Myhouse.
Shouldbe my house.
“Ms. Copeland.”
I stood. His voice was far too low, and the way he said my name was an eight on the sin scale.
Wow. Insane much?
He didn’t wait for me, simply kept moving toward the stairs. Okay, then. I didn’t want to be in an elevator with Mr. Carson,anyway. I followed him down the stairs, and he stopped at the landing before the next flight. “Was your packet acceptable?”
I took the last stair and gripped the railing tighter. I hadn’t had time to look. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
He frowned down at me. “You didn’t check?”
That was weird. I should have checked. But I wasn’t truly here for the job. I was just killing time—though I should probably take advantage of the benefits while I had them. A few months’ worth of birth control, at the very least.
Every dollar counted at the moment.
Yeah, I really needed to check that packet. What if I made enough here to try to afford the mortgage?
And the sky would turn pink tomorrow. Like I could afford the payments on a house by the water in Marblehead.
How long had I stood there not talking?
“I honestly haven’t had time.” I lifted my chin. “You’ve kept me a little busy for a first day.”
“I was going easy on you.”
Somehow I schooled my features not to goggle. “Bring it.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Are you sure?”
“I’m your assistant, aren’t I?”
Shut up, Grace.
Honestly. When his hazel eyes showed interest again, I ordered all of my girl parts to settle down. I was not going to do this. No way, no how. It was a job—and this man was holding my future, even if he didn’t know it.
“The smell of that peanut sauce is killing me. Can we please go eat before you pummel me with work?”
Really, I had to go withpummel? And in a stairwell, withsomany walls?
He nodded tightly and headed down the stairs. He held the door open. “After you.”
Not this again.
I sailed through the door and almost made it without touching him. Until he let the door close behind us and his lapel brushed my arm. Thank God it hadn’t been skin. Obviously, I couldn’t take it since my skin was going haywire with an innocent brush of material.
Had he done it on purpose? Didn’t seem likely.
He walked around me and headed for the glass wall, which slid open soundlessly. I forgot about my reaction to him and simply stared into the gallery.
Every conceivable use for glass was showcased here. Huge, glossy pictures were mounted to the walls. They showed off mansions with glass fronts, dozens of different verandas, and wide frosted panels that afforded people in the mountains an outdoor space with warmth.
There were a few sports cars with the windows done in the specialized glass with dioramas showing the uses. Protection, safety, anonymity. That was impressive enough, until I spotted the huge clock face.
It looked out onto the harbor but was from the side of the building, so I hadn’t seen it when I’d walked that way. It didn’t seem practical. That was probably why I couldn’t stop staring.