Page 16 of Obsession

He sat on the edge of my desk. “Is he keeping you busy?”

I huffed out a laugh. “You could say that.”

“Hey, just the one soda, though. Impressive.”

“Yeah. Told you.” I laughed a little and nudged the recycle bin deeper under my desk.

The door to my boss’s office opened, and I shot up out of my seat. I hit the bin, and the top two bottles rolled out. Jack lookeddown at them, then he peered under the desk and then up at me with a quirked eyebrow. “Yeah, just one.”

Shoot.

“Jack, why are you bugging my assistant?” Mr. Carson stood with his arms crossed. The pristine white of his dress shirt pulled tight across his shoulders and arms. He wore a blue tie today—so navy that it was almost black. His face had been almost smooth yesterday, yet he was heavy with stubble today.

But it was his hair that made my throat tighten.No. No looking at his hair.Even if it was sinfully thick and completely disheveled from his fingers. At least I assumed there was no one in there with him. How would I know?

Great, now I was thinking about him having some secret tryst in his office while I was toiling away outside.

Tryst?

God.The melodrama overfloweth today, Grace Cordelia.

My heart thudded double-time in my chest. What the hell was it about this guy? I’d known plenty of good-looking guys. Marblehead wasn’t quite as impressive as Martha’s Vineyard, but we definitely had a lot of the wealthy set. And where wealth was, hot trust fund boys followed. Blake was no different.

Right. Totally the same. Good grief.

I frowned when he swiped his palm across his jaw. Had he even gone home last night?

Jack lifted the bag on my desk by the plastic handles. “Feeding her. You’re working her to death, Blake.”

“If she can’t handle the job, it’s not my problem.”

“Well, by law, she gets a lunch break, and since she’s been here since seven—I’d say she’s way past lunch.”

“I can eat at my desk,” I said.

Mr. Carson held up a hand. “It’s fine.” He backed into his office and nearly shut the door, but then he peeked his head back out. “Thai?”

“There’s some in there for you too.” Jack stood. “Since I know you probably haven’t eaten more than a power bar.”

Mr. Carson opened the door then he dipped his hands into his pockets. He filled the doorway. How? That freaking doorway was huge. The quick flash of our meeting yesterday had me clutching my magic mouse a little tighter. He’d been completely overwhelming. The residual reaction required at least ten Hail Marys and a dip in the ocean.

Thank you, wool sweater and padded bra.

He quirked his eyebrow. “They’re sufficient for energy.”

Jack hung his head. “Sufficient for energy is what you say about food for a mission, not for an office job.” He handed him the bag. “Here. Go show her the seventh floor and feed her.”

“No, it’s okay. I can just eat at my desk. Really.”

Mr. Carson took the bag and went back into his office. The hydraulic hiss of his door closing took the rest of my will. I dropped into my chair. So, I didn’t need food, anyway.

I covered my grumbling belly. Now that I’d smelled the food, I wanted it.

The door opened again, and he returned with his suit jacket on. It was the same dark gray suit. At least it looked like it. Impeccably cut, but still the same suit. When he shot his cuffs and I saw that little flash of ink again, I swallowed a groan.

Enemy.

Owns my grandmother’s house.

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