Page 58 of Company Ink

"Did you?" Adrian straightens out his posture.Oh God, he's like a fucking peacock."Small world."

Blake smiles, shrugging. "I suppose it is."

Blake and Adrian both stare at each other in silence for several beats. I'm half expecting tumbleweed to roll on by at any moment. I clear my throat when the tension becomes unbearable.

"I'm gonna—uh...get back to work. I'll see you both around?"

Blake moves to the side to let me pass. "Oh, one thing, Cassandra."

I pause in front of him. "Yes?"

"Around 1 pm, I'll need you to go to Mr. Wagner's home office and pick up some documents. It's sensitive material so I can't risk having it mailed. Do you drive?"

My gaze flashes briefly to Adrian who's watching us like a hawk. "I have a license, yeah."

"Perfect, you can take my car. Just grab my keys from the front desk, I'll leave them with Miss Bedford in case I'm in a meeting at that time."

"Okay, just email me the details and I'll do it."

"Great," he says with a smile. "Have a good day, Cassandra."

"You too, Mr. Pearson." I glance over my shoulder towards Adrian. "Mr. Cavallero."

Adrian nods slightly, his eyes narrowed. "Cassie."

I bolt out of the kitchen as fast as humanly possible without looking suspicious. Okay, that was seriously awkward. Does Blake know about Adrian? Does Adrian care? Does Blake care? Wait... do I care? Dear lord, who the fuck needs caffeine? All a girl needs to feel wired apparently is the chest-puffing energy of two alpha males and two sips of decaf.

For the rest of the morning, I work on planning Client Appreciation Night which is next Friday. I've asked Kitty to help me send out all the e-vites later today. Despite the fact this event is right up my alley in terms of skills and interest, I find myself distracted by thoughts of my dad. Is Adrian correct? Do I change around my father? I never had anyone make that observation, then again, I've never introduced a boyfriend to my dad, or a fake boyfriend at that.

By the time Kitty and I email the invitations to all of our clients, it's 12:30 pm. I grab Blake's keys from Tilly, head down to the parking lot and look for a black Lexus SUV.Damn, that's a big car.

The drive to Mr. Wagner's condo takes only fifteen minutes despite all the traffic. Luckily for me, there's a parking spot available right in front of his complex. I hop out of the car and head to the concierge.

"I'm here to see Mr. Wagner. He should be expecting me," I say to the stoic older man behind the counter. Luther, I read his name tag.

He eyes me carefully. "Name?"

"Cassie Carrington." I smile at the man, hoping to get one in return but he’s not particularly friendly. Well, then. Rude.

Luther clicks around his computer screen for a minute before stating, "You're clear. Penthouse."

I ride up the elevator, my ears popping after the thirty-fifth floor. How tall is this damn building? The elevator doors open into a sparsely decorated living room, a young woman in a crisp white fitted dress greets me as I step off.

"Miss Carrington, thank you for coming by. My name's Annie, I'm Mr. Wagner's secretary."

"Nice to meet you, Annie." I look around the penthouse, the view immediately catching my eye. "Seattle's beautiful from up here!" I exclaim, walking towards the floor to ceiling windows. "Wow!"

"Yes, it's quite nice, isn't it?" she agrees. "I have the documents right here for you."

I turn around and she hands me a manila envelope. "Great, thank you. I guess I'll be going now."

Metal thumping followed by a loud 'fuck!' coming from down the hallway forces us to turn our heads. A second later, Mr. Wagner comes out of the kitchen with a French press in one hand, his light blue button-up covered with coffee grinds.

"Miss Carrington! You're still here, fantastic! I've just received a sample of Coastal Beans' new roast. Would you care to join Annie and me for a cup of coffee? I know how much you like our original but this one is even better!"

I whimper internally. Fuck, I really don't want a coffee right now but it's not like I can turn him down. "That sounds great."

For the next twenty minutes, Annie and I sit at the kitchen island sipping on our drinks, listening to Mr. Wagner rave about their newest blend. The man is like an auctioneer, talking eight miles a minute. I say maybe three words during the entire conversation, which is just as well, I think Mr. Wagner would prefer to hear himself talk than listen to either of us.

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