Rosabel glided past his office window. She paused at one of the cubicles, tossed her hair, and laughed at something Charity, the receptionist, said, before both women parted in opposite directions.
What if he did have Mother’s number after all?
He strode out, ignoring the stirring hum of conversation and clicking computer keys and the way people looked away to avoid eye contact, and entered Rosabel’s office. The place was empty, but the filing cabinets didn’t care that he was there. He marched over and started with the top drawer of the closest cabinet, thumbing through every single file.
Anticipation grew with every folder he skimmed. His whole company was here, in these files. Another drawer closed; another opened. He searched through file after file, until finally, he found the one he was after. He wasn’t sure how Rosabel had managed it, but the name Beverly Hawthorne said enough.
“Kudos, Rosie,” he muttered, yanking the file out, slamming the drawer shut, and storming back to his office.
Duncan slapped the file onto the papers Rosabel had left on his desk. She usually straightened everything for him as she came and went. He liked to leave a mess just because he knew how much the disarray bothered her. This time, he ignored the clutter. He saw only the information in the folder.
Palms sweating, he dialed Mother’s number. His heart didn’t have time to slow before she answered with a dignified “Hello?”
“Mother,” he said with an exhale. What was the deal? He never got this nervous.
A pause. “Duncan?”
Why did her voice have such a noticeable effect on him? He wanted to be as callous as he’d been the day of the argument. The day he’d left. He shoved the memories down.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Funny, she didn’t sound pleased. She sounded detached and impartial, almost annoyed that he’d called. Why should she be? She was the one who’d emailed him.
“I got your email. I wanted to …”
“You could have replied. I didn’t need a call.”
Another pause, long enough to be awkward. Words in a business deal always came like cake to him, but talking to his mom after all this time? He might as well have had his tongue cut out.
“Are you coming?” she asked. “I’ll set a guest room for you at the cottage.”
Relief stole over him. If she was inviting him to stay at home, that had to mean she didn’t hate him as much as he’d thought. Even so, he hurried to contradict her. If a phone call was this awful, he wasn’t about to stay there. “There’s no need,” he said. “I have a place to stay.” Or he would, once he closed on the lake house he intended to buy. “But yes, I’m coming.”
His throat fisted over the statement. He yanked at his collar and reclined in his office chair, fiddling with the pamphlet on his desk displaying Beaver Lake and the mansions available there.
“And?”
“And what?”
This time Mother’s voice betrayed a hint of curiosity. “Are you bringing … anyone with you, or will you be coming alone?”
She was asking if he was in a relationship? In an instant, Rosabel’s face flooded his mind, from her wide, engaging brown eyes that could flash with frustration or delight depending on her mood, to the line of her cheekbones and the pout of her lips.
Why did she need to know if he was bringing someone? He wasn’t going to stay at his childhood home; Mother wouldn’t need to make extra accommodations. There was the party; maybe she needed to know for that, though knowing Mother, she was probably already planning on hundreds of guests. What was one more?
The only other explanation was that Mother wanted to know if he was dating someone.
Rosabel traipsed past his office window once more. An unexpected smile quirked his lips at the sight of her, but he forced it down. Without thinking, he answered, “Yes. I’m bringing someone special.”
2
The rumors about himself and Rosabel hadn’t escaped Duncan. In fact, he blamed those rumors for making him look at her differently than he had before. Rising from his office chair, he wandered to the window separating his office from the rest of the cubicles outside and parted the blinds further. Coffee mug in hand, papers tucked in her arm, Rosabel swept past everyone, completely unaware of the way her coworkers watched her.
Vultures. They salivated for something juicy, for either Rosabel or Duncan to confess what they all thought was going on, or better yet, to catch the two of them at it. He couldn’t deny that the thought of kissing her had crossed his mind more often than he could count.
But Rosabel was his assistant. They couldn’t mix business with pleasure—that never worked out well. Like it or not, Duncan had to keep his distance from her. Maintaining space between them was the main reason he snapped at her. No one could believe there was anything going on between them if she hated him.
Why, then, should he invite her to go home with him? Duncan squirmed inside. He’d never considered himself a coward, but the truth was, he didn’t want to go home alone. There was something comforting about Rosabel. Something familiar, and therefore, grounding. She made him feel capable. He wanted her there when he faced his family again.
“Rosabel,” he barked, knowing she was close enough to hear. He didn’t miss the cubicle gophers peeking their heads out as though he’d called one of them instead.
Soon enough, the handle turned, and there she was. Instead of standing in the doorway, she entered his office and closed the door. She was exasperated, as usual, looking just as tired as she had earlier. Her hair draped in chestnut waves past her shoulders, and she smoothed a hand over her pencil skirt.
“Do you even hear the way you talk to me?” she said, without asking what he wanted as she usually did. “I should quit.”
This was new. She’d never talked about quitting before. Amusing, considering how he’d recently—jokingly—contemplated firing her. He moved in closer, momentarily forgetting what he’d called her in here for. “Okay, then. Why don’t you?”
“What?”
“You heard me. Why don’t you quit?”
Rosabel’s mouth parted. She really needed to stop wearing that lip gloss.
Thoughts fled, unable to follow a direct course with her standing so near. He could tell something troubled her. She was tired, that much was obvious, but a different kind of weariness settled over her. He wanted to ask what the problem was, but he already did once this morning. Doing so again would destroy the careful nothing he’d kept between them thus far.
“I need the job.”
Duncan tucked two fingers into his pocket. “You’re a strong, talented, efficient woman. You could find work in any number of places. So why don’t you?”
The most delicious shade of pink filled her cheeks. She didn’t dip her chin or show any other sign of flattery that could put him at ease or give an inclination that she was affected by him. Instead, she pegged her gaze right to him as mysterious confusion crossed over her face. “You paid me a compliment,” she said.
“What?”
“You just said something nice about me. Right to my face.”
This time, Duncan’s cheeks heated. The rumors were already thick enough. He didn’t need to go adding to them by complimenting her. “You’re avoiding my question.”