“Besides,” Ian said, “it will be fun: I’ll be there.”
Cailin rolled her eyes. The Flirt strikes again.
“So why are you arriving in a cab?” Ian asked.
“Car trouble.” When she’d gone out to leave for work, her engine wouldn’t even hint at turning over. She could have asked a neighbor for a jump, assuming it was the battery or starter or alternator or whatever, but today of all days, she had needed to be in the office, and calling a cab was faster than finding a neighbor who was both still home and willing to help. Besides, she’d be out late tonight, and a cab was safer downtown than trying to walk to and from a parking garage.
“Ah. So this”—Ian hefted the bag in his arms—“is what you need to get ready. Personally I think you’re overdoing it. You don’t need nearly this much stuff to make a beautiful woman even more beautiful.”
“I’m already late, Ian,” Cailin reminded him, though his bull was flattering to her somewhat depleted ego after her decidedly unfruitful trip to Thrice last weekend and a long week with too much work to do. She was feeling frazzled and forgotten. Ian’s easy charm at least helped her smile.
“Well, in you go,” he scolded, ushering her into the elevator.
When the doors opened on their floor, Sara Beth just happened to be passing by. Cailin sighed, doing her best to keep it unnoticeable. What was this, a convention?
“Cailin!” The woman took in her and Ian’s laden arms. “What’s all this?”
Ian’s runaway mouth was at least good for some things. Cailin let him explain as she made her way toward the office.
Something about the eerie silence as she rounded the corner near Tammy’s desk had the hair on Cailin’s nape standing on end. It was after eight thirty; normally by now Tammy’s reception area was hopping with people and the constant ringing of the phone and Tammy’s happy chatter that ran nonstop all day. Instead even the air was still, motionless. Tense.
What the heck…?
Cailin picked up speed, but when she stepped into the open reception area, Tammy wasn’t in sight. Instead the broad shoulders of a big man blocked her from view as he leaned over the desk, his posture threatening.
The faint hiss of whispered words reached Cailin’s ears as she moved toward the side of the desk. Tammy came into view, her pale face and trembling form cowering back from the aggressive bend of James Allen’s body. His venomous tone faded as he straightened, but the angry-bull look he threw her way made clear he wasn’t happy at the interruption. His words agreed.
“What do you want?”
She’d dealt with angry men before—what secretary hadn’t?—but that didn’t stop her gut from clenching or her hands from starting to shake. She tightened her spine and, totally ignoring Allen, said, “Tammy?”
“Cailin.” The relief in that sweet Southern twang made Cailin ball up her fists.
“Can we help you, Mr. Allen?” Sara Beth asked.
Cailin turned to Alex’s wife, looking past her in puzzlement at Ian’s absence. Where had the darn man gone?
Apparently Allen noted the female-only status of his audience as well, because he didn’t bother to hide his contempt. “Why would I need you to help me, woman? Unless you’ve got balls hidden in those nice, tight pants covering your ass— But no.” He shook his head, and sarcasm twisted his lips. “If there was, John would’ve put you in charge, wouldn’t he?” He slid a slick tongue across his puffy lips as he leaned sideways to ogle Sara Beth’s slender body. “’Sides, I’d definitely be able to see ’em if they were there.”
“Sara Be—”
At Tammy’s words, Allen’s hand snapped out. Whether to backhand the trembling blonde or grab the hand that reached instinctively toward the man threatening her boss, Cailin didn’t know. All she knew was the need to protect swirled with a faint—very faint—ribbon of defiance at the man’s ugly words. Whatever the reason, her arm automatically shot out, knocking Allen’s down and away from Tammy. At the slap of sound when they made contact, every molecule of air in the room disappeared—it was all sucked in at the collective gasp of their frozen little group. Allen’s face mottled with rapidly rising, purple fury. And then he lunged toward her.
“Why you little—”
“Allen.”
Still stumbling backward, her heart in her throat, Cailin didn’t register Alex’s voice for a moment. The sudden sagging of her body as relief rushed through her veins took her back a couple more steps until Alex’s chest against her shoulder blades stopped her. His muscles were rigid, hard, but his hands were tender, careful as he gathered her to him, steadying her. Did she imagine him lingering against her? Imagine the concern telegraphing itself through Alex’s touch on her skin?