CEO's Expectant Secretary(45)

He blinked, a flicker of emotion flashing through his eyes before his expression became inscrutable. “She’s cleared,” Logan said to the security guard.

“Just for tonight?” the guard asked.

“For anytime,” Logan said. “Any questions from anyone, ask me.” Logan turned to the elevator and swiped his card. Then he extended his hand. “Mrs. Maddox, your husband is hunched over his desk. He needs a break.”

Feeling a strange combination of triumph and gratitude, she walked toward the elevator. She stopped just before she stepped into it. Sighing, she pulled out one of the pieces of pie and gave it to Logan. “No obligation. No payback. No bribe,” she said. “Enjoy it and find a woman who will bake a pie for you every now and then.”

She walked into the elevator and punched the button for Brock’s apartment. Gripping the basket tightly, she counted the floors as she rose. Finally, she arrived on Brock’s private floor and tiptoed into the darkened suite. She and Brock had spent so much time here. She smiled as she remembered sharing Chinese takeout, laughter and amazing sex. She remembered holding him and feeling him relax in her arms. Brock was always so tense; it gave her such pleasure that he could actually feel at ease enough with her that he could rest.

Tonight, she hoped she could help him the same way she once had. The room was actually a bit chilly. She glanced around, glimpsing a fine layer of dust and smelling the faint scent of mustiness. “Oh, my goodness,” she murmured and turned on the light.

If she didn’t know better, she would suspect that no one had been here since the last time she and Brock had shared a night together. That couldn’t be possible, she told herself. She slid her finger through the dust on a table against the wall and walked toward the bedroom. The large bed was neatly made, the bedside tables empty. She walked into the bathroom and there was nothing on the counter. She rubbed her fingers over the bristles of the toothbrush. They were dry.

Elle couldn’t deny the fact that the clear evidence of Brock’s absence comforted her terrified heart. She hated the idea that he might have replaced her. Every indication suggested that he hadn’t.

She pulled the bottle of red wine from the basket and poured it in a glass she pulled from the cabinet. Inhaling deeply, she savored the bouquet of the wine and then poured herself a glass of sparkling water the chef had packed for her. She pulled several candles from a different cabinet and lit them. After she set out the picnic, she took the backstairs to Brock’s office and knocked on his closed door.

No response. She knocked again.

“Hello?” Brock’s voice said from the other side of the door. “Who is it?”

“Your evil wife,” she said.

The door immediately opened and Brock stared her, his shirt loosened, his tie discarded, his expression stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“Dinner,” she said and kissed his cheek.

“Where?” he asked, looking at her empty hands.

“Upstairs,” she said and smiled. “If you can spare a few minutes.”

Brock met her gaze and his lids lowered in sexual response. “I haven’t been to my apartment since the last time you and I were together,” he said.

“I know,” she said. “Time we changed that, don’t you think?”

He took her hand and slid his fingers through hers. “Sounds good to me.”

She led him up the back stairs to the apartment where she’d left candles glowing in the darkness.

“Nice,” he said.

“It gets better,” she said and led him to the low table in the small den where they’d shared so many meals before.

“What made you do this?” he asked as he lowered himself to the floor.

She followed him to a sitting position. “You’ve been burning the midnight oil too much lately.”

“Just one night,” he said, reaching for his sandwich. “Oh, my favorite.”

“Try three nights,” she corrected.

“That long?” he said, surprised. He took a bite. “This is heaven. Oh, and pasta salad.” He took a long sip of red wine and sighed. “You are my dream come true.”

“Anyone could have brought you a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, pasta salad and red wine,” she said.

He shook his head. “Nobody but you could be sitting across from me. Nobody,” he said, “but you.”

“How can I resist that?” she asked.

“I damn well hope you can’t,” he said and chomped through the rest of his sandwich, washing it down with wine. “How’s the bedroom?”

She shot him a demure look. “How would I know?”