TOOK her son of a bitch and my-worst-nightmare-just-walked-through-the-door expression as good signs. If she was that emphatic, that reactive, then Darren was right and she was interested.
“It’s been a long time, Giselle.”
She knelt to gather her papers. “Not long enough, Sam,” she said, but scrambling around on the floor sort of ruined her haughty tone.
He squatted to help, bringing him that much closer to her. He breathed in her scent and drank in the sight of her. Despite the passage of time and all the water under their respective bridges, he felt the impact of her in his gut, the same as he had the first time he’d met her. Back then, she’d worn her brown hair long and pulled up in a clip. Now she sported a sleek chin-length bob with red highlights. “I like your hair, it suits you.”
“That’s a load off my mind,” she said without looking at him. She leaned forward to pick up the last piece of paper but he beat her to it. He held it out. Her eyes met his, and the rest of the world faded to nothingness. Once again, he was lost in those hazel eyes, and despite her sarcasm he recognized the flare of desire in their depths.
“Obviously, you’ve met before,” the other woman in the cubicle said, jerking him back to the rest of the world. Sam had forgotten she was there.
He stood and slipped his hand beneath Giselle’s elbow to help her up. She straightened, shrugging off his touch. His gut knotted from just that brief contact with her.
He turned to the other woman and extended his hand. “Sam McKendrick, Giselle’s new love slave.”
The woman snickered. Giselle glared.
She shook his hand. “Monica Dixon, department secretary extraordinaire.”
Monica Dixon radiated curiosity.
“Sam was my sister Helene’s first husband,” Giselle said.
Clean, simple, straightforward. She deliberately ignored his love slave reference.
“Your ex-brother-in-law? No kidding. Small world.” Monica looked from him to Giselle and shrugged. “At least it’s not your ex-husband. That would be uncomfortable.”
“The ninth ring of hell,” Giselle said.
Hot damn! She wasn’t pining for Barry post-divorce. The guy had never been right for her. Standing by and watching Giselle marry a man who was obviously all wrong for her, who didn’t appreciate her, was one of the hardest things Sam had ever done. But he’d been married to Helene and there’d been no other option, no other choice. Now was a whole new ball game. Sam was single and, according to Darren, as of mid-September, so was Giselle. “I heard you and Barry had split.”
Monica backed out of the cubicle opening. “I’ll just leave the two of you to play catch-up and sort things out. I’m going to lunch.”
Giselle slanted her an amused glance. “I thought you were skipping lunch today.”
The woman offered a conspiratorial smile. “Not now. See ya.”
Obviously an inside joke.
Giselle turned to face him, her hair framing her face. Her earlier amusement disappeared, leaving her hazel eyes curiously flat.
“I don’t want to work with you,” she said, crossing her arms over her rounded breasts, which were impossible to ignore in a curve-hugging T-shirt beneath her well-cut pantsuit jacket. He’d never forgotten that red bra beneath her white T-shirt when he first met her. Forget, hell. He thought of it often. Was she wearing a red bra beneath her T-shirt now?
“Really? And I thought son of a bitch was an exclamation of delight.” He propped himself against the other end of her desk. “Why wouldn’t you want to work with me? I’m very good at what I do.”
“Maybe I object on moral grounds.”
“We’re mature adults. I’m sure we can both make it through four days and remain civil and professional.”
Any further objections on her part would paint her as being immature and unprofessional. He’d learned at an early age that you couldn’t wait for life to hand you things. If you wanted something, you worked your ass off and made it happen. He’d worked hard at school and a career that took him far from the housing projects he’d grown up in. But it was true enough that you could take the man out of the projects but you could never take the projects out of the man. Sam would never be content to sit back and take what life gave him. He wanted Giselle. He would’ve never, ever approached her as long as either of them were married, but now he wanted to see if there might be something there, if what he’d felt the first time he saw her, if what he sensed from her was real.
She narrowed her eyes, fully realizing he’d just backed her into a corner and thrown down the gauntlet. Meeting his challenge head-on, she set her chin at a determined angle. “Fine. I’ll e-mail you the briefing notes this afternoon. I’ve got a few updates.” Her lips tightened, precisely the same way Helene’s did when she was pissed. “Since we’re discussing professionalism, we’re sharing a two-bedroom cottage. I’d prefer you not entertain while we’re there.”
“I think I can manage. It’s not as if I keep a harem.”
“You did while you were married.” She lobbed the accusation at him.
He took the hit. He’d wondered how long it would take her to bring it up. Less than fifteen minutes. One drunk night. One woman. One big-ass mistake. Getting drunk had not been the best response to finding a guy in his bed with his wife.
Had Helene told her family she’d been sleeping with not just any guy but Sam’s best friend for months before he found them in bed together? Probably not. And it didn’t really matter because it didn’t exonerate him. Sleeping with a stranger because he was angry and hurt had been wrong. And playing the blame game accomplished nothing.
“Hardly a harem. But to put your mind at ease, I’m not going there to look for another woman. I will, of course, expect the same courtesy from you.”
For a moment she looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected that. “Not a problem. You know Helene’s remarried.” She relayed the news, ever the big sister. It had shades of the day she’d pointed out Helene’s homecoming accomplishments.
“Of course I know.” He laughed. “Danny was still mid-proposal when she phoned to tell me.”
Giselle didn’t appreciate his dry sense of humor. “She’s very happy now.”
“That’s a relief.”
She narrowed her eyes at him, again—she had the eye-narrowing down to a fine art. She’d mistaken his comment for sarcasm. Although he wasn’t happy that Helene had slept around on him with his best friend, and God knows he still missed Danny, Sam had known their marriage was over before then. After his initial bout of anger, he’d realized he was actually relieved that their mistake of a marriage was over.
Giselle ignored his comment and shoved her laptop into a padded carrier. “I need your e-mail to forward the project outline.”
He plucked a business card from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “I’m looking forward to Sedona.”
