She collected and paid for the orders, then drove down Central Avenue and into the parking garage adjacent to the building Empire Creations was housed in. Balancing the two trays of coffee in her hands, she somehow managed to get to the office on the 30th floor without spilling any on the white blouse she wore—a miracle, since she’d already stained three shirts in as many weeks doing just this.
Her low-heeled pumps clicked against the black tile floor as she headed past the wide console that was her desk, through the hall, and into the meeting room, where several staff were already waiting—including Mark, who was making notes on a pad of paper as he sat at the head of the table.
She set the coffee down near him, and froze momentarily when he looked her way. He was too handsome for a Plain Jane like her to be around him without floundering for oxygen. The ceiling lights glanced off his black hair, slicked back from a tanned face with a straight nose, lips she knew could curve absolutely wickedly when he was looking at a woman he liked, and a strong, square chin. His eyes were such a dark brown they appeared to be black, and they pierced her like arrows now, something intensely carnal in them she wasn’t at all comfortable with.
“Good morning, Ms. Hewitt,” he greeted her in that deep, rich voice that was like the caress of a man’s strong hand down her spine.#p#分页标题#e#
“Morning, Mr. Donaldson,” she murmured quietly in return, dropping her eyes to the coffee tray she’d set down so she wouldn’t have to look into his impossibly dark eyes. She began pulling out the different coffee’s and reading the labels on them before passing them out. When she got to his she set it down in front of him, her eyes fixated on the glossy wooden table, and she nearly jumped out of her skin as his hand curled around the cup, strong, warm fingers touching hers before she could let go. Startled, she looked up to see that carnal gleam was in his eye, and this time that wicked curve to his lips was there to match it. Her pulse tripped as color heated her cheeks. Surely he wasn’t looking at her like that. She was just a wallflower—a nobody.
The spell of the moment was shattered when Dave came rushing over, his pale face stretched in a grimace of a smile. The loathing in his blue eyes as he looked her way told her loud and clear that he was not pleased with what he was seeing. “I’ll take that off your hands, Ms. Hewitt,” he told her, elbowing her out of the way none too gently. He spied the caramel macchiato and snatched it up. “Ah. I see you’ve forgotten my own coffee, so I’ll make do with this. You can go back to your post up front, Ms. Hewitt.”
Katherine balled her hands into fists, but she was still new here and she couldn’t risk speaking out and losing her job. Prepared to walk off without her coffee, her head shot up in surprise as Mark spoke.
“Mr. Harrison, you know full well you never ordered any coffee this morning, which is why Ms. Hewitt did not bring any for you. You always complain about the inferiority of the Starbucks brand and blend your own at home, which is in the thermos you’ve left out on the table over there.” Mark pointed to where it sat next to the portfolio case Dave was always carrying around, and though his tone was mild there was a hint of steel in it that had Dave’s spine stiffening and a line of sweat breaking out over his pale forehead. “Please don’t play games during office hours, and give Ms. Hewitt her coffee back.”
“Of…of course,” Dave stammered, his eyes wide with shock. He turned and handed Katherine her macchiato. “Apologies, Ms. Hewitt. It was my mistake.” The resentment flashing in those pale eyes told her it was no such thing, and they both knew it. As it was, she gave him a small smirk that didn’t even come close to the tap dance of joy her heart was performing, and took the drink from him.
“Thank you,” she told Dave, and then looked past him to Mark, who was watching them both. “Good morning, sir.”
She turned and left the room, and a tingle went up her spine as she felt Mark’s eyes on her the entire way out the door.
*
Mark watched the subtle sway of Katherine’s hips as she walked out the door, drink in hand. She really wasn’t much of a looker at first glance—she wore the same black pencil skirts, white blouses and low-heeled pumps every day, and her brown hair, while glossy, was always pulled back into a no-nonsense bun. Her make-up was always professionally done, but low key, the buttons on her blouses were always completely done up so as to show not a hint of cleavage, and she always wore pantyhose over those legs of hers despite the sweltering heat that was summer.
She was always very quiet, very unassuming, and wouldn’t look him in the eye if she could help it. Their conversations were always very brief, and she never tried to engage him in small talk. If it weren’t for the surreptitious glances she would send his way when she thought he wasn’t looking, he would swear she swung the other way. But he suspected she was exactly what she appeared to be—shy, quiet, unassuming. A wallflower that preferred to duck her head and avoid him rather than raise it like many other women did and flirt shamelessly with him.