Page 50 of Don't Call Me Daddy
It’s not completely untrue …
“We heard about your hospital scare over the weekend. I can’t believe you came in today—wait, is thisher?” the woman sitting at the desk in the center says, causing everyone to turn around and stare.
I smile wide and give them a little wave, but before I can introduce myself, Leo speaks for me. “This is Ivy, my fiancée. You’ll see her around here, as she’s helping me plan the festival this year. Please try to keep things professional. I know this seems unexpected and exciting, but we are all here to work?—”
“I can’t wait to get to know all of you!” I interrupt. “We’re going to have so much fun together?—”
He tightens his grip on my arm. “She means at the festival, of course. Well, I’ll be in my office, showing Ivy the ropes. If you need anything, just shoot me an email …” He opens his office door, practically shoving me inside, and hits a button, making the office-facing windows go black for privacy.
“Whoa. Now, isn’t this fancy?”
I look around the moody office, painted in a dark green or blue—I can’t really tell because it’s so dim. There’s a large mahogany bookshelf built into the wall across from his desk, and a huge floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the falls. With the privacy shades, the window gives just enough light to have a cozy, calming feeling.
I plop down in his leather desk chair and spin around several times, lifting my feet when I build up enough speed to propel the chair on its own.
He grips the chair, causing it to stop abruptly, and the sudden force makes me fly into the armrest.
“Ouch. Hey, why’d you do that?”
“Get out of my chair.”
I cross my arms over my chest and sink down further. “Make me.”
He moves closer and props his hip against his desk as he glares at me. He smells amazing, like aftershave and a touch of something woodsy, and I do my best to keep from shoving my nose into his chest. That would be weird, and by the looks of it, he isn’t in the mood to be sniffed. Maybe I can get a good sniff in when he isn’t looking …
“You’re insufferable—do you know that?”
“So I’ve been told.”
Just when I expect him to yank me up out of his seat, he walks to the corner of the room and lifts an armchair like it weighs nothing and sets it beside me.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m improvising.”
He slides his keyboard and mouse in the space in front of him and scoots the monitor over so he can see. He begins going through his emails. Like I’m not even sitting here.
Fine, I’ll just figure out a way to entertain myself.
I take the opportunity to walk around and survey his bookshelves.
There’s not much personality in this office, mostly just your standard classics—probably all first editions, if I had to guess. I drum my finger along the old spines until I come across a title that surprises me. I pull it from the shelf, and just as I suspected, it’s a signed first edition copy ofThe Hobbitin pristine condition.
He clears his throat, and I spin around, still holding the book.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you were a Tolkien fan. And a collector at that.”
I wave the book, and he grabs it out of my hand, smoothing the cover before placing it back on the shelf.
“You’re so uptight—you know that, don’t you? I wasn’t going to break it, you know?—”
“Maybe not intentionally, but considering you still have a little bit of jelly on your lip from your doughnut this morning, I’d rather not tempt fate.”
I suck in a breath when he swipes his thumb across my bottom lip and down my chin. But to my disappointment, he pulls a napkin from his pocket and wipes his thumb clean rather than sucking it off.
Shame.
“Okay, well, if I’m not allowed to touch your stuff, can you at least give me something to work on for the festival? I’m so bored. There must be something productive I can do …”
