“Winona, Winona. Did your dirty little mind misinterpret an innocent observation on my power over your work schedule?”
Alice and Tamara return in time to save me from getting stabbed with a fork, and Tamara plops down in her chair and puts her headphones back in. The waiter glides up to us and sets down our drinks.
“Give us a few more minutes – we haven’t looked over our menus yet,” I say to him. I glance at Alice, who arches an eyebrow at me. Fine. Because I want to set a good example for Tamara, I will try to be a little less imperious. “Please and thank you,” I add.
Winona’s eyes widen in pleased surprise. She smiles hugely at the waiter, who simpers back then stumbles over his own feet as he walks away.
Her smile fades, and she glowers at me. “Lots of things I could be doing right now. Wouldn’t you say that a truly efficient manager is also efficient with his employees’ time?”
Alice smiles. “Oh my, you could cut the tension in here with a knife.”
“I could cut something in here with a knife.” Winona shoots me a dirty look.
“I hope my brother isn’t giving you too much grief.”
“I am giving her the absolutely correct proportion of grief,” I assure her.
“And I am returning it in equal measure, and upping it by ten percent,” Winona is quick to add.
“Guys, guys. Don’t fight. Get a room.”
I flash an alarmed look at Tamara, but she’s still lost in her Audible book.
“Thank you for that HR nightmare.” I glance at Winona. “Did you know that the nanny dropped Alice on her head as a baby? Repeatedly. It made a hollow kind of sound, I’m told. And in other, related news, Alice apparently thinks that you and I are going to be a thing.”
Winona laughs a little too hard, and shakes her head at my sister. “Sorry. Magic Eight Ball says Try Again. I don’t date the Borg. Your brother is physically attractive, of which he is sickeningly aware, but he’s personally repugnant.”
“Oh, he’s not so bad once you get to know him.” Alice smiles and sips her coffee.
I scowl at my sister. “Winona isn’t too painful on the eyes, but she’s painful to work with, talk to, sit next to…” Painful because her knee just brushed me again and the pulsing awareness in my groin is an actual ache.
Winona pins me with an ice-cold stare. “So. We’ve established that you’re forcing me to eat lunch with you while piling more work on me, and you think that wins you points or something. Well, guess what, you lose this round. I am going to enjoy a delicious lunch on your dime. I’m going to take home a freaking doggy bag. All those calories are just fuel for battle. And now I am going to go powder my nose.”
She stalks off to the bathroom, her back stiff with anger.
“What a lunatic, huh?” I really need my sister to get on board the “we should re-home Winona” train.
“You are going to marry that girl,” Alice says merrily. “You are going to marry her so hard.”
“Go, Sunni Sunni Sam!” Tamara cries out, pumping her little fist. “Fly like a bird!”
“I will give you whatever you want if you promise never to say anything like that again,” I implore my sister.
Alice grins at me. “The last time you made that offer, it didn’t work out too well for you, now did it?” Then she glances around the room. “Why are all the people at that table clutching their knives and forks in a threatening fashion and glaring at us?” Alice asks. “Isn’t that the Abelards? Dad used to play golf with their granddad.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I bury my face in my hands.
When Winona returns to the table, she’s breathless. “Do you see who’s sitting over there? It’s Marshall Perry. The guy who owns the Sunni Sunni company. The man who could save my job.”
I follow her gaze. Marshall, a tall, mop-haired geek right down to his thick dark glasses, is with an ebony-haired stunner who’s sipping wine and looking bored. They never last long with Marshall, and he never seems to care, although he did seem to like Sloane more than most of the girls he’s dated. He glances up and sees that Winona’s staring at him, and starts to smile…then he realizes that Winona’s with me. He shoots us a dirty look and deliberately turns away.
She chews her lip thoughtfully. “He’s on a date. I guess I shouldn’t go over and try to speak to him.”
“He used to date Sloane, and she dumped him for me. So now wouldn’t be the best time,” I say drily.
Or at all. She shouldn’t speak to a man like that, a man with a new model on his arm every week, at all. I mean, yeah, Winona may be infuriating and distracting and defiant and the star of far too many of my wet dreams and… Where was I going with this again?
Oh, right. She deserves better than Marshall. She deserves…to stay single, that’s what’s best for her. She shouldn’t date anybody.
With that decided, I signal the waiter to come over. “I know what I want,” I call out.
“Do you really, though?” Alice says drily. I try to kick her under the table, and miss.
Chapter Fifteen
Winona
My temporary new office is down the hall from Blake’s. We’re on the eighth floor, which is currently occupied by me, Henry, and Blake. There’s also a door at the end of the hallway which is locked and which I have been instructed to stay away from. That gives me definite Bluebeard vibes, but then I already suspected I was working for a sociopath.
Every morning, I walk through the lingering scent of Blake’s cologne and it sets my senses tingling. I plop down in my office chair and check through my mile-long to-do list. And I struggle not to be distracted by the fact that I’m physically a hundred feet away from the man who’s taken up residence in my erotically charged dreams.
At least it’s a very nice office, filled with photographs of Shanice, her husband, and their two soccer-playing sons. The pictures are encased in wooden frames in bright primary colors. Wicker window shades give the room a tropical feel. Potted palms rest in painted baskets in the corners of the room, and glass vases of potpourri nestle on tall drum-shaped stands, spicing the air.
I wish I had time to enjoy it. From eight in the morning until oh-dark-thirty, Blake has me running my rear off. Not only are there dozens of things I have to get done by the end of the day, I have to complete each item within a specified time, and send an email to Blake notifying him when each task is accomplished. I don’t think he even checks the emails, it’s just another way to add to my list of busy-work.
The only decent thing I can say about Blakedroid is that he insists on having me picked up and dropped off in a company car. I never have to walk or take public transportation. When I tried to thank him for it, he muttered something about liability issues if I were to get murdered going home so late.
I’ve barely seen Xena, or any of my friends, all week. I feel like the worst dog parent ever. I’m responding to my parents’ phone calls with clipped one-sentence texts promising to call soon, which I never do.
My personal cell phone rings with Isabella’s ring tone, interrupting my mope session. I grab it and answer. “Greetings from Satan’s workshop,” I say to her.