“Do you have an appointment, sir?” the older, gray-haired receptionist asked as he started toward the doors behind her desk.
“I’m Caleb Walker.” He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “I believe Merrick is expecting me.”
“Hold it right there, Mr. Walton,” she said, rising to block his way.
“Walker.” He frowned. Hadn’t Merrick let the other employees know about his taking over as president of the firm?
The woman shrugged. “Walker, Walton, it doesn’t matter what your name is. You’re not going in there without an appointment.”
Apparently, no one had bothered to inform this woman. “Tell you what—” he glanced at the nameplate on her desk “—Geneva. After I talk with your boss, I promise I’ll come back and introduce myself.”
“My boss is busy and doesn’t want to be disturbed.” Geneva pointed to a row of chairs lining the wall across the room. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll see if I can work you in.”
At six feet four inches tall, he towered over the woman by at least a foot, but she wasn’t acting the least bit intimidated by it. From the look on her face, she was just as determined to keep him out of the office as he was determined he was going inside.
It was all he could do to keep a straight face. Geneva reminded him of a little banty hen his grandpa used to own—all bluff and ruffled feathers. And if her defiant expression was any indication, he had no doubt that he’d be sitting in the reception area until hell froze over before she picked up the phone and announced his arrival.
“There’s no need to go to all that trouble, Geneva.” Chuckling, he sidestepped the woman as he reached for the polished knob on the mahogany door with A. J. Merrick engraved on a brass plaque. “Take my word for it, Merrick is going to want to meet with me right away.”
“I’ll call security,” Geneva threatened, rushing over to the phone.
“You do that,” Caleb said, nodding. “I’d like to meet with them, too.”
“Oh, you will, buster,” she promised, stabbing her finger at the phone’s keypad.
Without waiting to see if Geneva reached the security desk, Caleb opened the door and stepped into the spacious office. His gaze immediately zeroed in on the young woman seated behind a huge walnut desk in front of a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
With her dark auburn hair pulled back in a bun tight enough to make his grandma Walker proud and a pair of oversize black plastic-framed glasses, she looked more like a headmistress at one of those hoity-toity private all-girl schools in Nashville than a modern corporate secretary. And if her disapproving expression was any indication, she was just as unyielding and strict about rules and protocol as one of those overly uptight teachers, too.
But as he sauntered over to stand in front of the desk, he thought he saw a hint of uncertainty about her—a vulnerability that, considering the image she was obviously trying to project, he hadn’t expected. “Excuse me. I’m looking for A. J. Merrick.”
“Do you have business here?” she asked, her voice cool enough to freeze ice.
Rising to her feet, she pushed her glasses up her pert little nose with a delicate hand, inadvertently drawing attention to her brilliant blue eyes—eyes that sent him a look that would have probably stopped a lesser man dead in his tracks. It didn’t faze Caleb one damned bit. On the contrary. He wasn’t sure why, but for some reason he found something quite intriguing about her intense blue gaze.
“I’m—”
“If you’re looking for personnel, it’s down the hall,” she said, cutting him off before he had a chance to introduce himself. Pausing, she arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Was Mrs. Wallace at her desk?”
The woman’s no-nonsense tone couldn’t quite mask the soft, melodic quality of her voice and had Caleb wondering why the sound seemed to bring every one of his male hormones to full alert. Wondering what the hell had gotten into him, he decided it had to be the fact that he hadn’t been with a woman in the better part of a year. That alone was enough to make any normal, healthy adult male feel as though he was about to jump out of his own skin. It also made him overly conscious of every move a woman—any woman—made.
Satisfied that he’d come up with an explanation for his interest in the less-than-friendly secretary, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “As far as I know, Geneva’s still out there.” He chuckled. “Although I’m not real sure she didn’t break one of her fingers punching in the number for security.”
“Good.”
“Good that she might have broken a finger? Or good that she was calling security?” he asked, grinning.
“I didn’t mean—” Frowning, she stopped short and it was clear that for a split second, he’d thrown her off guard. “Good that she’s summoning security, of course.”
“Hey, lighten up. Life is too short to be so uptight.”
The woman rounded the end of the desk, her expression anything but welcoming. “I don’t know who you think you are or why you’re here, but you can’t just walk in and—”
The sound of the door crashing against the wall stopped the young woman in midsentence.
“That’s him.”
Caleb glanced over his shoulder to see the receptionist charge into the office with a defiant glare. Two middle-aged, potbellied uniformed men followed close behind.
“I see you got hold of the security guards, Geneva.” He glanced at his watch, then nodded his approval. “Their response time wasn’t bad, but I think we could work on improving it, don’t you?”
Geneva managed to look down her nose at him despite the difference in their heights, then turned her attention to the woman with the remarkable baby blues. “I’m sorry, Ms. Merrick.” She eyed Caleb like she didn’t think his elevator went all the way to the top floor. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Caleb raised an eyebrow. This was A. J. Merrick?
Interesting. She definitely wasn’t what he’d expected. Emerald had led him to believe that Merrick was a stodgy old gent, not a twentysomething woman with incredible blue eyes.
As they stared at each other like opponents in a boxing ring, his neglected libido noticed that A. J. Merrick wasn’t dressed like most women her age. Instead of her black suit caressing her body and showing off her assets, it hung from her small frame like an empty tow sack. But if her delicate hands, slender neck and what he could see of her long, perfectly shaped legs were any indication, he’d bet his grandpa’s best coonhound she was hiding some pretty incredible curves inside all that baggy black linen.