She needed to go home, pop one of her migraine pills and take a nap to cut off the worst of it.
“Mr. Eden?” Sam pressed the speakerphone button, as much as she didn’t want to.
“Yes?” His response, as usual, was impatient and short.
“I’m not feeling well. Do you mind if I go home?”
“Is it terminal?”
His blunt question startled her. “I don’t think so.”
“Is it contagious?”
Her new boss certainly had high standards for sick days. If she wasn’t on her deathbed or in quarantine, he didn’t seem to care. “No, sir. It’s a migraine. My pain medicine is at home.”
He didn’t respond, but a moment later, the silver drawer shot out. Sam rose slowly from her chair and walked over. There was a lone bottle of ibuprofen in it. That wasn’t quite going to cut it. Apparently Mr. Eden was not afflicted with migraines. But his answer was clear. No, she couldn’t go home. She took the pills out and swallowed a couple. It was better than nothing. Maybe if she caught it before it was full-blown, she could keep it from getting too bad.
“I ordered Italian delivery for lunch,” he said as though they hadn’t had the previous discussion and the issue was resolved. “They should be in the lobby in about fifteen minutes.”
It took everything she had not to reply, “And?” He didn’t care that she didn’t feel well. He didn’t even bother to ask her to go get it for him, much less say “please” or “thank you.” It was just implied. He never asked her if she wanted to order, either. If she felt better, she might want to smother her irritation with a layer of mozzarella cheese, but she was never given the option.
Sam couldn’t quite figure out if he was some kind of genius who was thoughtless of others or if he just didn’t consider her worthy of his attention.
“Put it through the drawer when it arrives,” he added as though there were another option. He wasn’t going to let her bring it to him, so in the drawer it had to go.
Without responding, Sam reached for her purse, pulled out a couple dollars and picked up the laundry bag he’d left by her desk that morning. If she wasn’t going home, she might as well carry on as best she could. While she was downstairs, she’d drop off his dry cleaning and grab a turkey wrap from the deli next door. Maybe some caffeine would help. If she left now, she’d have enough time to run over and get back before the deliveryman arrived.
Her timing was perfect. As she strolled back into the lobby, she saw the delivery guy at the desk with a sack of food. Sam grabbed it from him and headed through the ridiculous layers of security to get back to her desk. She set both sacks on the desk and then walked over to the minibar where Agnes stored supplies to get a cup for her drink. She was about halfway there when she heard his growling voice over the intercom.
“Uh...my lunch, Miss Davis?”
“One damn second,” she said as she snatched a cup and slammed the cabinet door. She hadn’t spoken through the speakerphone, but unless the walls of his office were made of soundproof material, he certainly heard her. She didn’t care. Her head hurt, she was cranky and she’d reached her personal breaking point. There was no reason for him to be this rude.
Back at her desk, she clutched the paper sack with his food in her fist, ready to sling it in the drawer. Then she stopped. This whole thing had gotten old, quickly. He wasn’t concerned about her headache, so she wasn’t going to be concerned about his empty stomach. If he wanted food on his own timetable, maybe he should come get it. She brought it upstairs. He could come the last ten feet.
Sam slid the sack to the edge of her desk and looked up at the camera with an expectant arch of her brow. A moment later the metal drawer slid out to her. Nope, she thought.
She unplugged the cord from her phone, switched off her monitor and slipped out of her black Michael Kors cardigan. Walking to the closest camera, she whipped the sweater over her head, covering the lens. The other camera couldn’t see her desk from its angle, so she returned to her seat and pulled her lunch out of the bag.
She needed this job, but he also needed her. If he wanted his lunch, he was going to come out and get it. If he wanted her to do something, he was going to ask nicely. Sam wasn’t working here to be abused. If he didn’t like it, he could fire her, but she was pretty certain he wouldn’t.
He had no one to interview a replacement.
Five minutes passed. She could hear instant messages chiming on her computer, but with the monitor off she couldn’t see them. Another five minutes.
Then she heard it. The click of a lock and the turning of a doorknob. She’d roused the beast from its den. She was getting what she wanted.
And suddenly, she was nervous. She tried to go through everything in her mind that Agnes had told her. Scarred...don’t react...ignore it... She braced herself for his appearance and her non-response.
The door flung open, and her stomach tightened into a knot. She expected him to charge angrily at her, but instead, she only saw his profile as he walked over to the surveillance camera and tugged down her sweater.
It must be the other side of him that was damaged because what she could see was...nice. Really nice. He was tall and strongly built, which was surprising for a computer geek. His expertly tailored navy suit stretched across wide shoulders. He had dark brown, almost black hair that was short but a little shaggy and curling at the collar. And his strong jawline, high cheekbones and sharp nose gave him quite a regal and aristocratic air.
He was actually quite an attractive man. He almost had a movie star quality about him. Sam preferred her men tall, dark and handsome, and he seemed to fit the bill. She didn’t understand what he was...
Then he turned to face her. Sam struggled to hold a neutral expression as he walked to her, but it was hard. The whole left side of his face was horribly scarred. The skin was puckered and twisted from his temple to his jaw and down his neck. It extended back to his ear, warping the cartilage and pushing his hairline back about an inch from where it was on the other side of his face. His eye, nose and mouth were unscathed, but as he reached out to hand her back her sweater, she saw why.
His left hand was scarred, as well. You could almost see the outline on his face where he had reached up to protect himself from something. She didn’t know what, but it must have been horrible.
She swallowed hard and accepted her sweater, refusing to break eye contact. That part was easier because he had the most amazing blue eyes. They were dark blue like the most expensive sapphires, and they glittered just as brightly, fringed by thick black lashes. Sam could easily lose herself in those eyes and forget about everything else.
Only the loud click of the phone cord being plugged back in pulled her away. She looked down in time to see him snatch up his lunch. He paused for a moment, narrowing his eyes at her with a mix of irritation and confusion.
Unsure of what else to do, Sam smiled widely. She knew she was probably in trouble, but she’d used her brilliant smile on more than one occasion to smooth over her mistakes.
He didn’t smile back. Instead, he turned and stomped back into his office without speaking. He slammed his office door so forcefully that Sam leaped in her seat.
And
