Page 17 of Dante
"The Bailey file?"
"I asked you to prepare talking points for the meeting. Where's the file?"
"You said the meeting is on Monday. Today is Saturday." She also gave herself points for patience.
"Well, Bailey called and wants to meet today. You did not prepare the file?" His deep voice sounded accusing.
"I was halfway through when you told me to do something else."
There was a pause, during which, she swung her legs off the bed. There goes her Saturday morning and the plans she had made.
"I'm on my way. What time is your meeting?"
"Seven." He told her abruptly, before hanging up.
"Good morning, Ms. Vernon. How are you today? So sorry I woke you on a Saturday when you should be sleeping, especially after the very hectic week you had." Hissing out a breath, she headed for the bathroom to get ready.
The shower ran hot, scalding away the remnants of sleep and leaving her mind clear, if not exactly bright. She dressed quickly, pulling on the first clean blouse she found, and gathered up her laptop and a half-finished cup of coffee. Her phone buzzed twice more. One, a curt text with the address for the meeting, the other, an all-caps REMINDER about needing "ABOVE-AVERAGE EFFORT" for the Bailey account. She gritted her teeth, biting back the retort that hovered on her tongue.
By 6:22 she was in her car, engine humming with reluctant purpose, the city barely stirring in the early gray light. The streets stretched out ahead, empty, silent, expectant. As she drove, she mentally rehearsed the talking points she'd prepared so far, making a mental note to double-check the numbers and find that email Bailey's assistant had sent last week.
She pulled into the parking lot at 6:45, her pulse finally steady. She allowed herself a moment, sitting behind the wheel, hands gripping the steering wheel as if she could squeeze the irritation from her veins. Then, straightening her shoulders, she marched toward the building, resigned but determined. If the day was going to demand her best, it would get it. Just not with a smile.
Despite her resolve to be coolly professional, she felt the usual jolt as she stepped into the outer office and got an eyeful of him. He was wearing full black. Sweater, faded denims and leather boots and looked darkly intense and completely dangerous. And impatient. When he eased off the desk and glanced at his watch, she had to force herself to smile. Thinly. Sailing by him without a greeting, she sat at her desk and keyed in the password.
Bringing up the file, she tapped a few keys and sent the document to print.
Dante tried to think of her the way he would with his former assistant. But hell, this one had marched in wearing skintight jeans, a boxy white shirt and her hair was mussed, as if she had just rolled out of bed. And she had, he mused. When he called, she had sounded sleepily sexy.
Now her scent was wrapped around his goddamned throat, like an anchor and his awareness of her was pissing him off. Moving away from the desk wasn't making a bloody difference. She wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup or any sort of accessories. And she sure as hell didn't look professional.
He was about to ask her to hurry it up when the phone rang.
Reaching for it, she propped it against her shoulder and continued typing.
"Mr. Livingston's office. Courtney speaking." She glanced over at him as she continued typing.
"Hold for me." Pressing the button, she put the phone down.
"Larry Vanderbilt wants to know if you're still on for the tennis match. Said he called on your mobile, but it went straight to voicemail."
A frown touched his brow as he considered. He was pressed for time, but he had promised, and it was for charity.
"Yes," he clipped.
"Note it on my schedule. Are you about finished?"
"Yes." She tapped print and reached for the phone to relay the message. Plucking a folder from the lap drawer, she quickly placed the document securely inside and labeled it.
"I just sent the updated schedule to your phone."
Taking the folder, he leafed through it quickly.
"Good."
"Anything else?"
He stood there staring at her for a few seconds, before shaking his head.
