Dare Me(30)

I stop at Joyce’s desk and take another deep breath. I try to still my racing heart, but it’s no use, my voice cracks. “Mrs. King? I have a coffee delivery for Mr. Hamilton.”

She looks up from her computer and over the top of her glasses and smiles at me. Her salt and pepper hair is perfectly trimmed into a blunt bob, and her face looks like it’s seen every plastic surgeon in town. It’s pulled tight and not a wrinkle to be found. She’s very attractive and put together for a woman who looks as though she should be retired.

“Ah, Ms. Phillips. Yes. Mr. Hamilton mentioned you’d be stopping by.”

“Here.” I shove the paper cup at her, and I notice my hand shaking. “It’s just as he requested.”

Joyce looks at me and pushes her chair away from the desk. Standing up, she rounds the desk and taps lightly on Holt’s door. He spins around in his large leather chair and gestures for Joyce to send me in.

She slowly opens the door to the sound of the speakerphone, and a man’s gruff voice fills the large office. There’s a small conference room table off to the right and Holt sits behind a large cherry wood desk. “Go on,” she urges me inside the office, then smiles at us and closes the door quietly behind me.

“Mr. Marquez. Unfortunately, I have an emergency that I need to tend to. Let me call you back as soon as I get this resolved.” Holt is speaking to the man on the other end of the line, but his eyes are fixed on me. Before Mr. Marquez even has time to reply, Holt cuts the line and sits back in his chair, his hands resting on the edge of his desk.

With a smirk, he pulls his hands in front of his face and steeples his fingers, pressing them to his bottom lip. “Ms. Phillips, thank you for delivering my coffee this morning.”

“Mr. Hamilton,” I cock my head to the side, “it’s been a pleasure.” I walk over to the desk and set the coffee down in front of him. “Is there anything else I can get you this morning or shall I get back to work? I have two high-priority clients waiting on me to customize their aircraft.”

He grins at me. “That’ll be all for now, but please make sure your calendar is free at twelve-thirty. Block about ninety minutes.”

My eyes widen in surprise, and I smack my lips. “Very well. Enjoy your coffee.” I spin around on my heel and walk toward the closed office door.

“Ms. Phillips?” He stops me in my tracks, just as my hand grips the door handle.

“Yes?” I ask over my shoulder, turning slightly so I can see him.

“That dress is my favorite. It leaves very little to the imagination.” He picks up his coffee and presses the plastic lid to his mouth, but it does very little to hide his devious smile.

I shake my head and purse my lips while rolling my eyes. “Goodbye, Holt.” I close the office door behind me and offer a brief wave to Mrs. King as I head back to my side of the floor.

Finally sitting down at my desk, I begin sorting through my emails and putting together recommendations for my client meeting this afternoon with Sergio Perez, a Columbian politician. Many South American politicians are involved in under the table “activities” to provide additional income. Most of these activities are illegal and involve drugs and/or guns. The idea of working with this man is causing my nerves to act up, and my stomach drops momentarily. I have to remind myself that this is a purely legal business transaction, and this is my job, regardless of how Mr. Perez made his money.

As I’m reviewing a list of “must haves” and requests from Mr. Perez, my interoffice instant message pings on my computer and alerts me to a new message.

Holt: That wasn’t so bad, was it? I’m going to have you deliver my coffee every morning.

I huff, trying to think of a witty comeback as my fingers hover over the keyboard.

Me: Mrs. King would be devastated. Getting your coffee in the morning is the highlight of her day.

Holt: I can’t stop thinking about you in that dress . . . red suits you.

I can see that he’s still typing a message, but I respond anyway.

Me: Holt!

Holt: What?

Me: I have work to do. See you at 12:30.

Holt: I like distracting you. I want you in that dress . . . bent over . . .

Me: STOP! Goodbye, Mr. Hamilton.

Holt: Goodbye, Ms. Phillips.

I shake my head and laugh to myself. How in the hell am I going to explain that to HR if they’re monitoring our instant messaging? I close out the message and return to my work.

As I complete my client folder for Mr. Perez and hit send on an email to another client, my instant messenger pings again, this time a group message. These are almost as bad as group text messages. I grumble to myself and open the message.

Kinsley: Rowan is holding out on us, Saige. Dish it up. He knows everything and won’t share.

Me: There’s nothing to tell.

Kinsley: You’re such a liar. We’re doing lunch out of the office today. We’re holding you hostage until you spill it.

Me: Uh, I have lunch plans today. Going to have to take a rain check ?

Isaiah: With Holt?

I don’t immediately respond as I contemplate what to say.

Emery: Saige?

Me: Fine. Yes. I’m having lunch with Holt. It’s not a big deal. I’m sure he just wants to talk about the two new clients I have.

Emery: He wants to talk about getting in your pants!