“Here.” He shoved the box at her. “Can you work in the conference room for the rest of the day, please?” The lack of emotion in his voice sent a chill through her.
“Please, let me clean the rest up.” She reached for him out of some wild instinct. Just a touch to calm him down.
He wrenched away. “Stop! No more.”
She staggered back, feeling like he’d slapped her. “You know I didn’t want this to happen.”
“Just go.” His stinging words and rejection stabbed her heart.
Gwen slinked away with her head down. Again. This was becoming their narrative. She’d get somewhere with the man. Then crash. Either she’d say something he didn’t like, or touch something he didn’t want her to. Or make him touch her. The tangled scarf, the unsteady chair... Each time, he sprang to her rescue, but then vaulted away even further.
It didn’t even matter what was in that damn box anymore. She was too afraid to go through it now.
Seeing a precious shattered trinket he’d kept all these years would break her heart.
This was her dream job, but from day one nothing had gone as planned. Enrico hired her behind Andrew’s back and shoved her in his office. He was a proud man who preferred to do his job, his way. Alone. He was also recovering from a terrible loss. She’d gotten too close to him and now he acted like touching her made his skin crawl.
Perhaps after this show, Gwen would see if Gucci was hiring.
ANDREW LINED THE FALLEN boxes in front of the window, full of regret. Enrico trekked in holding the box marked L.A. When his boss closed the door, Andrew grew even more concerned.
He’d acted abominably toward Gwendolyn. It would have been dumb of her not to go to the boss, so he struck first. “Look, I know Gwendolyn must have said something to you. I’m just out of sorts.”
“I know.” Enrico’s calm voice made him more nervous. “Do you need some time off?”
“No!” shot from his lips. The last thing he wanted was more time to himself to think and wander the streets where every corner held some memory of Cate. “I’ll apologize. I was wrong.”
“There is an open office on the designer floor. Gwendolyn asked me if she can have it. I will have her desk moved out of here tonight.” Enrico set the box down, clearly annoyed.
“The designer floor?” A small twinge of panic swelled in Andrew’s chest.
Salvatore’s fawning had been irritating to watch. The idea of Gwendolyn sitting near that man every day made his teeth grind together.
Andrew had been trying to make sense of his own feelings. Watching her when she didn’t realize it. Listening to her talk to others just so he could figure out who she really was. Meanwhile, Salvatore stomped around trying to lure her into having lunch and drinks after work. The invitations were crude and demanding. Women don’t want to be dragged around by the hair anymore, Salvatore.
“Andrew?” Enrico prodded him out of his thoughts.
“Let me talk to her first. I’ll straighten this out. It would be a waste of time to make her move twice when an office opens up on this floor. Plus, I need to visit some of the newer local retail stores.
We won’t be in each other’s way so much.”
“You must understand, if she comes to me again...”
“Understood.” Andrew made a fist against his heart. “I’ll make this right.”
While he feared he’d botch his explanation for why she couldn’t have an office to herself right now, he also didn’t want to spend all weekend thinking about what he would say. After searching the entire marketing floor and stalking the ladies’ room, however, Gwendolyn must have left for the weekend. If she were still here, he would have spotted her immediately. Her lush curves and long silky hair stood out against the sea of bland assistants and interns. His fists curled in frustration. An apology would have to wait.
Stepping into the evening air cooled his ears, which had been burning all afternoon. He drew a sharp breath, sucking in the crisp hint of pine and sweet seasonal nuts. The holidays were approaching. Last year had been miserable and he didn’t want to feel that way anymore.
With no one to rush home to, he crossed Eighth Avenue to walk all the way downtown. A sophisticated bar looked inviting, so he turned back and gave in to the urge for a drink. The amber border around the sidelights and the crackled glass made the faces inside a blurry. The silhouette of Gwendolyn’s body, however, was unmistakable. She’d imprinted on his psyche and he would soon know her anywhere. Even though he still wanted to speak to her, he’d find someplace else to have a drink. They were off the clock.
Andrew released the handle, letting the door close, but a group of men at a table in the corner leered at her. Pointing. Andrew knew how men looked at women they wanted. His chest pounded at the thought of one of those men having her.
Enrico should have picked up on the frustrated attraction Andrew couldn’t seem to shake, disguised as kindergarten hair-pulling. Sitting across from her every day, he’d struggled to tamp down the excitement he got from just looking at her. And remembering what it’d felt like to hold and kiss her. His body needed sex so badly and his darkest fear was that he’d do something very stupid. If she ended up pressed against him again, he wasn’t sure he could control himself to not yank up her skirt and screw her right in the office.
A man in a business suit from that corner table strolled across the bar and seated himself next to her. Rage soared through Andrew’s body, forcing his hand back on the wooden handle. He wrenched the door open with unnecessary force. He still hadn’t figured out what he would say, he just wanted that man away from her. Now.
Ignoring the usual gawking stares, he strode across the planked floor to rest a hand on Gwendolyn’s shoulder. Her sparkling blue eyes widened as her stare collided with his in the long mirror behind the bar.
She twisted around and small creases formed above her nose. “Andrew?” She looked around like she didn’t believe he was real. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I talk to you?” He turned a stern expression to the suit. Cheap, not Prada. “Alone.”
After a stare of contempt followed by the once-over Andrew expected because of his height, the man took his drink and slinked away from the bar.
Gwendolyn released a ragged breath. “Okay.”
Relieved, he slid into the open stool next to her. “I want to apologize. To start, I want to make sure you know, you’ve done nothing wrong. I just—”
“Do you want a drink?”
He blinked several times, curious she didn’t let him finish apologizing. Most women would pounce on the opportunity to make a man grovel. It became clear as crystal to him right there...Gwendolyn wasn’t like most women.
“Yes,” he answered, relaxing.
He ordered a pint of Blue Moon from a woman behind the bar who attempted to flirt with him.
Gwendolyn smirked into her wine glass, watching the whole exchange. With the beer in his grasp, he took an anxious sip, causing an embarrassing gag. He put the glass down and wiped his mouth.
“You don’t put the orange in the beer?” she asked, her voice light and friendly.
Long fingers, absent of any rings, flicked the fruit slice into the golden liquid. The silver charm bracelets lined up along her wrist and clanged softly. Ever since he helped her detangle herself from the damn scarf, that jingle-jangle had been making him salivate like Pavlov’s dog.