areas?”
“The center’s divided into four quadrants,” Rick said. “Our unit fills orders for Quad B. I’ll show you. We’ll walk the whole quad. Actually, you’ll probably want to become familiar with all the quads eventually.”
“Why is that?”
“Sometimes certain products sell heavily, like when we’re running a special promotion or something, and you might be asked to fill in at one of the other quads.”
Alex nodded. That made sense. “Does P.J. supervise all the quads?”
Rick nodded. “Yep. She’s the boss. Only one higher than her here is Steve Mallery, the GM.”
Just then, the girl with the purple hair skated by.
“Ruby,” Alex said.
Rick laughed. “You know about her, huh?”
“The clerk who brought me down from HR told me her name.”
“Ruby looks like a punk rocker with those tattoos and all the body piercings, but she’s okay. She’s one of our best pickers.”
“I admit I was surprised to see the roller blades.”
“A couple of the kids use them. Wish I could skate. I’d wear ’em, too. You can sure get around faster. But I’d probably kill myself. Or if not that, break a leg or something.”
“I know what you mean,” Alex said, although he prided himself on being physically fit. Still, he wasn’t a skater. Never had been.
Rick smiled and turned his attention back to the merchandise. “Okay, Alex, lesson number one. Here’s how we stock the products….”
Frat boy.
It was the first thing P.J. thought when she was introduced toAlex. What was he doing there? All P.J.’d had to do was look at him to know he didn’t belong. He was too good-looking and way too polished. His hands alone told the story. No calluses. No rough skin. Clean, manicured nails. Long, elegant fingers.
And then there were his teeth. P.J. always noticed people’s teeth, for they indicated class and financial status more than anything else. And Alex’s teeth were gorgeous—straight and white. Obviously, they’d been well cared for.
She wondered if he’d once held a top-level job, maybe lost it due to drugs or alcohol. Or maybe he’s a corporate spy, sent here to find out if we’re doing a good job. If I’m doing a good job.
The thought was sobering. It also pissed her off. Because P.J. worked hard, harder even than her crew. She had to. She was a woman supervising mostly men. She constantly had to prove herself.
Geez, if corporate wanted to know what was going on here, all they had to do was talk to Steve, or better yet, be above board and come and observe the center openly. They’d soon see what a tight ship she ran.
Well, she’d keep a close eye on Alex Noble. And if he was a spy, she’d soon find out. In the meantime, she wouldn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. And yet, even as she was telling herself all of this, she couldn’t deny the frisson of attraction she’d felt when they shook hands. Acknowledging this, she was infuriated with her body’s betrayal.
What’s wrong with you? Alex Noble was so not the kind of man she wanted in her life. Ever since she was old enough to know better, she’d envisioned herself with a man who held the same beliefs she did: say, a union boss or champion of migrant workers. Someone she could respect and admire for his ideas and not how well he filled out a pair of jeans.
Certainly not for his sexy dimples or his thick, wavy hair or his dark-chocolate eyes.
Dark chocolate!
Had she really thought that?
But even as she chastised herself for the gushy term, she knew it applied. His eyes really had reminded her of dark chocolate. Sweet, melt-in-your-mouth dark chocolate. The kind of eyes a woman could lose herself in. Just remembering the way he’d looked at her gave her a funny feeling in her stomach.
Oh, man, Kincaid, you’ve been celibate way too long. You really need to get laid.
“P.J.”
P.J. jumped.
“You looked like you were miles away. I called your name twice.”
The speaker was P.J.’s best friend at work—Anna Garcia. Actually, for the past six years, Anna had been P.J.’s best friend, period. P.J. smiled at the pretty brunette. “What’s up?”
“We having lunch together today?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Want to eat in the cafeteria or outside?”
“It’s a nice day. Let’s eat outside.” When the distribution center had been built, HuntCom had made sure the area surrounding was beautifully landscaped and that there were pockets of trees and flower beds interspersed with walkways and areas with picnic tables. Employees were urged to use the grounds on their breaks, although the smokers grumbled that there were too few places for them to indulge in their habit. Although P.J. didn’t admire many corporate titans—she’d grown up around too many of them—Harrison Hunt actually seemed to care about his employees.
Be fair. So does Dad.
Well, yes, her own father also treated his employees fairly and sometimes even generously. But he and Harrison Hunt seemed to be the exceptions.
After Anna had headed back to the mailing center, which she supervised, P.J. printed out the newest batch of orders that had come through in the past hour. After sorting them, she handed the orders for Quads A, C, and D to Chick Fogarty, her assistant, to distribute, then walked toward aisle 24, where they stocked some of the peripherals in their inventory. She knew this was where Rick would have started Alex’s training.
Sure enough, the two men were standing in front of the section where the eighteen different mouses they sold were stored, and although P.J. stood well back as she watched, she could hear Rick naming them as he pointed out how they were arranged by model number.
“I can’t believe there are so many different kinds,” Alex was saying. “Do we really sell all of them?”
“Yeah, we do,” Rick answered. “Hey, I personally have three at home. A wireless, a basic USB plug-in, and a mini for when I travel. You got a computer?”
Alex nodded. “Yeah. I bought myself a laptop last year.”
“One of ours?”
“Uh, no. I guess I shouldn’t say that too loud.”
“Not if you don’t want the boss lady to hear.” Rick glanced over at P.J. and grinned. “’Course, it’s too late. She already did.”
Alex whipped around.
P.J. almost laughed at the guilty expression on his face. Walking over to them, she said, “It’s okay, Alex.
