several cups of coffee on a tray as she walked past Abby, Janice Miggs put in her two cents. “And since he changes women every week, tell him I’m available next Friday.”
“Every week?” Mary Larson laughed. “Try every hour on the hour.” Then she waved over at Abby. “That certainly doesn’t mean I’m not free next hour or the hour after that.”
“Stop teasing her,” Alice Balton said. “You know how she feels about him.”
Dixie raised an amused brow. “And she knows how we feel about him.”
Laughter filled the large, windowless room. Several of the girls hooted and catcalled, while John, the mail room’s manager, rolled his eyes.
Abby danced into the elevator with a good-natured grin, calling back, “I’m here to save you from yourselves, ladies. He’s just not good enough for you.” But as the doors closed and she depressed the button for the penthouse, her smile faded.
Admittedly, C. K. Tanner was one of the most gorgeous men she’d ever seen, but he was also one of the most arrogant. He barely acknowledged anyone who didn’t have a title attached to their name, and probably hadn’t spoken more than two words to Abby in the year and a half she’d been bringing him his mail.
But her opinion of him came from more than just his lack of polite communication. C. K. Tanner was a grown-up version of Greg Houseman, the terribly charming rich kid who’d stolen a poor girl’s teenage heart, taken her virginity, then dumped her flat. She knew from painful personal experience that men like C. K. Tanner could be Sir Lancelot one moment and Blackbeard the next. And she would never forget that one rarely came without the other.
She sighed heavily. Lord, she had bigger things to think about than the workaholic Midas who hardly knew life existed below the thirty-first floor. Like how on earth she was going to open her art school on the shoestring her budget would afford her. Granted, her job in the mail room paid her full benefits and allowed her flexible hours—she was out of the office and working on her canvas by two o’clock each afternoon—but the amount of savings she’d amassed wasn’t even close to what she needed.
Every day she was receiving more and more calls from parents who desperately wanted their children in an art class but couldn’t afford the steep tuition at any of the art schools in town. The community center where Abby taught didn’t have programs for kids, and they’d told her emphatically that if she wanted to start one it would have to be held somewhere else. Now she had a waiting list a mile long and only a few thousand dollars saved.
It was beginning to look as though her dream would just have to wait a little longer.
The elevator dinged and she pushed the cart down the hall. No spirit-lifting music played on the executive floor, only the low tones of deals being made came from behind the closed doors and throughout the busy hallways. She paused in front of Mr. Tanner’s corner office, plastered on a smile, smoothed her hair back, then cursed her Irish ancestry for giving her the thickest, curliest red hair on earth as she knocked lightly on his door.
“Enter,” came that same husky command that she’d heard every morning for the past year and a half.
Briskly and with purpose, Abby opened the door and moved into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Tanner.”
He glanced up and smiled. “Good morning.”
She hesitated, her brows knitting together. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her before, let alone smiling. Swallowing the lump that had just come into her throat, she placed his mail in the wire mesh In basket on the edge of the desk and tried to ignore the spicy scent of his cologne, which always seemed to throw her for a loop whenever she got too close. “Your mail, sir.”
His smile widened and warmed. “Thank you, Abby.”
She froze. Abby? She had no idea that C. K. Tanner even knew her name. What was going on here? And why was he giving her that smile—that unnerving, sexy and very Lancelot-like smile?
Blackbeard, Abby. Think Blackbeard.
“Well, have a good day, sir,” she said, turning quickly to go. But the sleeve of her blouse had other plans, catching itself on the wire basket. Laughing nervously, she tugged on the stubborn fabric, trying to free herself. But it wouldn’t budge. She gave it one last swift pull, but only managed to send the basket of mail flying. On a gasp, she lunged to catch it, hearing her shirt tear as she landed gracelessly.
With her heart slamming against her ribs and a shaky smile plastered on her face, she raised the basket up in a sad show of victory, only to catch C. K. Tanner’s more customary hawk-like stare. Ah, that was more like it, she thought as she leveled her gaze with his own. Trying to pretend that she was calm and unruffled, she stood and set the basket down firmly.
Right onto the lip of his coffee cup.
Suffocating her gasp behind her hand, she watched the dark stain spread menacingly across his desk.
“Ohmigod,” she breathed, hearing him rush up beside her. “I’ll clean this up right away.”
“It’s not a problem.” His strong hands were on her shoulders, pulling her close to his side and away from the hot liquid, even as he rang for his secretary with the push of a button. “Helen, send housekeeping with some paper towels.”
Forgetting who he was and who she was for a moment, Abby glanced up at him—all six feet, two inches of him. Thick black hair, just a little wavy, licked the edges of his starched white collar. Olive skin, chiseled features, full lips and eyes the color of chocolate.
It was a stubborn, arrogant face, but drop-dead gorgeous nonetheless. With that half smile and bedroom gaze, he was the cover of a men’s magazine and the star of every woman’s fantasy. And he fitted his gray pinstripe suit like nobody’s business, while displaying an imposing confidence that permeated the air around him.
She could see why every woman in this building had a crush on him. And why her best course of action was to get as far away from him as possible—as soon as possible.
But she didn’t move.
He held her loosely against his side, those bedroom eyes now filled with concern. “Are you all right?”
The warmth of him, his strength against her, sent currents of heat zipping through her blood. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tanner. I must’ve taken a clumsy pill with my vitamins this morning.”
Finally he released her and she felt as though she could breathe again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “It’ll be cleaned up momentarily.”
As he walked back behind his desk, a woman from housekeeping entered and silently mopped up the mess. She was gone in seconds, and Abby turned to make her own hasty retreat. She wasn’t about to hang around and give him time to fire her.
“Please stay for a moment, Abby.” His words stopped her and she looked over her shoulder to see him smiling at her—again—his deep-brown eyes roaming her face. I’ll bet he’s one great kisser.
Before she could scold herself for such an outrageous thought, he asked, “Can I get you a safety pin or…”
Abby put her hand over the tear in her white blouse. “It’s nothing. I can take care of it.” And I should go.
“I
