Except Charlotte Baird, whose personnel file he’d looked up after meeting her, seemed to strongly disagree with the latter. Petite and pretty, she’d been sitting so petrified through dinner that anyone would think he’d attacked her rather than the other way around. Her fear roused his temper, which only made her fingers clench tighter on her cutlery, until the fine lines of her bones were outlined against creamy skin dusted with gold—which further exacerbated his temper.
Realizing she’d starve if he didn’t allow her to leave, he motioned the waiter to their table. “Box Ms. Baird’s meal to go. Add the blackberry cheesecake.”
Her eyes flicked up, hazel and clear behind her glasses, her lips parting. “No, it’s okay,” she said in a rasp of a voice even as the waiter cleared away her meal.
“I’m paying for the damn meal, Ms. Baird. You might as well enjoy it.” He didn’t care about the cost; what he cared about was that the woman across from him had eaten exactly two tiny bites in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t as if she had flesh to spare—though she wasn’t skin and bones. No, she was just small, her weight in perfect proportion to her bone structure. So she ate. Just not with him.
Having shut up at his snarl, skin paling, she didn’t say another word until they’d left the restaurant.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, not wanting her on the streets alone given the high number of sports fans who’d poured into the city while they were in the restaurant. Most were fine, in a cheerful mood, but it was obvious a few had started drinking early.
“I catch the bus,” she said, shoulders hunched under that hideous brown coat that swallowed her up. “I only live just past St. Lukes.”
Gabriel’s first instinct was to offer to drive her to the suburb. It was what he’d have done with any other woman in this situation. However Ms. Baird’s bones might well chatter themselves out of her skin if he suggested she get into a confined space with him for longer than a few seconds.
Leading her to a taxi stand instead, he said, “Take a cab and file an expense report on Monday.”
“I didn’t—”
“Take the damn cab.” It came out through gritted teeth. The idea of any man hurting a woman made Gabriel see red. The fact Charlotte seemed to think he’d hurt her scraped against his every nerve.
Flinching, she didn’t argue again when he pulled open the back door of the cab and told the driver she needed to go toward St. Lukes.
“Ms. Baird,” he said once she was seated, “don’t forget that expense claim. I’ll be checking on it personally.”
Huge hazel eyes locked with his for a second. Beautiful eyes, he thought, clear and striated with gold and green behind the transparent lenses of her spectacles. Her eyes went with the soft blond curls she’d tied into a ponytail, a few wisps having escaped to kiss her flawlessly clear skin.
A petite but tempting morsel. Too bad she was terrified at the sight of him.
CHARLOTTE DIDN’T SAY THANK you to Gabriel Bishop for the cab, instead sitting frozen in her seat until he shut the door and the driver pulled out. Probably not the best thing to do if one was trying not to get fired, but her nerves were shot. One more minute in his company and she might just have burst into tears.
Pathetic, Charlotte. You are a pathetic excuse for a woman.
Her teeth clenched at the ugly echo of Richard’s voice; her hands fisted so tight her bones hurt. She hated that despite all the work she’d done, all the success she’d achieved in overcoming that horrible year of her life, fear could still creep into her heart like this, incapacitate without warning. Hated even more that Richard’s voice could infiltrate her thoughts even now, the ugly things he’d said dripping venom into her veins.
Monday would be a nightmare. All she could hope was that Gabriel Bishop would forget about the inconsequential mouse he’d taken to dinner and stay focused only on the higher-ups.
3
T-REX GOES ON A RAMPAGE
SHE’D FILED THE EXPENSE claim. Putting down the phone after checking with the accounts department, Gabriel wondered what Ms. Baird would do if he decided to pay her a visit and ask her how her Sunday had gone. Probably jump out of her skin, her bones clattering against one another.
Scowling, he continued to go over the documents in front of him. Saxon & Archer was an old company with a good, strong core. Unfortunately, that core was buried under multiple layers of mold, courtesy of serious mishandling by the past CEO—a man who’d given the appearance of competence, but who, from what Gabriel could tell, had spent the majority of his time playing golf with his cronies. He’d all but driven the company straight into bankruptcy.