Page 57 of Perfect Assumption
Within the hour, we’re pulling into Grand Central Station. I scurry off the train, head down, heading in the direction of the office. A few blocks later, weaving past the mass of people lingering around the plaza, I’m flashing my badge to get past security. I head in the direction of the gilded elevators when the security guard calls out, “Ms. Fahey?”
I stop in my tracks. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to let you know Mr. Burke went up to the office earlier so you weren’t alarmed when you went upstairs and found everything unlocked.”
I hate myself for the weakness spurned from years of emotional scars that lets me consider, even for half a second, turning around and walking back out the door. But I dig deep and find the core of steel that’s forced me to wake up every day for the last ten years. “Thank you for letting me know, Burton. I would have been concerned.”
“Not a problem. Call down if you need anything.” He turns back to man his desk. I realize as I walk toward the elevators, my heart’s pounding, but it’s not because I fear being alone with a man in any situation like I used to. I’m just that little bit stronger. I feel my chin raise a little as each step takes me closer to the doors. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to face my biggest fear—being alone with a man in a sexual situation.
Any man.
I push the button for the elevator and step inside. Punching the button for our floor, I’m so lost in my thoughts I almost don’t get off when the elevator stops. I throw my arm out to prevent the doors from shutting and carrying me back downstairs. “Get yourself together, Angie. You have work to do,” I lecture myself before stepping out of the elevator and making my way to the frosted glass door.
Yanking open the door to the outer office, I spy the door to the inner sanctum is wide open. The air is filled with the furious click of fingers on a keyboard. I suppose the right thing to do would be to greet Ward, but part of me hesitates. Despite the way we ended the week, I’m still not sure which Ward Burke I’ll be confronted with.
Will he revert to the Ward who ignores me? The Ward who made me twirl during my first night out in ten years? The sweet man who kissed me in a candy store? The same one who sought out my forgiveness mere steps away with a pastry-lover’s dream? Or the angry one who has demons locked inside him? He has more sides to him than I suspect his portfolio has ups and downs, and I simply don’t have the energy to confront him. Not right now.
Sliding out of my coat and tugging off my cap, I hang them up before I boot up my computer terminal and get to work.Focus on work, Angie,I scold myself.That’s what you came in for.
And opening up the hundreds of unread emails in my inbox, I begin to tackle them one at a time.
Just like I’ve handled each moment of every day of my life.
* * *
I’m doubled over laughing.Z sent an email to Carys wanting to file a complaint against the recording studio for not supplying him pickle juice for him to drink in between takes. “Oh, the complaints of the ego-ridden wealthy.”
“Dare I ask what has you so amused?” Ward’s voice is laced with amusement, but it still startles me into jumping out of my chair.
“Can’t you wear a bell or something?” I protest, pressing my hand to my heart.
He strolls toward my desk, and the closer he gets to me, the more the air seems to be sucked out of the room. Ward Burke in a suit is devastating. But in a pair of worn jeans and an old Harvard Law sweatshirt is something no woman should ever see, not if she wants to ever get sleep ever again in her life. My breath catches somewhere in my throat when he bends over to read the message on my screen. But I think my heart stops completely when he barks out a laugh. “Well, I think Carys has a few options.”
“Options?” I repeat numbly.
“About Z?” I must not react fast enough because Ward begins to wave his hand back and forth in front of my face. “Angie, are you okay?”
I give myself a mental shake. “Fine. Just fine. Sorry. I zoned out for a second. What should Carys do?”
“Well, either she should send him a basket of all things pickled and tell him to deal with it, or she can actually waste his money on sending a legal letter to the studio. Either way, it requires a gentle touch—with a sledgehammer.” Ward’s fingers drum on the desk next to my mouse.
I imagine his touch would be gentle.I slap my hand over my mouth as if the words had been spoken aloud instead of snaking through my brain. I flush.
He frowns. “Are you okay?”
I clear my throat. “Fine. Just all this talk of pickles made me realize I haven’t eaten.”
“I was about to order food when I heard you out here. Would you like me to get you something?”
“Oh. You don’t need to buy me anything, Ward. I can get my own food.” His face falls, and I immediately regret my words. “What were you thinking?”Breathe, Angie,I berate myself.It’s not like Ward Burke has shown any further interest in you since that night at Redemption beyond anything more than your typing skills.The man could have any woman in the world. What would he do with a woman so broken the pieces are scattered to the wind never to be found again?
A hesitant smile crosses his face. “How do you feel about pho on a day like this?”
I lick my lips in anticipation. “That sounds…”
“Yes?”
“Perfect. I love the way the broth is almost a warm oil and salty flavor on my tongue.”
