She ran her fingers across the lent jacket lapel and took a deep breath, smiling as the smell of mint and something unmistakably masculine and delicious flooded through her. Yeah, editing this brochure could be a distraction from lots of things, like the tall, impossibly hot guy in the elevator who may or may not have seen her nearly naked butt when her skirt ripped. She took a deep breath and shifted in her chair.
At least the skirt had been an easy fix. It had torn cleanly down the seam. Nothing a little packing tape from the mailroom didn’t solve. From the outside, it looked perfect. From the inside, it was barely held together by whatever means available. She choked out a laugh. She was sitting on a metaphor for her life.
After opening a new document on the computer, she began entering the information on the item listed. Ugh. Whoever wrote the description was clueless. Run-on sentences, spelling errors—what a mess. She shook her head and dug in, relieved to be absorbed in something other than illness and death and screams of pain in the middle of the night. The screen blurred as tears filled her eyes. She missed her grandmother, Sissy, like crazy, but at least her suffering was over. Claire took a deep, shuddering breath. It was time to move on. As soon as that life insurance money hit her bank account, she was out of here and off to finally see the part of the world she’d studied and fantasized about her whole life. Then she’d begin living out the rest of her dream as an intern at the Cairo Museum under her favorite professor, Dr. Jahi. If things went as planned, she’d never come back to New York. Ever.
Glancing up, she caught sight of Will Anderson emerging from the double doors across the enormous lobby. Before he’d made more than six long, confident strides, Higgins the Hag headed him off and turned over a stack of files. He then disappeared back through the double doors. At least she knew where to find him to return his coat.
An hour or so later, movement drew her eye to the set of doors across the lobby again. Will backed through the threshold, his attention held by something or someone inside.
Mmm. What a fantastic view. Wide shoulders, trim waist, and yum, the way those pants fit over his tight…
He turned suddenly, and piercing blue eyes met hers as if he’d read her thoughts or something. One dark eyebrow arched and he smiled, confirming he knew she’d been checking him out.
Well, shit. Totally busted. She returned his smile in a failed attempt at nonchalance, then pretended to go back to work, eyes glued to her monitor. The words on the screen might as well have been in Greek, as her body responded to the man who’d smiled from across the lobby with a jolt of adrenaline that made her clothes feel too heavy and tight. What on earth was going on? Maybe being on her own for the first time was affecting her sense of reason—or jump-starting her hormones. “Do not look at him,” she muttered under her breath.
“Why not?”
Shit, shit, shit. How had he sneaked up so silently? A big man like that should lumber like a bear, not slink soundlessly.
She took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on the screen. This was embarrassing, not fatal. Since Claire-isms were a constant of her everyday life, she’d grown a thick skin and tended to simply own her mistakes outright. “Because, Mr. Anderson, I need to be looking at the computer monitor, not you. This description has to be edited by lunch.”
He leaned against her doorframe, seeming surprised by her honesty. And intrigued. He studied her for a beat, as though making up his mind about something, and then nodded slightly. “Well, I have the perfect solution. Look at your monitor until lunch, then look at me during lunch.”
Had he just asked her out? He was her boss or something. Surely there was a rule against this. And that alone made her want to accept—to finally break a rule and do something irresponsible, unexpected, or forbidden.
Her pulse stuttered. Yes. She wanted to say yes, and he knew it. A satisfied smile stretched his mouth, and Claire realized she was way out of her depth. Why would he want to go out to lunch with her? He could have anyone he crooked his finger at…
No. She needed to say no. She must have heard him wrong or was reading too much into his offer. Maybe he planned to meet in the lunchroom where most of the employees ate together, and he hadn’t meant that the way it sounded. Besides, he didn’t strike her as a total loser, and that’s pretty much all she seemed to attract.
The photo of the urn she was staring at was reduced to a blur as every molecule in her screamed for her to meet his gaze. Dammit! Pull yourself together, Claire. This is not the time and place to begin crushing on someone—and certainly not him. Still, she couldn’t help meeting his eyes. Her heart beat faster and her whole body tightened under his intense stare.
“I’ll take that as a yes to my lunch offer.” At her sharp intake of air, his smile broadened. “The jacket is a nice look for you,” he said.