We were both at fault for that, and the next two weeks would go a whole lot faster if I pretended to be polite.
So that was my intention.
Honestly.
Yet when Caine returned from lunch he was in a foul mood. I was going to promise him that I’d be civil to him from now on, but he didn’t even give me a chance to speak before he slammed inside his office.
My mood plummeted with his about half an hour later when the phone rang.
“Carraway Financial Holdings, Mr. Carraway’s office.”
“This is Marina Lansbury for Caine.” Her husky, impatient voice made me stiffen. “Put me through.”
The burn of jealousy radiated out of my chest, and my cheeks flushed. “Just one second,” I managed. I put her on hold and called through to Caine with no little amount of trepidation.
“What?” he snapped.
Okay, so maybe I didn’t miss his impatient grumpiness after all.
“I have Marina Lansbury on the line for you.”
“Put her through.”
My pulse started racing.
Put her through?
Why?
Why would he speak to her during working hours?
“Alexa?”
“Just one second,” I choked out, and then I patched her through to him.
For the next few minutes I glared at the telephone. Was he seriously going to date that sneering she-wolf?
I shook my head in exasperation. “It’s not your business,” I whispered heatedly to myself.
“Alexa,” Caine’s voice crackled on the speakerphone. “Come into my office, please.”
Bracing myself, I got up and walked sedately inside. He was sitting behind his desk, reading something on his computer. At my appearance he merely afforded me a quick glance before turning back to the screen. “You rang?”
“I need you to book a table at Menton for two at eight tomorrow evening. I heard through the grapevine they might be fully booked, so if you can’t get Menton, here’s a list of acceptable alternatives.” He pushed a notepad toward me.
That burn returned with a vengeance and I stared at him incredulously. He wanted me to make a date for him? Was he shitting me?
“Alexa?” Caine finally looked at me, his eyebrow quirked in question.
I gave him a slow saccharine smile as I put my palms to his desk and leaned over so our faces were only inches apart. His eyes narrowed at my nearness, but he held still. “You know what, Mr. Carraway?” I said with faux sweetness. “You can book your own table.”
Anger sparked in his eyes as I stepped back and spun around on my heel. Whatever he might think, as much as I’d put up with his crap as a diligent employee, I was not a woman he could walk all over.
“The table is for me and Jack Pendergast. You know, the president of Atwater Venture Capital.”
Oh.
I halted.
Oh, balls.
I sheepishly looked over my shoulder. “Oops?”
To my surprise Caine smirked. “Even I’m not that big enough a bastard to ask you to arrange a date for me two days after we …” His eyes flicked to the top of his desk.
“Had sex on that desk?” I finished helpfully.
The muscle in Caine’s jaw flexed as he nodded.
I sighed, feeling silly for overreacting. Still … anyone could have made the same mistake. It wasn’t like Caine was known for being Mr. Sensitive around me. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know I didn’t fuck a complete asshole.” And on that note I walked out of his office.
Okay. Maybe I wasn’t done being mad at him.
My speakerphone crackled. “Alexa.”
I rolled my eyes. “What?”
“Why don’t you run out and pick me up a latte? Don’t come back until you’ve cooled off.”
I clenched my teeth and started to count to ten.
“Alexa?”
“You are extremely condescending.”
“And you are extremely annoying. Now get gone.”
I sighed, feeling like my skin was too tight, like my emotions were being smooshed and suffocated and thus in their desperation to breathe and be heard they were making me act like a crazy person. For some reason I found myself admitting, “I’m not usually like this.”
“I know,” he said. “Let’s just try to get through the next two weeks. All right?”
And that was when I realized why I was acting like a woman scorned. It wasn’t just because we had sex and he was acting like it meant nothing. It was because he seemed completely okay with the fact that in two weeks’ time we’d never see each other again.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to mute the sadness in my words. “I can do that.”
It occurred to me that evening as I changed my ringtone to Ray Charles’s “Hit the Road Jack,” that leaving Caine meant leaving Effie. And just when I’d found her.
This only fueled my heightened emotions, and despite my best efforts I barely caught a wink of sleep that night. As I lay in bed in the wee hours of the morning, I refused to be this sad, nonsleeping little person because of a man. If I couldn’t sleep, then I was hauling my ass out of bed. After hitting the shower, I perused my wardrobe for the outfit that screamed I am woman, hear me roar.
I decided on my most figure-hugging black pencil skirt, my four-inch Prada black platform pumps, and a tight blush-colored silk blouse with little cap sleeves. I left a few buttons undone, hinting at my cleavage. I topped it off by wearing my hair slicked back in a high-fashion ponytail that made my eyes look feline and exotic.
I even wore a touch of makeup.
I nodded at my reflection. Sometimes uptight clothes could be smoking hot. I wanted Caine Carraway to be as off balance as I was. He’d admitted he’d fantasized about screwing me in his office, and yes, we’d played that little fantasy out already, but there was no harm in trying to push his buttons. Just in case.
By the time I made it into the office, I was more than half an hour earlier than I usually was. To my surprise, Caine’s office door was unlocked. I was just musing over that and what could have made Caine so absentminded as to leave his office open when I wandered inside and abruptly drew to a halt.
The lights were on and there were clothes scattered on his sofa.
What was that noise?
I glanced over at the bathroom door and my eyes widened as it opened. Steam poured out as Caine appeared.
Wearing nothing but a towel around his waist.
Holy crap.
Caine froze at the sight of me. Our eyes locked.
I knew if I dropped my gaze I’d see little water droplets coursing down his rock-hard abs.