Claim Me(118)

“To be honest, Carl Rosenfeld isn’t high on anyone’s favorite people list.”

I smile, immediately more at ease.

A moment later, Cindy steps into my office with an envelope from a local messenger company. There is no address. I, of course, am certain it’s from Damien. Considering the way Cindy hovers by my desk, she must think the same thing, and she’s curious about what the world’s sexiest billionaire sends to his girlfriend.

I’m curious, too. But since this is Damien we’re talking about, I’m not opening it with Bruce and Cindy standing there. I set it firmly on the corner of my desk right next to where I have put the framed picture of Damien and me. “Insurance paperwork,” I say nonchalantly, before turning back to Bruce and rattling off the first relevant thing I can think of about the Suncoast meeting last week.

Finally they are both out of my office, leaving me to, supposedly, settle in to work. I immediately reach for the envelope.

I open it, peek inside, and find my own pink scarf.

Okay …

Then again, at least now I have an excuse to call him. Not that I actually need an excuse.

Unfortunately, I only get his voice mail. “Hey,” I say. “It’s me. Thanks so much for the scarf. It suits me perfectly. How on earth did you know? I had a great time yesterday,” I add, then hesitate a moment before continuing. “And I thought you might want to know—I’m wearing a denim skirt, a purple T-shirt under a denim jacket, and absolutely nothing else.”

I’m grinning when I end the call, and it takes some doing to focus on the specs that I pull up on the laptop I’ve been issued by Innovative. After a while, though, I get into a groove, and it’s not until one of the guys on my team pokes his head in my door that I realize I’ve been engrossed for hours.

“I’m going down to grab a sandwich,” he says. “Want anything?”

“Alex, right?”

He nods.

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Oh. Well, sure. Okay. Yeah. I mean, I’m just gonna get something downstairs and bring it back.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” I grab my purse and follow him to the elevator. He’s tall and so skinny that I’m guessing I have at least ten pounds on him. His hair is cut short, almost into a military buzz, and he’s wearing a T-shirt announcing that Pluto is still a planet. On that, I agree wholeheartedly, and I tell him so.

It is as if I have opened the conversational floodgates. By the time we reach the lobby, I know everything about him except his Social Security number and have been invited to join his World of Warcraft guild anytime.

“So you’re dating Damien Stark,” he adds, as we cross the lobby to the small cafeteria. “That’s cool.”

“I think so,” I say politely, but I can’t help but cringe a little. I am starting to realize that by being Damien’s girlfriend I have taken on more than just Damien. I have parked myself under a microscope. For someone who has lived most of her life behind a mask of polite indifference, it is not the most comfortable place to be.

“Yeah, so the sandwiches here are pretty good,” Alex says, and I am grateful for the change of subject. “The pizza kind of sucks, though.”

“Salads?”

“Beats me,” he says. “I don’t do rabbit food. Meet you back here?”

I nod, then head toward the rabbit food area. I’m waiting for the server to put together a Cobb salad for me when a familiar-looking Asian woman steps into line behind me. I’m trying to place where I’ve seen her before when she points at me and says, “Innovative, right? You’re the new girl.”