Frannie fought the urge to fidget under his perusal. The violet smudges under her eyes had taken two coats of makeup to hide and she prayed he wouldn’t notice. But he knew her well. He’d been her study partner in college as well as her best friend. When the financial group of McGee, Thompson and Fitch looked to expand the accounting department, he lobbied hard for her acceptance. It had been her ability and tenacity, though, that propelled her through the ranks until she became his assistant. She’d earned her place. He and Frannie worked well together, read each other’s body language and she thoroughly enjoyed being on his staff most days. But today he seemed too nosy.
“You okay?” His question was too probing to be casual.
Her shoulders lifted in what she hoped was nonchalance. “I’m fine. Maybe a bit jet-lagged is all.”
Her eyes darted to her phone and a niggle started at the base of her neck. He’d noticed the move. Dayum .
Steve stuck out his leg, pulling his pants up to show thin brown socks. “Here pull this one. The other leg has a bum knee.”
“I’m fine. Honest.” She smacked at his calf. “Put that away. You want somebody to sue your ass for sexual harassment?”
Again her eyes went to the phone. Steve snorted. “Meet anyone interesting while you were gone?”
She blanked her face and avoided looking at him. “What gives you that idea?”
“Because you’re acting like my sister did when she gave Cory Mitchum her phone number in ninth grade.”
Busted.
She threw a crumpled paper napkin at him and wrinkled her nose. “Butt out, Steve.”
He caught the paper ball midair and tossed it into the can with a bit of a flourish. “Now who is sexually harassing whom, asking me to stick my butt out? Have you no shame, Ms. Sullivan?”
“Shame on you for being nosy.” She pulled a manila folder across the desk and asked an obtuse question to divert his attention back to work. It worked. Within minutes, she had him buried under so many work details he had totally forgotten her preoccupation with the phone.
The telephone’s intercom toned with a loud noise, drawing Frannie and Steve’s attention from the spreadsheet they were bent over. Tracey’s voice filtered through.
“Mr. Sullivan’s on line four. He says your voicemail’s full.”
That’s because I turned it off to avoid listening to your sweet Southern charm.
With a fierce scowl, Frannie crumbled a yellow sticky note and replied through clenched teeth. “Tell Mr. Sullivan I said to drop dead.”
“Well, that certainly sounds like a story I want to hear.” Steve laughed but the intercom cut off any response Frannie might have been about to make.
“Mr. Sullivan advises that he loves you, will you marry him and what time do you get off work?”
Stars swam in front of her eyes. She sank to her chair, covering her face in embarrassment. Did he have to show off his craziness to everybody? Why couldn’t he just go play in traffic or something?
“Tell Mr. Sullivan I said he’s a lunatic, no I will not and not until the second Tuesday of next week.”
“Mr. Sullivan advises he’ll be waiting.” The crackling phone line couldn’t hide the amusement in the young office manager’s voice. It was echoed in Steve’s bright blue eyes.
“Not. A. Word,” she threatened him with a pointed finger. Holding his hands up in surrender, he backed out of her office.
“Not a word. But I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
“Mr. Sullivan on line two.”
“Tell him to leave me alone!”
“Mr. Sullivan advises he loves you, will you marry him and wants to know if you prefer veal or lamb?”
“Tell him he’s a fruitcake, no I won’t and I don’t eat baby animals.”
“Mr. Sullivan advises that’s very sweet and you’re a truly compassionate woman.”
“Tell him he’s a complete jackass in need of a lobotomy.”
“He’s on line three this time.”
“What can he possibly want now? He’s called
“You okay?” His question was too probing to be casual.
Her shoulders lifted in what she hoped was nonchalance. “I’m fine. Maybe a bit jet-lagged is all.”
Her eyes darted to her phone and a niggle started at the base of her neck. He’d noticed the move. Dayum .
Steve stuck out his leg, pulling his pants up to show thin brown socks. “Here pull this one. The other leg has a bum knee.”
“I’m fine. Honest.” She smacked at his calf. “Put that away. You want somebody to sue your ass for sexual harassment?”
Again her eyes went to the phone. Steve snorted. “Meet anyone interesting while you were gone?”
She blanked her face and avoided looking at him. “What gives you that idea?”
“Because you’re acting like my sister did when she gave Cory Mitchum her phone number in ninth grade.”
Busted.
She threw a crumpled paper napkin at him and wrinkled her nose. “Butt out, Steve.”
He caught the paper ball midair and tossed it into the can with a bit of a flourish. “Now who is sexually harassing whom, asking me to stick my butt out? Have you no shame, Ms. Sullivan?”
“Shame on you for being nosy.” She pulled a manila folder across the desk and asked an obtuse question to divert his attention back to work. It worked. Within minutes, she had him buried under so many work details he had totally forgotten her preoccupation with the phone.
The telephone’s intercom toned with a loud noise, drawing Frannie and Steve’s attention from the spreadsheet they were bent over. Tracey’s voice filtered through.
“Mr. Sullivan’s on line four. He says your voicemail’s full.”
That’s because I turned it off to avoid listening to your sweet Southern charm.
With a fierce scowl, Frannie crumbled a yellow sticky note and replied through clenched teeth. “Tell Mr. Sullivan I said to drop dead.”
“Well, that certainly sounds like a story I want to hear.” Steve laughed but the intercom cut off any response Frannie might have been about to make.
“Mr. Sullivan advises that he loves you, will you marry him and what time do you get off work?”
Stars swam in front of her eyes. She sank to her chair, covering her face in embarrassment. Did he have to show off his craziness to everybody? Why couldn’t he just go play in traffic or something?
“Tell Mr. Sullivan I said he’s a lunatic, no I will not and not until the second Tuesday of next week.”
“Mr. Sullivan advises he’ll be waiting.” The crackling phone line couldn’t hide the amusement in the young office manager’s voice. It was echoed in Steve’s bright blue eyes.
“Not. A. Word,” she threatened him with a pointed finger. Holding his hands up in surrender, he backed out of her office.
“Not a word. But I can’t wait to see what happens next.”
“Mr. Sullivan on line two.”
“Tell him to leave me alone!”
“Mr. Sullivan advises he loves you, will you marry him and wants to know if you prefer veal or lamb?”
“Tell him he’s a fruitcake, no I won’t and I don’t eat baby animals.”
“Mr. Sullivan advises that’s very sweet and you’re a truly compassionate woman.”
“Tell him he’s a complete jackass in need of a lobotomy.”
“He’s on line three this time.”
“What can he possibly want now? He’s called
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