Page 8 of Not Safe for Work
Chapter Two
It seemed best to put the whole incident out of her mind. Partly because it was just an anomaly in her otherwise steady and sensible life. But mostly because whenever she did think about it, her face got all red and hot. She would find herself suddenly dropping things. Her ability to hold a conversation seemed to disappear. Twice she trailed off in the middle of a sentence while speaking to an important client.
She just couldn’t let that sort of thing happen.
Not if she wanted Hartford to remain in the dark—and god knows she did. The very worst thing she could imagine was him guessing. He would probably clamp her into some stocks and then have everyone hurl eggs at her. At the very least she would get those pale blue eyes on her—the ones that seemed so lovely, until they turned cold. And then the mouth, which she tried to not think of as sensuous, would thin, and words would slice out of him.
Like the ones he was saying to her right now, for example.
“Do you honestly believe a lewd display in the workplace with my second in command is a productive and appropriate use of your time, Ms. Elliot?”
She looked up from her iPad, finger still poised over the schedule they had been reviewing.
Her heart was not yet beating fast, but it was getting there.
Had he just said what she thought he’d said?
It seemed like he might have. His lips were even thinner than she’d imagined. His gorgeously sharp jaw was clenched tighter than a miser’s fist. And his eyes . . . they were shards of blue flint. He could have cut her with them.
Yet she still couldn’t quite believe it.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Hartford,” she said.
“I mean the sex you had in my brand-new office.”
“I thought it was Abel’s office.”
“So then you do know what I’m referring to.”
She shook her head, suddenly breathless. Her mind raced for excuses, reasons, ways to keep up with this conversation. “No, I just assumed. I assumed that was what you meant.”
“You know what I think of assuming, Ms. Elliot.”
“Yes, that only morons and liars do it.”
“Exactly the case. So tell me, which are you? A moron, or a liar?” he asked, voice now much meaner than it had been at the start.
It sounded like he was tightening screws inside himself.
Tense, winding up to something terrible. And it was only getting worse.
“Right now I feel like a little of both,” she said, red-faced and struggling.
Barely able to get out a word before he snapped back:
“At last, we have an accurate assessment of the situation.”
“Mr. Hartford, let me just explain myself. You see, the thing is, I—”
He held up one long-fingered hand, like a man about to conduct a non-existent symphony. Soon, the agonizing music would start.
“I must stop you there, Ms. Elliot. After all, there is absolutely no possible explanation you could ever give me that would mitigate such disgusting behavior. To cavort in such a manner with my most trusted and respected associate is so far beyond the pale I can scarcely comprehend it.”
“But I didn’t—that wasn’t—”
“You know I despise the word but even more than the word assume.”
“Yes I do, only the thing is that this didn’t happen like—”
