I know this is awkward as hell, but look, I’m actually good at what I do.
She’d found publicity contacts and previous press releases buried in Andrew’s confusing filing system. He was due back in the office on Monday, and now she needed to put all these folders away.
Looking at the stack, Gwen panicked. She couldn’t remember which cabinet drawer she’d plucked each one from.
“Okay, okay, calm down. I’m not done with them, Andrew,” she said, practicing.
He would already be pissed at Enrico for not only hiring her without his input, but hiring a woman he’d slept with while in the throes of grief and heartache. A trashed office would only make Andrew go postal.
“Andrew, forget we had a night of naked passion. I’m in charge of publicity now.” The more she practiced, the easier it sounded. “I will put everything away in my file cabinet.” She looked around, dreading the task of emptying one of them out.
There was no point in leaving the office messier than she found it, however. She leaned across Andrew’s desk to organize the folders. Pulling one out from under a tower of binders caused them all to slide down and crash into the framed photo of him and his wife. In horror, Gwen watched it shoot off the desk. The sound of shattering glass made her legs wobble.
She crouched down to retrieve the frame. Thank goodness Andrew wasn’t back in the country until next week. She tucked the mess under some papers on his desk. “Now I have to buy a frame.”
Annoyed, she draped her scarf around her neck and put on her coat. Those frayed edges once again caught on one of her charm bracelets and this time dragged the scarf through the armhole.
“Son of a bitch.” Her free hand reached up to loosen the scarf from her neck before it strangled her. When it snagged on the clasp of her necklace and twisted, trapping her as if she were in a straitjacket, she growled, “Are you kidding me?”
Cursing under her breath, she shrugged out of the coat, sending it flying across the office.
“Excuse me.” A familiar deep gravelly voice drifted in from the doorway.
Gwen swung around and locked eyes with the most devastatingly handsome man she’d ever seen.
Andrew!
Oh shit.
“Oh, hi!” She held up her hand not meaning to reveal the tangled mess she’d made of herself.
“That’s an interesting way to wear a scarf.” Andrew put his bag down and moved toward her with powerful long legs covered in what she knew had to be a pair of Prada dress slacks. In an instant, he was touching her hand and...her neck. “Can I help you with something?”
He hadn’t...recognized her. Was that possible?
Just go with it!
“I need a pair of scissors.” She backed away, startled to be so close to him again.
Her memory did not do this man justice. He was even more stunning under a harsh bath of fluorescent lights versus the flickering candle separating them in the bar that night. The rest of the sepia tinged space around them had blurred the background. And the world, apparently, for him.
Andrew shook his head. “I have scissors in my desk.” He opened the top drawer, but paused. “Or, at least I had scissors.”
“Try that other drawer. I moved some things around.” She pointed to the left pedestal.
“You moved them?” he bristled.
Men and their stuff.
“Yes. When I was looking for—”
“Wait. Who are you anyway?” His gaze swept over his desk then back to her. “And why are you even in my—” The horror-filled look on his face twisted her stomach. “You?” he said, taking a step back.
“Yes. It’s me. My name is Gwendolyn. Gwen. Gwen Foley.” She held out her hand. “I work here now.”
“Is that so?” He crossed his arms instead of touching her.
Huh, boy. Enrico had a week and still hadn’t broken the news. This was worse than she’d imagined.
Gwen gulped down the embarrassment. “I know this is awkward, but—”
“Are you one of my new interns?” he asked, wiping sweat from his forehead.
A thirty-five-year-old intern? “No. I’m your new PR Executive.”
Andrew jerked back. “I don’t need a PR person.”
“Enrico hired me last week. We have a fashion show coming up.” She yanked down hard on the scarf to free herself. If she couldn’t tie a scarf around her own neck, how could she convince Andrew she could market a high-end fashion event?
“I know we have a show coming up,” he snapped.
“But there’s been very little marketing. The media events haven’t been set up for that week, and the programs need... Where are you going?”
He rushed past her, only stopping to notice the broken frame sticking out from under a pile of papers. He slid it out. The photo of him and his wife was now under a spiderweb of cracks. Without looking at her, he stalked away, and barreled toward Enrico’s office.
“I was on my way out to replace that,” Gwen yelled and chased after him.
CHAPTER THREE
ndrew!” Enrico’s eyes lit up with surprise and he stood up behind his desk. “We were not
“A
expecting you until Monday.”
“I took an earlier flight back.” Andrew glanced behind him.
That woman, the woman he’d slept with last year to give him a few hours of pleasure instead of the relentless heartache, trailed behind as she tried to unravel herself.
“Gwendolyn, what have you done to yourself?” Enrico pointed.
“I just got my scarf caught in my bracelets. That’s not important now,” she answered. “Enrico, can you please explain to Andrew—”
“Here.” Andrew grabbed the scissors from Enrico’s desk caddy and thrust it at her.
“Who taught you how to hand someone a pair of scissors?” she snapped at him with a disapproving frown.
He looked down to see he’d been holding the tip and blade side facing her. Taking a breath, he turned them around. A rush of heat raced through his chest when she grabbed them and brushed their hands together.
Dangling the scissors in her free hand, she attempted to slide her fingers through the handle.
“Oh, for goodness sake. Who taught you how to use scissors?” He took them from her and held her wrist, her pulse thundering beneath the surface.
His thumb brushed against skin he’d forgotten was so soft, igniting a spark deep in his bones. With palms beginning to moisten, he picked through the row of charm bracelets and found the one that had snagged the scarf. The silver rings jingled softly, tickling a nerve inside him. He tucked the scissors under his arm and with his hands, ripped the scarf free. The impact smacked her arm forward into his chest. Long manicured fingers lingered against his shirt. He swallowed, watching her slide her hand away.
His gaze locked on her face, unable to let go, like that night she’d captivated him. So quickly, so easily, so fiercely. He’d not looked at another woman since losing Cate. Only her. Gwendolyn? He hadn’t bothered getting her name that night. Not that she’d asked him for his.
The woman cleared her throat. “Thank you. I’ll get it out of the necklace.”
“Turn around,” he said with the voice of a man who wanted a woman. The same one he’d used with her that night.