Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(24)

"Hey," she called as she walked through the open bathroom door. He  stepped out of the shower stall with a towel wrapped around his waist.  "Oh, hi!" she said again, startled and unaccountably embarrassed, given  all that had transpired the last couple of nights. It was just that he  looked like some kind of Nordic sea god, all chiseled angles and wet  blond hair slicked down his head. She could still hardly believe she was  sleeping with someone like him.                       
       
           



       

"Hey," he said, stepping around her to get to the sink. He didn't look  at her as he said, "Sorry to wake you. Last day of work today-the office  always closes after the Christmas party until after New Year's, so I've  got tons to do."

"Right, of course." She spun around and headed back out to the bedroom  in search of clothes, swallowing the little lump of worry that had  lodged in her throat.

"Shower, though, hang out as long as you like," he called after her, his voice flat, like he was reciting lines in a play.

"That's okay," she said, locating and pulling on her jeans. What had she  expected? To wake up in his arms to the swell of violins? To find him  looking at her with stars in his eyes? No, she wasn't that stupid. But  maybe she'd expected the generous lover who'd plied her with snacks and  insisted she stay the night to be a little … warmer the morning after.

"Seriously," he said, emerging from the bathroom, attention on his phone  as he texted furiously. "Take your time." He disappeared into the  walk-in closet. "I've got a shitload of work to do today."

Right. Okay. She might not have tons of dating experience, but she knew a  blow off when she saw one. And she wasn't about to cool her heels after  he bolted. She was starting to feel dirty-and not in a good way. "I've  got stuff to do, too," she said, hoping her voice sounded normal. "So  thanks, but I've got to go back to my place."

He emerged from the closet dressed for the office. The slim-fitting gray  wool suit fit him like a glove, and the hot pink plaid tie made her  smile in spite of herself. Again, it seemed like he was avoiding her  eyes as he adjusted his cuff links. "Okay, tell you what. I'll leave a  key on the counter downstairs. Lock up when you leave and then shove it  back through the mail slot."

He wasn't even going to wait for her to get dressed? What the hell?  "Okay," she managed, shooting him a fake smile-but he'd already turned  away and was rifling through his briefcase. Apparently he wasn't even  going to look at her once this morning. How could everything have  changed like this? Last night they had mind-blowing sex and slept in  each other's arms, and now they were strangers? Or maybe this was just  normal for him. Maybe she was the one overreacting. It's not like he  owed her anything. She headed for the bathroom, calling, "Have a great  day!" over her shoulder. No need for him to know that he'd upset her.  After all, it wasn't like they were having a relationship.

 …

It wasn't until three o'clock, when she was rummaging through her purse  looking for her work ID, that Cassie realized she still had Jack's key.

Crap. She'd hidden in his bathroom until she heard him leave. He'd been  talking on the phone-to someone he was less angry at than last time  she'd overheard his end of a business call. But she had heard him say,  "That is not acceptable," in a voice that would have made her wilt like a  daisy in the desert. His voice had grown quieter as he moved farther  away from her in the house, and then she'd heard the front door close  behind him.

Once he was gone, she'd waited five minutes to be safe, then hightailed  it out of his house, wanting nothing more than to get to her own little  apartment and try to shower away what had clearly been a huge mistake.  She'd thought she could do this fuck-buddy-number-cruncher thing, but  obviously she'd been wrong. It wasn't like she expected they'd ride off  into the sunset and live happily ever after, but she had learned one  thing about herself. She needed a fuck buddy to actually be a buddy. To  be friendly. The confusing thing was that he had been that-to her if not  to the rest of the world. Up until this morning, they'd enjoyed fun,  flirtatious banter-in addition to the scorching sex.

But obviously she'd misunderstood. Done something wrong. Including inadvertently keeping his key.

Which he couldn't know about. She couldn't risk him thinking she'd held  on to it in some kind of desperate, clinging move. If he thought she was  trying to manipulate her way into a relationship, well, she'd have no  dignity left. So she'd just have to swing by his house on the way to  Edward's-he would still be at work. His precious key would be there when  he got home, and he would be none the wiser.

An hour later she hopped off the King streetcar at the top of his  street. What a ridiculous day. Thanks to her own stupidity, she was  right back where she started. And what had she done in between? More  homework in service of Winter Enterprises. She was pretty sure she'd  gone back far enough that she could say with confidence there were no  dummy suppliers other than A-plus Construction. And she'd flagged all  the fishy cash withdrawals against the company's credit card. She'd been  able to reconcile only a small number of them against expense claims,  and from what she could tell there was about a hundred grand in cash  unaccounted for-in addition to just under four hundred grand that A-plus  had invoiced. She was going to recommend that Jack call in a forensic  accounting firm to check her work. It's possible there were other things  going on that she hadn't even thought of. She was good with numbers,  yes, but she didn't have a criminal mind.                       
       
           



       

She sighed in frustration as she approached his house. Not only had she  spent the whole day thinking about Jack and his problems, she was still  at it. She'd done what he was paying her to do, and she was ready for  the Wexler trip, so she needed to just turn her brain off until they  left. Turning up the path to his house, she resolved to drop the key and  be done. She'd wasted enough mental energy on Jack Winter and his …

Barely legal jailbait?

"Hi! Are you a friend of Jack's?"

A tall blonde was draping pine garlands along Jack's porch railing and  looking, with her rosy cheeks and her pink fur-lined parka, like the  spawn of L.L. Bean and Victoria's Secret. The girl didn't even look like  she was twenty. Even as tears-stupid, juvenile tears-prickled in  Cassie's eyes, her brain kicked into high gear. This was none of her  business. She had no claim on him, so what-or who-he did in his spare  time was none of her concern. He didn't do relationships. He'd told her  that explicitly from the beginning. What he hadn't said was what he  really meant. He didn't do relationships with girls like her.

Pink Parka Girl laughed as she tried to disentangle herself from a garland.

Cassie struggled for words. She could hardly explain that she was here  to return Jack's house key. "Ah, actually, I think I have the wrong  house."

"This stupid thing looks awful!" said the girl, finally extricating her  glove from the pine bough and trotting down the steps to stand beside  Cassie. "Jack is going to hate this! He has his house professionally  decorated, and then I come and add this crap."

She had to get out of here. Cassie took a step, backing away like she  was trying to ease her way out of the path of an animal poised to  attack. Her heart was pounding accordingly, too. The key would have to  wait until she could-

"Cassie?"

Jack. Stepping onto the porch. Holding a mug of coffee, as if it was  totally normal for his stunning blonde hopefully eighteen-plus  girlfriend to meet his plump, nearly thirty math nerd  temporary-friend-with-benefits accounting helper in his front yard.

"Cassie?" the girl squealed. "As in Cassidy? The Cassidy my dad told me  about?" She didn't wait for an answer. "OMG! Cassie, I'm Britney. My dad  works with Jack. He's my godfather. Jack, I mean, not my dad. Because  that would be stupid."

Another peal of laughter, laughter that suddenly seemed obviously of the  teenage variety. The girl with the hockey game Jack had asked Carl  about. Jack's goddaughter. Relief flooded Cassie. But only because it  was good that Jack wasn't secretly the poster boy for statutory rape.  Not because it mattered to Cassie whether Jack was seeing someone else.

"Cassie," said Jack, from his perch above them. "This is Britney Larsen, my CFO Carl's daughter. You remember Carl?"

She could only nod mutely.

"Britney and I have a little tradition where we make a gingerbread house for the company party."