My phone suddenly started vibrating on the table. I leaned forward to have a look at caller ID and frowned.
It was Caine.
On a Saturday.
“Oh man,” I whined, and picked up the phone. “Mr. Carraway?”
“I need you to come into the office with lunch. We’re nearing the end on the deal with Moorhouse Securities Company, so we’re working overtime. I’ve got a lot of hungry people in here. We’ll need—”
“Cai—Mr. Carraway, it’s Saturday.”
His sardonic tones rumbled down the line, “Observant.” He then went on to rattle off a list of sandwiches and drinks.
“But …” I stared forlornly at my coffee. “It’s Saturday.”
“Ass in the office, Alexa.” He hung up.
I looked glumly over at my grandpa, who had his “I told you so” face on. “So maybe he is trying to kill me,” I grumbled as I got up to leave.
The last few weeks had involved much of the same responsibilities and overwhelming schedule as my first week at Carraway Financial Holdings. Caine was intent on ruining my social life.
It might have been worth it if I’d seen any more hints of the person he hid behind his professional demeanor. But with the exception of discovering he was a Red Sox fan and an EMC-level season ticket holder, and that Henry was his closest friend from college (and I didn’t know if that even counted for much when it came to Caine), and that he liked sixties/seventies rock like Led Zeppelin and the Grateful Dead, I’d learned little else. I only knew about his musical inclinations because he left his iPod on his desk when he came into the office directly from the gym. There was a shower room off his office, and while he was in there I snuck a peek at his music selections.
I was surprised to say the least.
I had to admit I liked that he could surprise me.
I was musing over that when I was supposed to be choosing the wallpaper for the larger guest bedroom in his summerhouse. I was jolted out of those musings when he called me. I hit SPEAKERPHONE. “Yes, Mr. Carraway.”
“Get in here.”
I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t make a snarky comment about his lack of manners and I strode into his office. “How may I help?”
Caine was perched on his desk, arms crossed over his chest, long legs stretched out, ankles crossed too. He appeared contemplative.
A few seconds ticked by.
Finally he sighed. “I need you to go to Tiffany on Copley Place. Purchase a necklace on my credit card—make it simple, elegant, and make sure there’s a diamond in it. And then I need you to personally deliver it to Phoebe Billingham. You will inform her that I’ve enjoyed my time with her and that I wish her all the best in the future.”
A weird rush of relief and disappointment came over me. I shrugged off the relief and went with the disappointment because it was much less complicated. “But … what happened?” I cried out, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “She’s perfect.”
Caine stared at me like I’d grown two heads. “It’s none of your business what happened. Just do it.”
I was outraged. Actually outraged. I struggled to berate him as politely as possible. “Shouldn’t this be something you do yourself?”
He stood up abruptly and it took everything within me to keep my chin jutted out in defiance at his sudden change in demeanor. His expression was hard, his words clipped. “If I do it myself, that suggests to her more than I’d like to suggest. This way she gets the message loud and clear and it will, furthermore, make her feel better that she’s shot of me, a guy who didn’t even bother to break things off with her himself.”
“You’re just …,” I sputtered.
“I’m just?” he taunted, almost goading me to do something to mess up my job.
I held out my hand, palm up, in answer. “Card.”
Satisfied, Caine pulled out his wallet.
Almost an hour and a half later, I stood in the doorway of Phoebe Billingham’s office, a doorway I wished was closed for privacy, considering that her office abutted an open-plan office shared by many.
Phoebe was of average height, but nothing else was average about her. She had gorgeous, huge brown eyes, creamy, pale skin, full lips, and a cute button nose. She was also slender in a way that if she’d been taller she could have been a model. Clothes just molded perfectly to her body. Aside from how gorgeous she was, she was clearly a smart woman, and when I first made myself known to her she’d been all friendly smiles and happy to meet me.
Now those brown eyes were filled with angry tears as she glared down at the necklace. I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to swallow me and just suffocate me so I could escape this situation.
Phoebe closed the Tiffany box and looked up at me. Something I didn’t like crept into her hurt gaze as she raked those eyes down my body and back up to my face. She sneered. “Oh, I understand this situation perfectly,” she said, her voice carrying behind me into the open-plan office.
There was a hush in the air as the people nearest us heard the bitter anger in those words.
“Do me a favor.” She thrust the necklace at me. “Tell your boss not to send a whore to do a man’s job.”
There was utter silence behind me. My cheeks burned with indignation at the insult.
It took everything within me to hold off my humiliation and cling to my compassion. Stiffly I took the box from her and marched out of there with my head held high despite the undesirable attention focused on me.
Forty minutes later I stormed through the building and straight into Caine’s office without knocking.
I stumbled to a stop at the sight of him and Ms. Fenton sitting across from each other at the sofas by the window. Caine was not happy at my interruption. He heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Linda, go back to your office. I’ll be there in a second to continue our discussion.”
Ms. Fenton frowned at my lack of etiquette as she passed, but I could give a crap.
I’d had forty minutes to stew in my rage.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Caine snapped, standing up and striding over to me to do his intimidating “I’m bigger and taller and scarier than you” thing.
But I was too mad to be intimidated.
I threw the jewelry box with the necklace in it at him, and he blinked in surprise before somehow managing to catch the damn thing. “Don’t you ever make me do that again.”
He tensed, suddenly alert. “What happened?”