Authors: Jasmine Haynes

Tags: #Romance, #Erotica, #Fiction

Show and Tell (37 page)

BOOK: Show and Tell

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“I cannot deal with this total a-hole anymore. Look at the crap he’s written. I have had it. He demands to speak to you. As my supervisor, kindly take care of the matter.”

Trinity snorted. Now she had Inga fobbing her work off. Then again, the buck gets passed
up
the command chain. She’d wished for an improvement in the tension between herself and Inga, even a mild step. Maybe having Inga ask for help with a vendor was progress. Trinity began reading the nested back and forth replies to see how Inga had screwed it all up.

After five minutes, Trinity had to admit Inga hadn’t screwed up anything. She’d been polite, conciliatory, and accommodating. The vendor was, quite simply, a total a-hole.

She wrote Inga back. Of course, she could have gotten up, walked there, and talked personally, except that Inga’s cube had been empty just now when Trinity passed by after making copies.

“You handled the situation with admirable restraint,” she wrote. “I will take over from here. Please provide me with the vendor file.”

Inga must have returned, because she shot back an e-mail right away, and Trinity’s computer beeped again.

“He’s a complete asshole, and he owes me apology.”

Trinity sighed. “I will make sure he understands the way he handled the situation was inappropriate.” She hit Send.

Beep
. She almost growled. How could Inga type that fast?

“But don’t you agree he’s a complete asshole?” Then in capitals, “THIS GUY IS A COMPLETE ASSHOLE!”

She’d never seen Inga quite so worked up—unless it was directed at Trinity herself. Still, she wrote with sensitivity. “I agree that he has mismanaged the matter. I will make it my utmost priority to rectify the problem.”

Trinity sat for a moment after she’d sent her reply. Inga had turned to her for help. It was a huge step, and she couldn’t let it go by without acknowledgment.

At Inga’s cubicle, she rapped on the metal joining. Inga whirled on her chair, stopping the circle with one foot planted on the carpet. “What?”

Trinity ignored the tone. “I wanted to say you dealt with him very diplomatically.”

“I’m always diplomatic.”

Jeez, she was giving the woman a compliment. “Of course. But you went beyond the call of duty, and I appreciate it.”

She waited for Inga to jump down her throat.

Amazingly, Inga didn’t. Instead she shrugged and played with her earlobe. “Thanks.”

Wow. Maybe she’d found a way to effect a cease-fire with the woman. Trinity smiled.

From her cubicle, Christina hissed at her as Trinity passed, and waggled a stack of invoices. “If you can look them over, these need to go out this afternoon.”

“Sure.” Most of what Trinity did as supervisor was check over someone else’s work to make sure it was correct. Tipping her head as she walked away, she figured things weren’t so bad. Christina came to her with questions, and now Inga had asked her to intercede. True, the other three Accounts Payable clerks went to Inga for everything, but Trinity had succeeded in two out of the five battles. Having won over Inga, it was only a matter of time before the others tumbled like dominoes.

She tossed the sheaf of invoices on her desk, and for a very brief moment, thought of checking for an e-mail from Scott. That, however, would be a losing battle, making her miss him more. After three weeks, he wouldn’t suddenly break down and e-mail. They were done. She had to ignore the hitch in her chest.

Instead she ticked off a few things on each invoice. They were system-generated, using the information off the order, plus the ship dates, etc., and all she looked for was if something burped. For herself, Trinity used the invoices to learn the customer base, the big hitters, location, credit status, and so on. As the sales team branched out since the merger with Castle, it was Trinity’s job to do credit checks on new customers.

She flipped a checked invoice onto the approved pile. On the next, everything was fine, a new customer buying prototypes, small potatoes, but with potential. She keyed the customer number into the system, and something turned over in her stomach.

Millennium Robotics. She could almost hear the company’s recording.
You’ve reached Millennium Robotics. If you know your party’s extension, you can dial it now . . .

And she would punch in Scott’s number.

Dear God, please do not let this be Scott’s company.

Data populated her screen. Trinity swallowed. Her guardian angel wasn’t listening. She knew the address, the number, the company logo. All off his business card. Millennium Robotics.

She stood, as if that would change all those data fields. Her stomach turned over. What if he found out who she was? What would Daddy say if Scott revealed what she’d been up to?

“What were you thinking?” Trinity whispered, and started to shake in her high heels.

“Did you need something, Trinity?” Christina called through the divider.

Yes, she needed something. A new life. Except that
this
was her new life, and she’d messed it up the same as her old life.

“Just talking to myself.” As if she were a crazy person.

Trinity gulped a needed breath of air.

She
had
gone crazy for a couple of minutes. She was a lowly supervisor next to big CFO Scott. How would he
ever
meet her? She was blowing everything out of proportion. That was the problem with Scott. She was too mixed up for a relationship with him. She’d had a major triumph with Inga, things were turning the corner in employee relations. She was becoming a stronger person—until his company’s name sent her into a tailspin.

As much as she dreamed about him, wanted him, missed him, he was bad for her. She
would
kick her addiction.

Yet it was like dying a little to think of never hearing his voice again.

THE last three weeks had been worse than anything he suffered after Katy told him she wanted a divorce. Things with his wife had been poor for so long that the divorce had almost been a relief. Yes, he’d tried to talk her out of it, for the sake of twenty-two years of marriage and for the girls. Yet in his heart, he’d known for months, maybe years, that it was over. Katy simply said it aloud.

Jezebel had left him a voice mail saying all was fine, had a great time, thanks for the laughs, not his fault, but she was outta there. He’d never gotten a Dear John voice mail before. He’d hoped she would change her mind. Here it was another Monday morning, three
weeks
later, and his in-box was still empty.

He had to laugh, even if it was pathetic. Dating and romance were no longer done face-to-face. It was an e-mail address and an in-box. How the world had changed. And he was stuck in the middle, not knowing how to find her again.

“Scott, are you ready?”

Grace braced herself on his doorjamb. They had a contract meeting with the new plating and machining vendor. Plant tour, lunch, the works. If Rudd hadn’t insisted he go, Scott would have left it to Grace. She needed more exposure anyway.

But not
that
kind of exposure. Here was a whole new Grace. In his opinion, her dress was too short for a business meeting, its neckline low cut. But God forbid he should say anything, because honestly, it was still respectable.

If Jezebel wore the outfit? He’d be drooling. The woman had him drooling, and he hadn’t seen her in twenty-one days. He could not allow himself to believe she was gone for good. Christ, if he thought that . . . hell, it didn’t bear thinking about.

He rose, grabbed his keys out of his desk. “Ready. You have the contract folder?”

She waved it. “Right here. Ron said he’ll meet us there. He’s got another meeting over that way this afternoon.”

“What about Engineering?” They were supposed to have a technical guy in on the conference.

“Coming straight from home.”

“Fine.” He grabbed his suit jacket off the rack. Then he eyed her. “You got something afterwards? Because we can go separately.” He wouldn’t mind the time by himself to think.

She shook her head. There was something different about her hair, but what? The color? “No, I’m coming straight back, so we might as well go together.”

“Okay. I’ll drive.”

In the parking lot, he politely opened her door. When he climbed into the driver’s seat, he noticed the hem of her dress riding too high on her thighs. Damn. Made him a little uncomfortable. She’d be the only woman at the meeting, and he didn’t want the Green execs thinking . . . what the hell did it matter? In a work world where damn near every day had become a casual day, at least she wasn’t wearing a pair of baggy jeans.

His mind drifted on the short drive. Grace talked, mostly about the few contract changes, and he nodded agreement without focusing on what she said. They’d already gone over it, made the adjustments, had a plan of action, but maybe she was a tad nervous sitting in a silent car.

“I did find a great gym.”

Yep, she was definitely feeling strained by the silence. “That’s great.” He wondered if he was expected to make a comment on her fitness. Whatever he said could be misconstrued, not that he figured Grace was the type to be upset by a harmless comment.

“If you’re interested in trying it, they have guest passes.”

He smiled his thanks. “I’m fine with the gym I go to.”

“I know, you probably think it’s such a meat market at those co-ed places. The new pickup joint.”

He glanced at her. “The thought hadn’t occurred to me.”

Thank God the Green facility came up on the right. Poor Grace was obviously uncomfortable alone with him, filling the time with any inane conversation. He hadn’t noticed her difficulty with small talk before, probably because their discussions were always business. Except for the time she’d told him about her divorce in the sparest of details.

Ron Rudd was in the lobby when they entered, and Dave Skid-man, the engineer, jogged in behind them. The president’s secretary arrived shortly thereafter to guide the group up to the boardroom for the meeting. An older woman with a gaze of steel, she handed out badges, then led them from the lobby entrance.

At the end of the procession, Rudd grabbed his arm on the stairs. “I sent you an e-mail.”

Holy shit.
Rudd
sent him those damn pictures? He hadn’t received one in weeks. He’d thought it was over. Now his heart pounded, and for a second he had the unconscionable urge to beat the man’s face in.

“I outlined two scenarios for improving the bottom line.”

The red haze faded from his vision. Damn, he had a one-track mind. Jezebel, making love to Jezebel in his office, tasting her on a hotel room floor, watching her give herself the best damn orgasm. And photos someone took of the two of them.

“I haven’t seen the e-mail yet,” he managed.

“I want profitability up, Sinclair.” Unspoken was that Rudd wanted it done at any cost, ethics be damned.

BOOK: Show and Tell

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