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“This is Ms. King. She needs her key card.”
The man behind the desk jumps up. “Ms. King?”
Wondering at his enthusiastic reply, I simply nod. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Here, let me take that for you.” He reaches for my bag of bagels and places it on the counter. “I’ll get your key card for you. I just need your license for verification.”
“Sure.” I retrieve my ID from my briefcase and slide it toward him. “All this to get to the office?”
“The office elevator doesn’t just access the offices. It also accesses inventory. And as some of our inventory can be worth quite a bit, we need to verify everyone who gets access.”
“Oh. That makes sense.” It does, but it doesn’t help the twinge of anxiety rearing its head again. Social media campaigns can focus on many different things. I’ve marketed oil companies, state colleges, and yes, clothing stores. But I hadn’t needed security clearance at Cavendish’s or been surrounded by diamond-wearing clientele.
“Mr. Moore asked to be informed as soon as you arrived.” He reaches for his phone. “I’ll page him now.”
“Oh no, don’t.” I pause when his eyebrows shoot up, surprised at my outburst. I take a deep breath. “It’s just, I’m early. No need to bother the boss, I’m sure.”
The man smiles right back, oblivious to my unease. “No bother. Mr. Moore gets here early every day since he took over.” He slides my ID back, along with my new key card, and continues his call.
I try for a smile, though I’m sure it looks more like a grimace. “That’s… great.” I slip both cards in my briefcase before grabbing my bag of bagels.
Usually, I would love to hear that my new client is reliable and hands-on. But this is different. Because usually I don’t want my clients hands-on on me.
“Good morning, Ms. King.”
Tingles spread under my skin. Stupid phone-sex voice.
I try and calm myself by taking a deep breath of the fresh-baked goods in my arms. For the first time in my life, the scent of carbs does nothing to soothe my frazzled nerves.
Figures.
Pushing my body weight onto the balls of my feet, I pivot around to face him. Clean-cut. Tailored. Expensive. Yummy.
Let’s pretend I directed that last at my bagels.
“Morning, Mr. Moore.”
“You look lovely today.”
“Thank you.” I rake my eyes over his sapphire blue suit, white shirt, and skinny black tie. The man even has a pocket square. I squint trying to make out the pattern.
He follows my eyes to his chest and tugs out his pocket square. Cats. All different breeds of cats playing with blue balls of yarn printed over white silk.
“That’s… adorable.”
He shrugs. “I’m adorable.”
You sure are.
Chase’s eyebrows shoot up. Security-man chuckles.
Damn it. I have to stop doing that.
Taking pity on me by not addressing my slip-up, Chase turns to Security-man. “How are you, Sam?”
“Just fine, sir.”
“How’s Chrissy?”
