Page 63 of Hard to Hold
I noticed how Wolfe took a step to the side, putting some space between them as he pointed out something on the table. The woman quickly closed the distance between them, her hand coming to rest on Wolfe’s arm.
Nope.
Uh-uh.
A foreign possessiveness flooded me, and the next thing I knew, I was walking down the stairs, my boots clanging on the metal. Wolfe’s eyes quickly shot to me, and I saw relief, as though my coming down was going to possibly save him from the woman with the red talons practically digging into his forearm.
“Hey,” I greeted, walking right up to the two of them. “I didn’t realize we had someone coming to pick up a piece today.”
Wolfe glanced at the brunette, then at me. “Amy, this is Melissa Stephenson. Mrs. Stephenson, this is Amy Smith. She’s our new office manager.”
Mrs. Stephenson.
No doubt, Wolfe had tacked that on to remind the woman that she was married.
Not that it seemed to faze her. She didn’t take her hand off Wolfe’s arm.
I gave her another once-over, starting with her professionally highlighted brown hair, her painted-on eyebrows, the fancy shimmering eye shadow, dark liner around her eyes, and the shiny gloss on her red lips. All the way down to her perfectly painted toes peeking out of her impractical shoes.
“Nice to meet you, Amy.” The woman said my name like it gave her a bad taste in her mouth.
“You, too,” I said. “Is this your dining table?”
When the two of them turned toward the table, I purposely inserted myself between them. It was almost funny considering I looked like a child standing between my parents.
“It is. Wolfe was just explaining the process to me.”
The process? Really?
How freaking hard could it be? The woman surely knew what it took to build a table, slap some stain and sealant on it.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t that easy, but it shouldn’t require an educational course.
“It’ll be delivered on Friday,” Wolfe informed her, his hand sliding down my back, his finger hooking into the belt loop on the back of my jeans. Anyone looking at us would likely miss the movement, but his simple touch stole the air from my lungs momentarily.
“I’d like for you to personally deliver it,” Mrs. Stephenson said, turning to face Wolfe. “I’ll pay extra.”
Wolfe was shaking his head.
“I’m sorry,” I inserted. “That won’t be possible. Wolfe has another project he has to have completed by then.” I didn’t know that for sure, but hey, it sounded good.
Wolfe tugged at my belt loop and I had to bite back a smile.
“Then I can wait for it,” Mrs. Stephenson said. “Just pencil me in for the next available day that you can deliver it. I’m not trusting it in anyone else’s hands.”
Wolfe sighed.
“I’ll check the calendar,” I told her. “And I’ll call you to let you know.”
“That’ll be perfect.” The woman’s eyes never left Wolfe’s face.
It wasn’t enough that she was married. Based on the crow’s feet around her eyes and the permanent wrinkle in her forehead, I would guess the woman was over fifty. At least two decades older than Wolfe.
A cougar after a Wolfe.
I laughed but managed to cover it up with a cough. Sort of.
I turned to Wolfe. “I actually need your help with something upstairs, if you don’t mind.”
