Authors: Jasmine Haynes

Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction

Show and Tell (30 page)

BOOK: Show and Tell

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He scribbled on his pad, then smiled beatifically. Daddy ordered the salmon. Good. It had lots of omega-3 fish oil. Very healthy.

“How’s the job going?” he asked when they were alone.

He didn’t call her
sweetie
or
honey
or any endearment at all. “Well, I did have a little issue today,” she admitted.

He polished off the last bite of calamari, and Trinity wished she’d shared. His mouth closed, he picked his teeth clean with his tongue, then casually said, “So I heard.”

Mr. Wanamaker had probably run straight up to executive row. The reason he didn’t have his office up there himself was so he could keep an eye on his harem of accountants.

Gosh, that sounded bitter. She had to stop that brand-new tendency she’d developed. It was very unbecoming.

“I understand,” Daddy went on, “that there was a half-day work stoppage.”

She cringed. “Everything was back up by eleven so it wasn’t a
whole
half day.”

He ignored the correction. “All because you were late?”

“Actually it was because I didn’t see the note Inga left telling me she’d run everything.” Now that wasn’t casting blame.

“But if you never saw the note, Trinity, how did it come to be crumpled up in your wastebasket?”

Mr. Ackerman had come looking for it so she’d had to show him, and darn it, Daddy had heard, too. “I don’t know how it got there.” She would not fall into the trap of complaining to her father about a problem she had to solve on her own.

Her father swirled the ice cubes in his glass of tea. At least she hoped it was tea and not something stronger. “When you asked for this job, I was happy to give it to you.”

“I know, and I appreciate that.”

“But I thought you’d take it seriously.”

Her ribs hurt as if someone had kicked her. “I
am
taking it seriously. I’m doing everything I can to learn the procedures. I even suggested we put in safeguards to ensure a duplicate download can’t happen again.”

He circled his hand in the air. “Big whoop-de-doo. Plug the hole after you make the mistake.”

His words sliced her to ribbons. She didn’t even have a come-back. Daddy had
never
talked to her that way, at least not before she started working for him.

The French heartthrob arrived with their meals, bending at the knees to slide her plate in front of her. The crepes were swimming in all that creamy sauce, the air laden with the overpowering scent of garlic. No longer hungry, she pushed the china away with her thumb.

“You don’t like?” her waiter asked after setting down Daddy’s salmon.

“She just doesn’t eat, that’s all.” His tone denigrating, her father grimaced.

This wasn’t her father. This wasn’t even her life. It was someone else’s life, as if she were playing a part in that
Freaky Friday
movie and switched places with . . . a nincompoop.

“It’s a lot of garlic,” she tried to explain.

“Would you like the spinach salad instead, no dressing, no bacon bits, no egg crumbles?” The poor man remembered. Probably because he thought she was a total freak.

“Yes, please.” She sounded like a child, though not Daddy’s perfect little girl.

Will the real Trinity Green please get her head out of her
—She didn’t finish the thought. Instead, she pulled the crepes right back in front of her. “I’ve changed my mind. My olfactory senses have gotten used to the garlic, and this is what I want.” She’d eat the crepes. She was
not
a child.

When the waiter was gone, she put her hand over her father’s, stilling him before he reached for his fork.

“Daddy, you’re right. I have improvements to make in my work attitude. If you’ll have a little more patience with me, I will not make the same mistake again. I won’t be late, either.” She’d put the alarm clock across the room so she didn’t accidentally push Snooze. “I will be the best Accounts Receivable supervisor Green Industries has ever had.”

“We’ve never had an Accounts Receivable supervisor before.”

“See?” She beamed. “I’m already the best, and I’ll keep getting better.”

She would not let Inga Rice get the better of her. She was, after all, her mother’s daughter, and her mom would not have given up without a fight.

BY Friday, Trinity was heavy into withdrawal. Her hands shook, her face felt flushed, and her nighttime Scott dreams flashed before her eyes at odd times. Especially in boring meetings. It had been three days, sixteen hours, and thirty-six minutes since she’d seen him, talked to him, touched him, kissed him, and she was going crazy. And it wasn’t the sex she missed.

In the break room, she set the coffee brewing for her umpteenth cup of the day, and it was only one thirty. If Scott didn’t e-mail today—he’d said Friday, right, and it
was
Friday—she wasn’t sure how she’d make it through the weekend.

“Trinity?”

Boyd had sneaked up on her. “What?” It came out far too harsh. “I mean, what can I do for you; I’m making coffee, and you’re more than welcome to have a cup when it’s done.”

“Actually,” he said, “I wanted to apologize.”

The rich coffee scent in the air made her light-headed. Boyd was a good-looking young man. He was tall—he’d have been taller if he didn’t slump—with a full head of hair and a sweet smile. He might be good for Josie. Except that Josie could be a little dominant, and that might not be so good for Boyd. On the other hand, a dominant woman could be exactly what he needed.

“What on earth do you have to apologize for?” Putting her mug near the coffee stream, she switched out the pot for her cup, filling it with the brew. Over the last three days, sixteen hours and change, she’d perfected the maneuver.

“For Tuesday?” Boyd’s rising tone made it a question.

Tuesday? Two days, sixteen hours, and—
oh stop?!
—Tuesday was Inga-debacle day. She held up a hand. “You don’t need to.”

“I have to explain. I should have figured out the issue with the negative cash balance before I went racing over to Inga. I thought it was her fault, and—”

“And you wanted to cover her butt before anyone found out.” Oops, had she said that? She almost put her hand over her mouth, but she was tried of watching what she said so no one got pissed off at her.
Pissed off.
It was a new phrase for her lexicon.

“No.” While Boyd talked, Trinity expertly replaced the coffeepot and poured flavored creamer—another addiction—into her cup. “I sort of went over there to lord it over her that she’d sent out too many checks with last Friday’s run.”

Oh. That was a horse of different color. Maybe red, signifying anger. Boyd didn’t like Inga. She thought
everyone
, certainly all the males in the vicinity, liked Inga.

Boyd shot a look over his shoulder as if to make sure they were still alone.

“I’ll tell you if anyone’s coming,” she offered.

“Inga was the one who insisted I tell Ackerman. She said she hadn’t printed anymore checks than he’d approved, and that maybe someone had given him incorrect cash numbers.” He glanced at his shoes sheepishly. “I have to admit I was trying to cover my own ass at that point.”

Well, well, well. “And who thought Mr. Wanamaker needed to know?” She held up a hand. “Nope, don’t tell me.”

“Inga,” he mouthed, then used his voice. “If I’d figured out the problem, I would have come to you first, then Ackerman, and it wouldn’t have been such a big deal.”

So, she’d gotten into the crosshairs of Boyd’s little tiff with Inga. Inga had engineered it, though, first the note in the trash instead of on Trinity’s desk, then she sicced Ackerman and Wanamaker on her. Oh, how Inga must have beamed when the whole thing got blown out of proportion.

The question was what to do. Trinity hadn’t figured that out. Maybe if she wasn’t so busy counting the days, hours, and minutes since her last Scott encounter . . . She didn’t realize she’d made a horrible face until Boyd’s eyes widened.

She patted his arm. “I appreciate the apology. It’s not necessary, though. I learned a lot from my mistake.” Yes, she’d been instituting checks and balances, writing procedures, etc., yadda yadda, ad nauseam.

“Thanks, Trin.”

She cocked her head and let out a gust of air. Trin. It sounded nice, friendly. “You’re welcome, Boyd.”

When she returned to her desk, there was a Scott mail.

“Happy Valentine’s Day. Meet me for dinner.”

That was all. She started to hyperventilate and couldn’t hear a thing over the thumping of her heart.

FOLLOWING the maitre d’ across the restaurant, she stole Scott’s breath. Her blonde hair curled softly, cascading over her bare shoulders. The beaded halter neck of her black dress wrapped around her throat like a collar, and the soft material draped her curves. The short length revealed a tempting taste of luscious, stocking-encased thigh. He wanted her. Badly. At his table, in his bed, on his arm, a part of his life.

In the four days since he’d seen her, he’d learned that much about his needs. Perhaps the mystery surrounding her fueled his desires, enhanced the excitement, elevated her to an unobtainable fantasy, making him wish to possess her all the more. This woman wasn’t a one-night stand, and he would be doing them both a disservice if he didn’t explore the possibility of a longer-lasting relationship between them. Even if he had to force the idea on her at first.

There was truly one way to convince her they deserved a chance at something more. He had to share everything about his life with her. Especially the two most important people.

He rose as she approached the table. The restaurant he’d chosen was elegant, as befitted her, the appointments classy, the waiters attentive, and the tables distanced to allow intimate conversation. He’d requested one in the front corner window overlooking the city lights along the busy street. The wine he’d ordered with her in mind, a sweet white he knew she’d delight in as she had everything else he’d fed her.

“Good evening, my dear.” He kissed her cheek before the maitre d’ seated her next to him. He was so damn cranked up for having missed her all week. His world seemed crazy without her voice in it.

Once they were alone, he raised her hand to his lips, pressing another kiss to her skin, breathing her in as he might a perfectly scented rose. “Thank you for coming.”

She eyed him, a smile flirting with her lips. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to impress me. I’m sure it took quite some doing to get a reservation on Valentine’s Day.”

He’d booked the table two weeks in advance, not with her in mind but when he knew Lexa and Brooke would be home. Keeping the info to himself, he stroked her hand. “You’re worth it.”

She laughed, soft, musical, strumming a chord that reached straight to his cock. “You are pouring it on thick.”

“Maybe.” He didn’t think so.

BOOK: Show and Tell

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