bombs. But around Caleb Allbrook, her brain cells packed their bags and flew on a one-way ticket to Fiji.
“Can we get to the part where you tell me what you need so I can do it and go home?” she said, huffing.
“It’s dangerous to agree before knowing what I’m going to ask.” He chuckled. “Okay, fine. Enough with the death stare. I need you to help me find the marketing materials from the fifty-year anniversary campaign.”
“Shouldn’t someone from your team be able to assist you with that?” She raised a brow. “I assume at least one of the people you hired will have the requisite technical skills to navigate our shared folder system.”
“Now, now. There’s no need to be snippy, Miss Hargrove.” He smirked. “And I need the originals, not the files.”
She groaned internally. That meant a trip to the archive room in the building’s basement. The CEO was paranoid about people having access to it. Something to do with a fire-related accident before her time that resulted in a ton of tax paperwork being lost. Never mind the fact that smoking was now prohibited in offices and that they had sprinklers and fire alarms in every section of the building. Oh, and technological advancements meant they had electronic copies of everything. Regardless, there were only three keys to the archive room in the whole company. The CEO’s, Jason’s and hers.
Caleb hadn’t made the cut.
“Does it have to be done now?” she asked, glancing at her inbox. Imogen had a rule about Friday afternoons: never leave the office with outstanding tasks on the to-do list. But today she was itching to get out of there.
An image flickered in her mind—a mask hanging from her bedroom door. The white feathers, crystals and shimmering lengths of rose-gold chain were all waiting to adorn her.
“It’ll take five minutes,” he said, motioning for her to follow him. “If it gives you any more motivation, it’s for Jason. I believe you convinced him to present to the bean counters, so he couldn’t make the request himself.”
She sighed and pushed up from her chair. “Fine, but make it quick. I’ve got somewhere to be.”
“Hot date?”
Hardly. After her last few dates had ended with a “you seem like a nice person but there’s no spark” conversation, she’d started to wonder if it was worth the bother. There was only so much rejection a woman could take before getting paranoid that she had some third head only other people could see. Just once she’d like a guy to get all hot and bothered over her. Just once she’d like to be the object of someone’s desire. Was that too much to ask?
No, tonight was definitely not a date. But she wasn’t about to tell Caleb about the sorry state of her love life. Undoubtedly, he’d laugh in her face. Because as much as he joked and teased and flirted, he’d never once asked her out. Never once made an actual move.
Why do you care? It’s not like you want him to ask.
Sure. But Imogen was sick of being ignored. Unfortunately, that seemed to be her lot in life. In any case, she’d put aside worries over her own lack of love life to focus on someone else’s love life. Her sister, Penny, was getting married in ten short weeks to Daniel the Duke of Douchetown.
It was bad enough that her future brother-in-law’s stuffy old-money family had given Penny hell when they’d first gotten engaged. She’d ended up at Imogen’s place in tears on more than one occasion after they’d made her feel unworthy. But now Imogen had a sneaking suspicion that her fiancé was cheating. She’d spotted him flirting with a blonde woman at a bar when he’d lied to Penny and told her he was in Sydney for work.
So, she’d hatched a plan to catch him in the act. In disguise, of course.
* * *
Caleb bit back a smile as his father’s assistant walked alongside him, her pink lips set into a flat line. The woman always looked as though she’d sucked on a lemon. Logically, it wasn’t a visual that should turn him on but there was something about Imogen’s overly prim persona that got him all hot and bothered. And hard as a rock. Maybe it was because he suspected that beneath the boring shirt and single strand of pearls, there was a spitfire lurking.
He had a talent for seeing the reality that people tried desperately to conceal. And the fact that a woman as hot as Imogen chose to hide behind an outfit better suited to a funeral director made him curious as hell.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she said.
“I can be your SOS. Message me if he turns out to be a foot shorter than his Tinder profile advertised.” He nudged her with his elbow as they waited for the elevator. “Or if he’s a close-talker. I know you hate those.”
“Who doesn’t hate a close-talker?” Her button nose wrinkled. “When I speak with someone, I don’t want to know what they had for lunch. Let alone experience it secondhand.”
The elevator opened. It was rammed, sardine-style. All his father’s obedient minions were clocking out at five-thirty on the dot. That tended to happen when Gerald Allbrook went off-site. Apparently, there’d been some shit storm with contract negotiations for a new residential tower on Collins street. The big man had stepped in, which wasn’t a good sign.
Not that Caleb should give a shit. He wasn’t going to have a hand in this company beyond his current puff position as head of marketing. It’d been a token gesture after making Jason managing director. AKA next in line. Jason was Prince William and Caleb was the redheaded kid who’d only ever sit on the throne if everyone else kicked the bucket.
“Who’s looking daydreamy now?” Imogen said as the elevator pinged at the next floor. Two more people squeezed in.
“I’m thinking about regaining my personal space,” he quipped.
A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The elevator jerked to a stop again and Imogen glanced at the sweaty-looking man standing on her other side. Her nose was unfortunately armpit-height. Her head swung to Caleb and she sighed, shuffling closer.
“Good choice,” he whispered.
“You’ll never be a good choice,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Just the lesser of two evils.”
Ouch. Imogen had never bothered to hide the fact that she—like everyone else—viewed him as a layabout who was riding on the coattails of his family name, never to achieve anything of his own. But the upside of that meant he could do whatever the hell he wanted without pressure to perform like his prize show-pony brother.
“I love it when you play hard to get.”
“I know every other female in this office seems to be under the deluded impression that you’re God’s gift to cha-chas, but I’m not blinded by a pretty face.” She folded her arms across her chest.
He leaned closer as people streamed past him to get out at the ground floor. For once he was grateful that the archive rooms were shoved way down in the basement. “Cha-chas? Really?”
“I’m supposed to take language advice from a guy who wears novelty socks?” She shook her head. “How am I supposed to take you seriously when you wear tacos on your feet?”
He pulled up the leg of his designer
