Neither of them had mentioned it, but if the sexual tension had been simmering before, it was nearing a boil.
He didn’t like it.
She opened her mouth again, and his strained temper exploded. “Whatever you’re thinking, just drop it,” he snapped. “All I need is for you to make a simple phone call and have them pick up Jenna Wyatt. Her cell phone number is in my contact database. Nothing weird. No limo, no flowers, no welcome committee.”
“You got it,” she said with suspicious calm. “I’ll order some sandwiches and have them delivered to the conference room. You should meet them in there instead of your office. They won’t be as intimidated if it doesn’t feel so much like your turf. You’ll get further with men like them if they don’t feel threatened. “
Gray just shook his head. Most of Sophie’s ideas on social manipulations were beyond him, but as long as she continued to help the business, he’d humor her. Plus, it would get him out of this atrocious orange chair. He hated the thing almost as much as he’d hated the uncomfortable rocking chair that Martin had left behind, but he wasn’t about to give Sophie the satisfaction of complaining. The woman was at her best when she goaded him into talking, snapping, or yelling.
It seemed to be in his best interest to keep the upper hand. And if keeping the upper hand meant sitting every day in a chair that looked like it was covered in Halloween spray paint, so be it.
A quick glance at her desk verified that she had in fact picked up her phone to call the town car. Relaxing slightly, Gray pulled up the Blackwell file on his computer. He’d spent all of the previous evening researching the proprieties, but no matter which way he looked at it, the buildings themselves just didn’t warrant the Blackwells’ asking price. In order to bring the buildings up to Brayburn standards, he’d either have to implement major renovations or tear the damn things down and start from scratch.
It wasn’t going to be a pleasant discussion. Gray could only hope that the son wouldn’t tag along this time. It was bad enough that he had to go toe to toe with the stubborn Peter Blackwell. Watching Alistair sniff after his assistant’s tight little ass like a randy dog would be more than he could handle.
His cell vibrated and he saw his brother’s name. “Jack. Aren’t you supposed to be taking a test right now?”
“Easy, big brother. It doesn’t start for another twenty minutes. Are you on your way to pick up the monster?”
“No, I had a conflict. I sent a car.”
He was met with silence on the other end.
“I had to, Jack; this deal is huge,” Gray said, hating that his tone sounded defensive. “I’m already struggling to keep this company above water as it is.”
“I get it,” Jack replied shortly.
Sure you do. “Let’s meet up for dinner later. What time are you free?”
They settled on a time for what would likely be an uncomfortable family dinner. They’d fall into the usual Wyatt routine of Jack and Jenna chattering eagerly like the Bobbsey twins while Gray would awkwardly try to insert himself into the conversation.
The twins had enough manners to make polite inquiries about Gray’s life, but he winced at the lameness of his own inevitable answers.
No girlfriend. I tried, but she turned out to be too perfect and I got bored.
No social life. I don’t know how to make friends.
What’s that? My secretary? Yeah, I mistakenly implied that she humped for money and she now spends every hour of the day pushing my buttons.
Dinner with the family would be only slightly worse than eating alone. Or eating pizza with Sophie.
That had not been his wisest decision. He’d just felt so damn alone. Even Sophie’s constant rambling seemed preferable to the endless solitude. But then she’d started berating herself and he’d lost his temper. He still wasn’t sure exactly what it was that had had him advancing on her like a lion stalking a helpless mouse. For all her damn spunk and spice, there was a big hole where her self-worth should have been.
Despite the fact that Sophie was smart, attractive, and competent, she seemed to think that she was slumming it because she wasn’t a neurosurgeon or quantum physicist. And he’d just been sick of hearing about it. He’d wanted her to feel special. Wanted.
Well, not wanted in the sexual way. Okay, maybe in the sexual way.
But damn, he hadn’t been prepared for her to show up in her tight little yoga pants and all that hair pulled back into a perky ponytail. And the way she’d worried about making sure he’d eaten…