Rebound (Boomerang #2)(14)

“Thanks,” I say and hold out a hand. Part of me expects some kind of supersonic boom when we touch. But it’s just a handshake—firm and dry.

We make introductions all around. When an employee distracts Adam for a moment, Philippe cuts me a look and mouths, “Oh my God. So hot.” I give him the evil eye, though of course I agree.

Adam turns back to us. “I’m sorry things are a bit cramped. We’re in the middle of relocating the offices and had an opportunity to lease out the space downstairs. That’s making it a bit cozy here.”

The word cozy makes me think of ski lodges, of snuggling under a blanket. And then I’m there, right there in that fantasy. I’m kissing his neck, smoothing my hands over his body to distract him from paperwork. We’re laughing, and his eyes are on mine, and it’s Adam from the car—open and warm.

God, who am I?

“No problem,” I say. “Are Simon Evans and Nancy Silvestri here yet?”

“I believe so,” he says. “Cookie made the arrangements for your team.” He looks at Paolo. “Want to lead the way?”

“Sure, boss.”

Adam, Philippe, and I follow him down another short hall to a kitchen area, next to which sits a polished partners desk with sleek chairs rolled up to it and another much smaller desk, with a set of cheap folding chairs, now occupied by Nancy and Simon.

The espresso machine burbles noisily. Stacks of supplies lean against a long center island not three feet away. And we’re right out in the open, where it will be impossible to speak confidentially. Or to avoid the foot traffic of two dozen employees microwaving burritos at lunch.

Nancy and Simon look at me expectantly, their displeasure clear. They’re used to being treated a certain way. If I don’t take care of this, they’ll report back to my father. And I’ll be subject to another discussion about whether or not I have what it takes to be part of Quick Enterprises. Whether or not I have what it takes to lead.

Everything I do here is a test, and I have to pass. No. I have to excel.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Adam. “But this won’t work for us. Do you have a place that’s a little more private? With a lot more space?”

I hate to come across as spoiled or particular, but I have to command authority here. Have to make Nancy and Simon see that I’m not just some daddy’s girl put in place as an indulgence.

Adam looks at me—not into my eyes exactly, though his gaze is still intense enough to wrap around me, riveting me to the spot. “I’m sure we can accommodate you,” he says in a coolly pleasant tone. “Why don’t you all come with me, and we’ll talk to Cookie?”

Even her name makes me cringe.

Simon and Nancy rise and gather their things.

“How about the conference room?” Paolo suggests.

Adam shakes his head. “Too much going on this month. We’re putting the final touches on the team-building retreat, and I told Brooks he could set up a temporary space for the film project.”

We stand there, at a cordial impasse. Behind me, my troops—Nancy, Simon, and Philippe, shore up my position. Though I can’t help noticing the starry-eyed gaze Nancy levels at Adam. Not that I can blame her.

The staccato of heels clicking down the hall interrupts us, and Cookie appears.

“What’s going on here?” she asks in a needle-sharp tone.

She’s in a white A-line dress, with broad Tiffany-blue piped lapels. She looks like she’s still in costume, like a flight attendant from a class of futuristic airships.

I can’t help cutting a look at Philippe, who I know is thinking what I’m thinking. Someone needs a makeover.

“Good to see you again, Cookie.”

She raises an eyebrow and gives me a limp handshake. “Yes. And you’re certainly . . . different from the last time we met.” Her mouth twists into a smirk, letting me know she doesn’t think much of me, and that smirk lights a fire in me.

I want to say, Oh, I still have my whip with me, but I decide it’s better to leave that night out of the conversation.

“Ms. Quick and her team aren’t comfortable in the space we’ve provided,” Adam says. His ramrod posture tells me he’s not thrilled, either. With her, or with me, I don’t know.

“We just want to be comfortable and free of distraction,” I tell her. She’s tall, but with my heels, I’m taller. Up close I see that her skin is almost pore-less, like glass. She may not actually be real. “I’m sure you can appreciate that.”

I think of my father’s words, “Alison, when you’re in a pissing contest, you gotta pee right in the eye of the big dog. Don’t waste time on the whelps.”

Adam breaks in, changing the energy—like puncturing the surface tension of water.

“My office.”

“What?” Cookie says. “That’s—”

Exciting, I think. Terrifying. To be so close. Though I’ll have my staff there too.

“Perfect,” Adam says. “There’s plenty of room, and I’m running around so much, we won’t be . . .” His eyes shift to me. “On top of each other.”

“But Adam—”

“That’s so generous,” I say. “If we won’t be a distraction.”

“Not at all,” he says, giving me a challenging look. “I’m sure we’ll all work well together.”