Page 21 of Obsession

Lila’s cool, professional smile widened and bumped into almost warm. “Don’t worry, Donovan only bites on Tuesdays.”

“Today’s Tuesday,” I replied.

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she looked down at the iPad in her hand. “Fancy that.”

My lips twitched, but I managed not to smile back. Especially when Mr. Carson shot a look at me. I perched on the edge of the same chair I’d interviewed in, my fingers flying over the keys as I scanned the business trade articles for mention of Donovan Lewis and any new projects he was getting involved in.

“Sorry for the rush, Blake. Thanks for fitting us in.”

My gaze snapped to the screen. British, cultured, and deep—Donovan’s voice was equivalent in touch to cashmere. He had a similar look to Mr. Carson, only leaner and more elegant. He didn’t seem to be as tall, either, and his suit was definitely less rumpled.

Instead of getting more buttoned up, my boss took off his jacket and slung it over his chair. He had a small iPad in his large hand, and he cradled it like a freaking phone. “Just means I can actually go home before dark for once.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Donovan murmured.

Mr. Carson’s mouth tipped into a fleeting grin. “The installation of the security glass on Ms. York’s house is progressing nicely. The architect contacted me last night and ordered another dozen panels for her veranda.”

There was my cue. I quickly brought up the York file and all the emails he’d tagged. My boss was scarily efficient. I followed along with the conversation and sent him a few updates from the job site.

Lila seemed to be doing the same thing. Her fingers were flying and swiping over her iPad.

“Are you onboard with the re-facing of your New York office?” he asked.

Donovan leaned against a conference table. “We’ve crunched some numbers, and between the look of Lindsey’s place and my own discussions with a few of your established clients, it’s a go.”

Mr. Carson’s hand tightened on his chair, but otherwise, there was no reaction to the news. I didn’t have time to pore over any other details since the discussion got intense from there on out. I was trying to keep up with my boss’s numbers and notes for the session to make sure what he said actually came to pass.

I had a feeling the entire conversation was being recorded, but this also felt very much like a test. And I really needed to get an A+.

“The last question I had was an aesthetic one.” Donovan’s posture eased a little, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Your product is phenomenal, but I work with people who value their image as much as their security. More than, in all honesty.”

Mr. Carson’s spine went straight as a ruler.

“Ms. York has expressed interest in a patterned glass for the front of her house - more of a showcase, instead of strictly for security. But she does like the fact that she can get that privacy and no loss of light.”

“Yes,” I answered automatically.

Blake shot a look at me.

“We’ve been experimenting with artistic avenues, as well.”

Donovan’s eyebrow went up and a small smile softened his angular features. “Excellent. I’ll have Ms. York’s architect set something up.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” I said when Mr. Carson continued to stare death rays into the back of my head. “If you need anything, your assistant can contact me.”

Mr. Carson came up beside me at the end of his desk. “We appreciate your business, Donovan.” His voice resonated through my bones, leaving a shiver in its wake.

“You have a good staff, Blake. Jack Hollister has been in contact with me for some follow-up visits to make sure the security is sound. I appreciate that level of attention, especially from you. I won’t forget it.”

I frowned. Especially from Mr. Carson, why? My boss didn’t seem like he normally took shortcuts.

Mr. Carson’s fingers curled around the thick glass of his desk. The side of his hand brushed mine, and I fought to stop theblissful teenage flutters from filling up my chest. “I’ll check in next week.”

“Perfect.” Donovan nodded, and the screen went blank.

Blake took a step forward and then turned to stand in front of me. “You overstepped, Ms. Copeland. We aren’t set up for that kind of work. Mass-produced glass cut-to-size is one thing, but aesthetics are a whole different kind of work. The profit margin?—”

I swallowed. “I saw that clock. It might not be as easy to do the beveled and the cuttings, but the design is worth it.”

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