Page 17 of Latte Girl
He starts a bit at hearing his name and then smiles. “Looks like I’m not the only stalker intheroom.”
“Don’t blame me,” I protest, holding up my hands. “You don’t exactly have a low profile, Mr. Heir to theCompany.”
His eyes cloud over with an expression I can’t read. He finishes off his muffin with a final bite, and stands up, holding onto hisplate.
“Where would you like me to put this?”heasks.
I stand up too, wondering if I should apologize, although I don’t knowwhatfor.
“I’lltakeit.”
I reach out for the plate and one of my fingers brushes against his. I’ve never felt more aware of that quarter inch of skin in my life. I set the plate down inside one of the bins in my cart, and turn back to find Jordan lookingatme.
“Thanks,” he says, the lightness back in his eyes, “for the muffin, and theconversation.”
“Anytime,” I tell him. “You know where tofindme.”
His eyes search my face for something, and my Impending Kiss O-Meter starts flying off the charts once again. Then he flashes a final lopsided smile and heads towardsthedoor.
As soon as he opens it, a blond man passing by stops and calls out “Boss! I was just looking for you.Whatwer—”
The man falters as his eyes pass over the inside of the meeting room and landonme.
“Ah!” he continues, punching Jordan in the shoulder. “So about thosefiles...”
* * *
“Watch out for thatcorner!”
The warning echoes across the Knox Security lobby. I’m once again attempting to steer the Catering Mobile around the corner of the swimming pool-sized fountain. It’s my second Knox meeting of the week. This one seems to be a pretty big affair; I could barely fit everything I needed intothecart.
I look over to see who’s called out to me and find Jordan, just arriving at work. I’ve realized that trying to avoid him would be futile; we run into each other way too oftenforthat.
He’s got a pea coat thrown on over his suit that he’s in the middle of unbuttoning. I wait by the elevators as he movescloser.
“I’ll have you know I’m a pro cart driver now,” I tell him. “I just showed that cornerwho’sboss.”
“Looked like a near miss to me,” he says. “You almost lost your spoonsagain.”
“Oh you haven’t seen me lose my spoonsyet,boy.”
Shit.Shitshitshit.
My not-so-tempting inner temptress just got the better of me. Jordan’s staring at me like he’s not quite sure what to say. Thankfully, the elevator doors open and I hurry inside, Jordan stepping inafterme.
“Doesn’t anyone ever help you out with this?” he asks, gesturing to the cart, and I’m grateful he’s chosen not to acknowledge my spoonscomment.
“I’m a team of one,” I tell him, “a catering manager with no one tomanage.”
“Do you need any help? Looks like you’ve got a pretty full loadtoday.”
I hope you’ve gotonetoo.
I really need to get my subconscious undercontrol.
“Really? I actually am running kind of late,” I acknowledge, “but I wouldn’t want to keep you fromyourwork.”
“Trust me. My work is the last thing I want to bedoing.”
