The woman from the boat had just stepped off.
She looked like a fashion plate, wearing black trousers and a black corset with a delicate ivory lace overlay wrapped around her tiny waist. A matching ivory jacket cut high with pointed lapels, a heavy gold necklace, and black suede booties with four-inch heels completed her outfit. I felt downright dowdy in my gray pencil skirt and black blouse. Yes, I’d splurged and worn my red platforms, but still.
“Can I help you?” I asked as she paused a few feet away, glancing around uncertainly.
“Yes, please,” she replied. She had a heavy French accent and my stomach sank. “I am looking for Parker.” The way she said his name, with the R rolling in the way I never could perfect back in high school French class, had jealousy inching its way into my gut. Yes, I could certainly see why Parker would be dating her. She’d been gorgeous from afar yesterday. Up close, she was stunningly flawless.
“He’s not available right now,” I said, knowing I probably shouldn’t feel as satisfied to be able to say that as I did.
She frowned, her perfectly shaded coral lips curving down. “But we are to have lunch together,” she said.
“You must be mistaken,” I said. “Parker never leaves the office for lunch on Mondays.”
“Monique, glad you could make it.”
I turned to see Parker striding toward us, all smiles. For Monique, of course. When he turned to me, it was for a dismissal.
“Heading to lunch, Sage. I’ll be back shortly.” Taking Monique’s elbow he began to steer her toward the elevators.
“But your lunch is on your desk,” I blurted. I told myself my dismay was because he was wasting the lunch I’d gotten and not because he was taking Monique to lunch.
Parker glanced back, but didn’t pause. “Oh yeah. Sorry about that. Forgot to mention it. Just toss it, will you? Or you can have it, if you want.” He shrugged, then they were disappearing inside the elevator and I was left staring after them with my mouth hanging open.
I stood there like an idiot for a moment. The ugly twisting sensation inside my stomach felt too much like bitter jealousy, but I wanted to focus on that rather than the feeling of utter sadness that lurked right behind it.
Hurrying into his office, I grabbed the plate and napkin, channeling my jealousy and despair into anger. The least he could have done was tell me. It wasn’t like this was a new thing. I got his lunch every single Monday and I’d done that for almost two years. It wasn’t like him to be so thoughtless.
I’d worked up a good head of steam by the time I got to the kitchen and I viciously tossed the whole plate, chicken and all, into the sink. It shattered into several pieces, the silverware ricocheting off the side. I stood there, staring at it and breathing hard.
Did this change in his usually sacrosanct schedule mean he was serious about Monique?
No, he couldn’t possibly be. He’d told me he didn’t do relationships. This was just … an aberration, that’s all. A one-time thing.
I shouldn’t care. I was with Ryker and had just been wondering this morning if I wanted things to turn serious between us. Begrudging Parker the same thing was just … really small of me. And not fair to Ryker, either.
Upset and confused, I went back to my desk, throwing myself back into work and barely glancing up when Parker returned ninety-seven minutes later. Not that I was keeping track. And no way did I log in to his credit card account to see if he’d made any hotel charges today (he hadn’t).
I knew I was in a sullen, bitchy mood, so I avoided conversations until I could shake myself out of it. Which might not be until tomorrow, I realized with a sigh. Thankfully, it was quitting time and I’d managed to go the whole rest of the afternoon without having to talk to Parker.
“Sage,” Parker called over the intercom. “Can you come in here, please?”
Shit. I’d nearly been out the door. Setting my purse back down on my desk, I steeled myself. Plastering on a pleasant expression, I walked in his office. “Yes?”
“Did you make those reservations for me?” he asked.
I gritted my teeth. He could’ve asked me that over the intercom, or better yet, e-mail. “Of course,” I said. “Was there anything else?”
“Sorry again about lunch today,” he said.
I shrugged and forced a fake smile even though my cheeks felt like they were carved in wood. “It’s not a problem. Will this be a weekly thing?” The question popped out of its own accord.
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
I kept smiling, my lips stretched tight. “Okay then.” I turned to go.
“Sage—”
“Yes?” Please just let me leave …
“Monique thought you were quite pretty,” he said. “I just thought I’d let you know that.”
Dear God, kill me now. “How … sweet of her,” I said. “She’s … striking. Wherever did you, um, meet her?”