pedigree. She’d used all of those assets to achieve her status as a top-notch manager of some of the firm’s most prestigious accounts and parlayed them into a promotion to the New York office.
Although it was hard to fault the woman. Courtney put in long hours at Noble.
Then Gabrielle sighed inwardly—but not as many hours as she and Tori had put in.
“Seriously,” Dell continued, comfortable at the center of attention, “we’re all going to miss Courtney and we wish her only the best in her new adventure. Oh, and just so everyone knows—I have dibs on the CEG account.”
Everyone laughed at Dell’s good-natured arrogance.
“That account should be yours,” Tori whispered.
The CEG account—Cutting Edge Gear, a hot outdoor equipment account with an even hotter celebrity spokesman. The highlight of Gabrielle’s career had been acting as Courtney’s unofficial assistant on the account, hoping that someday she’d get to meet Nick Ocean, the movie-star spokesman. With Courtney leaving, Gabrielle had secretly entertained fantasies of their boss, Bruce Noble, offering her the account…but, of course, Dell would get it.
Dell said a few final words about Courtney and everyone applauded.
Courtney, who wasn’t just leaving for a new job, but embarking on a new adventure, Gabrielle mused. For some people, every move they made seemed more exciting, more exotic than that of the average person.
The average dweeb.
Dell gave Courtney a hug, leaving his arm slung around her shoulders. Gabrielle leaned forward, wondering how people reached that magical place where the world seemed to fall at their feet. She wished she was fearless, exuded charm, had the nerve to go after what she wanted. How lucky the woman was to orbit in Dell’s galaxy…to have him touching her…
Suddenly the potted tree in front of Gabrielle moved. No, she realized with horrific clarity—she was falling! Hugging the tree, she and the ficus both pitched forward and landed hard on the floor, soil spilling up her long skirt. Gasps sounded all around her, then laughter traveled around the room. Gabrielle rolled onto her back and closed her eyes, praying that everyone would ignore her—as usual—and that the festivities would continue.
“Gabrielle, for heaven’s sake, your skirt is up to your shoulders,” Tori hissed. “Mr. Noble is staring at you. Get up!”
The laughter gained momentum, although it sounded as if people were trying to muffle it with their hands. She lay there, eyes closed, limbs unresponsive, willing a blood clot to take her.
“Are you trying to upstage me?” a low voice murmured.
Gabrielle’s eyes opened to see Dell Kingston leaning over her, his rich, chocolate-brown eyes full of mirth.
“No,” she croaked.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Nothing to see here, folks,” he said in a fake authoritative voice. “Move it along to the cake table, please.”
Gabrielle’s face flamed in humiliation as people filed past them. Mr. Noble squinted at her as if trying to recall her name. She brushed soil from her tan-colored tweed jacket. Her long matching skirt had fared worse, bearing dark, wet smears. Contrasted with the bright blue silk suit that Courtney wore, her own scratchy suit seemed worse than frumpy, and completely inappropriate for the summer heat.
“You sure you’re okay?” Dell said, a smile curling his gorgeous mouth.
She nodded, mortified to have created such a spectacle. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said with a laugh, then leaned in and murmured, “That’s a nice pair of legs you’ve been hiding, Gabby.”
Her mouth tightened—she hated that nickname. But a little thrill bolted through her at his compliment.
“Dell,” Courtney called, “I need some help over here.”
“Coming,” he said, then he reached forward and touched his finger to the tip of Gabrielle’s nose, coming away with a smudge of dirt. “Watch out for those attack trees.”
Her throat convulsed at his close proximity. His features were strong and masculine, his short, dark hair sexily rumpled. His teeth were white against his bronze skin. His spicy cologne teased her nose. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried.
So instead, she turned and fled for the exit.
DELL KINGSTON quirked a smile as he watched the slender redhead escape from the room—the woman was certainly good at disappearing. And she was a bit of a klutz, he thought wryly, remembering the times he’d rescued her from an overflowing coffeepot, a copier machine that had gone on the offense and an avalanche of binders in the supply room. He righted the unfortunate tree, leaving mounds of dirt on the carpet.
He enjoyed teasing Gabby Flannery because she was so quick to blush, and didn’t lash back like most of the women in the department. It was obvious that she was crushing on him, and he smiled at the thought of little Gabby lying awake at night fantasizing about him.
It was sweet, really.
Although there was nothing sweet about the expanse of killer legs her tumble had exposed, or his gut-clenching reaction. He wondered idly what other secrets the flame-haired wallflower was hiding beneath those Puritan suits she wore, and just how daring the woman might be…in the right hands.
“Dell,” Courtney sang, her voice lilting higher.
“Coming,” he repeated, forcing his mind back to the happy occasion of Courtney’s departure.
They’d passed some good times between the sheets, but otherwise he and the buxom blonde were woefully incompatible. Her leaving was a win-win situation—she was moving up to the company’s Manhattan office, and he would have the coveted CEG account. With Courtney gone, no one else stood in his way. Gabby certainly didn’t present a threat—with the encouragement of a well-placed wink or two, she’d pass along everything she’d learned about CEG from working on the fringes of the account…and perhaps would fall into the role of his unofficial assistant.
Then his mind flashed back to the image of Gabby Flannery lying on the floor, her long, lean legs parted, and he pushed his tongue into his cheek. With Courtney gone, he’d also need to find a new…pastime.
And suddenly the idea of a blushing, tongue-tied, useful redhead in his bed was tremendously appealing.
2
GABRIELLE JOGGED to her cubicle, furious with herself for creating a scene that would make her the laughingstock of the office, yet again.
Tori was right—she was a dweeb.
“Hey, Gabrielle,” her friend called behind her. “Wait up!”
But Gabrielle marched into her cube, and grabbed her briefcase and purse. If she left now, she wouldn’t have to stand on the elevator with her coworkers.
“It
