of an office relationship. Am I clear?"
I want to giggle, but I keep a straight face and look her in the eye. "There will be no funny business. I love my job, and I wouldn't jeopardize it for anything."
Vivian shakes her head, sighs and stands. I have a feeling she doesn’t believe me. I don't even believe me.
"I hope you won't. Let’s get to the meeting."
The worst is over. Or so I thought . . .
****
We return to the boardroom and the meeting begins. It’s mainly for all the department heads to fill Lincoln in on what he’s missed. I’m surprised to hear he had no contact with the company whilst on vacation. I would've thought he'd at least be emailing in for updates on the company seeing as he was returning as the CEO. Obviously his holiday kept him very busy.
Maybe he was with his girlfriend, or wife. I hadn't even stopped to think he might be in a relationship. I look over at his fingers to try and spot a ring: nothing, just as I expected. Just long, manly fingers with neatly manicured nails. I blushed as I think of them running over my . . . Stop it! Concentrate, Harbour.
The meeting concludes, a few “glad to have you back” comments are made and they seem genuine, especially from Savannah. Ugh, I despise that girl. At the ball, Simon had referred to her as ‘the bosses’ daughter so I had assumed she was a Whitmore. She’s not, thank God. Luckily, I don’t have to kiss her ass. I don't even know why she’s in the meeting; obviously by being her daddy's assistant. Her father, Mr. Meyers, is the CFO, and is apparently teaching his daughter a life lesson by having her work for him. She is a spoilt little rich girl who never does anything, anyway. She managed to convince her dad after a week that she needed an assistant. Now she just sits on her phone, planning her weekends and taking extended lunch breaks.
I watch her as I collect the water glasses, trying my hardest not to be caught eavesdropping. She’s so cliché with her annoyingly perfect body, long legs, straight, platinum-blonde hair and blue eyes. She's always dressed in the best but today she's made an extra effort. Her perfect figure is emphasized by her tight black dress with its low neckline and short hem. She has a thin red belt around her waist, probably to match the red heel on her black Louboutins.
She's standing next to Lincoln, stroking his arm, and I catch part of their conversation. "I couldn't believe it. I mean, you're such a catch! She's crazy."
Lincoln seems really uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation
"Uh, thanks, but I'd rather not rehash the events of the last few months. It's in the past; I'd like it to remain there." Interesting . . .
"Ok, well, let’s have lunch this week, no ex talk, I promise. Just a welcome back to work, and you can tell me all about your vacation."
Lincoln hesitates and looks over at me; I'm caught staring, again. He must think I'm a freak. He gives me a half-smile that doesn't meet his eyes and turns back to Savannah. "I have a lot to do this week, catching up and all. Maybe next week."
She still persists, even though he's obviously brushing her off. "Okay, I'll arrange a time with your assistant. Maybe we can go to that burger place you love?"
The innuendo could not be missed. Obviously these two have history, another reason I should quit fantasizing about him
.
I look nothing like her. I'm five-foot-six with brown hair and dark-brown eyes. Girl-next-door is the best way to describe me. I will admit I have a nice body; I'm curvy and back to my old self, just more confident. Still, I was definitely no Savannah.
I finish tidying up the boardroom and collect the remaining files when I hear him agree to their lunch date. As I go to leave, she pushes in front of me, causing me to drop the papers everywhere.
"Watch where you're going," she snaps. I apologize, for some unknown reason, and it takes every ounce of strength not to flip her the bird as she walks out.
"Let me help you," Lincoln says as he crouches down next to me.
"Thank you. She's just lovely." I roll my eyes, and he smiles.
"Yeah, I've known her since she was five; she's always been like that."
Ugh what's wrong with me today? First I use my stupid pretend accent to throw him off the fact that we've met, then I possibly offended him with inappropriate comments about being a jerk, and now my verbal diarrhea has insulted a childhood friend of his. I inwardly groan as he hands me the last of the files and exits the boardroom.
Well, I definitely won't be Employee of the Month.
Chapter Seven
It's Friday morning and I have only seen Lincoln a handful of times since the meeting in the boardroom. As expected, he's been busy with appointments, conference calls and meetings all week, as well as catching up with the department managers.
I hate that I want to see him. He's my boss. A very sexy, god-like man who I have had the pleasure of kissing, but nonetheless, my boss. I have to get over my attraction to him. I want him to do something completely disgusting to turn me off. Who am I kidding? The man could confess he likes collecting women's underwear and I'd still be interested.
I've been fielding a lot of calls for Lincoln this week, only emailing him the urgent messages. Savannah has called four times already, obviously not wanting to sound needy, and every time I've asked to take a message she's replied with, "I’ll catch him on his cell," as if to prove she's special enough to have his private number. I guess if you've known someone since they were five and still saw them regularly you should have their cell number. What I don't understand is why she continues to call the office if she can just directly call him. I like to think it’s because he won't answer her calls, but judging by their friendliness in the boardroom, I doubt it.
I'm engrossed in a filing project, clicking my tongue and staring at the papers like they’re going to magically sort themselves when I look up and see Lincoln staring at me. I quickly mentally rewind to try and remember if I did anything embarrassing in the last ten minutes because I have no idea how long he's been standing there. Was I humming a One Direction song earlier? Oh, crap.
I look back up at him, blushing furiously, and give him my professional no-teeth smile. "Good afternoon, would you like me to get you some lunch, Mr. Whitmore?"
I don't know what else to ask, and I'm a bit taken aback by his beautiful, but cocky, smirk.
"Actually, I've come to invite you to lunch. It's a lunch meeting, so bring your iPad."
Before I have a chance to ask where or why, he's standing at the lift.
"Are you coming?" He asks, holding the lift door open.
I stare at him blankly and blush like a teenager, because he said the word coming. I need to seriously grow up.
I stand quickly, set the filing down, and grab my purse and iPad. I make my way to the lift and he grins at me. Do I have something on my face? He leans forward, his mouth right near my ear and whispers, "You may need your shoes too."
Holy hell! Could I be any more embarrassing? I race back to my desk and slip my heels back on and sprint to the open lift.
"I take them off under my desk when I'm sitting for a while. I usually don't walk around barefoot in the office." My explanation was so fast I sounded like I was trying to rap. I can't even look at his face.
I can feel the heat from my cheeks emanating in the small space. When I finally look up, he gives me a smile and just like before, leans in and whispers, "You can take off whatever you like in the office. I won't complain."
Oh my God. I think I just wet myself.
Is he flirting with me? I'm so shocked, but I keep a calm facade and whisper back, "Thank you." Thank you? Really? Finally the doors open and we’re in the parking garage in the basement.
"Are we driving there?" It's hard enough being in an office with this man, but a lift and then a car? I don't think I can handle that.
"Here we are." He clicks the button on his keying and the lights for a very fancy two-door sports car flash. I roll my eyes and step over to the passenger side. He slides in front of me, opening my door.
"Thanks," I murmur. Sitting in this very expensive vehicle, I can't help but think what a waste of money it is. Expensive, sexy and sleek, just like its driver.
"You don't like my car?" Lincoln asks with an exaggerated pout
"No, it's beautiful."
"You hate it," he quickly replies. He's looking at me with wide eyes and his mouth slightly open. I think I surprised him, or offended him. Probably both.
"It’s lovely, just, a bit showy for my taste. Each to their own, I guess."
"Wow! That's not the reaction I normally get when people see my cars."
"Well, those people probably haven't seen how the other half-lives. The majority of the world that wouldn't dream of spending so much money on a vehicle."
Lincoln freezes, and I can almost see shame in his eyes. Why did I have to open my mouth?
"I'm sorry, Linc . . . um, Mr. Whitmore, I don't mean to judge you by your car. It really is lovely; I just don't think you need it. I'm sure women would date you even if you drove a beat-up truck. Not that I'm assuming you use this to pick up women! Oh my God! There I go again. I'm sorry . . ."
I stop because he's laughing, a sexy, manly, deep laugh that makes me want to watch stupid comedies with him just so I can hear it over and over.
"I do love your honesty, Harbour, even if you don't mean for it to come out. You're right, though; this car is a bit showy, and the only reason I'm driving it is because I ordered it a year ago and it was delivered yesterday. There are only seventy-seven in the world and twelve months ago that meant I had to have it. Now, I'm a bit embarrassed by it."
Wow. I wonder what changed in the last year to make him feel that way.
"My plan is to enjoy it for a few weeks and then donate it to charity. And now, thanks to your honest observation, I realize that's the best idea I've had in a long time."
He starts the car with a magnificent roar from the engine and takes off out of the garage. As we come onto the street he slips on a pair of Ray Ban Aviators. Holy hell, he looks like a damn supermodel. I see him smirk and I realize I'm staring again. I quickly direct my eyes forward and try to focus on the road. In my peripheral vision I can see his large hands grip the wheel and gear stick; he looks so natural behind the wheel of this car, like he's been driving it for years.
He reaches over and turns on the radio. A rock song comes on.
"Oh, I'm sorry; I don't have any One Direction."
He heard me! Oh my God, I'm so embarrassed. I consider leaping from the moving vehicle. Lincoln gives a small laugh and a cocky grin, and continues to focus on the road while I slump back in the seat and wonder if it’s possible for my severe blushing to melt the leather seats.
****
We arrive at a large, industrial looking building along the Hudson River. A valet quickly opens Lincoln's door and as I go to open mine, Lincoln races around the front of the car and beats valet-guy number two and opens my door.
"Thank you, Sir." I say as I grasp his hand in mine and he helps me out of the small car. I’m tingling where our hands meet and my heart starts to race. I'm so lightheaded by the action that I say a mantra over and over in my head. Don't trip, stay calm. I've never been affected by a man’s touch like this; it's making me crazy!
Lincoln releases
my hand and I can't help but smile and roll my eyes at the valet who is now in the driver’s seat with a HUGE grin on his face. Yeah, yeah, it's just a car. Lincoln leans over and whispers in a sexy, husky voice, "At least he likes my car."
I let out a giggle and reply, "Well, if your goal is to impress young men, then mission accomplished." We both laugh as we head into the restaurant.
Lincoln is greeted by name and we're directed to a romantic table for two with gorgeous views of the river. What the hell?
"Um, I thought you said this was a business meeting?"
Lincoln sighs and turns to the maître d’. "We need a table for three please."
"I apologize, sir. Miss Meyers requested only a table for two. Follow me."
Miss Meyers? Shit, am I a third wheel on a date with Savannah and Lincoln? I inwardly groan, and think about her reaction when she sees me. The maître d’ seats us at another table and removes a setting so it’s only set for three diners.
"Thank you. I apologize for the confusion." Lincoln hands the waiter a $100 note, and the maître d’ does a small bow and excuses himself.
Before I can ask any questions Lincoln rises from his seat to welcome Savannah, who is dressed to the nines in a gorgeous black cocktail dress, very high red stilettos, and her blonde hair in a high ponytail. She spots me, and I wince at the death stare I receive.
"Lincoln, darling, so good to see you again. I see you brought your assistant." Her voice is laced with disgust. Oh dear, here we go.
"Good to see you too, Savannah, and yes, the office was very quiet today so I thought I'd bring Harbour along."
"How lovely." She’s obviously unhappy I'm here. She lifts her head slightly and looks down her nose at me like a well-trained snob. I stand to greet her but she just ignores me and takes a seat next to Lincoln. He politely pushes her chair in and a waiter appears out of nowhere to help with mine. The young waiter takes our drink orders and leaves.
"So, Lincoln, I was kind of hoping we'd get to eat alone so we could catch up."
Harbour (Runaway Home #1) Page 5
