Then again, she didn’t really want a long and fulfilling career as Ben’s PA. She’d only taken the job so she could start paying off the debts she’d been left with after Alistair had gone back to his wife. Then she’d start doing what she’d wanted to do when she’d been a kid—be an artist. Perhaps go to university and get a degree in fine arts. Work with glass as her father had.
The little vase sparkled annoyingly, reminding her of those forgotten dreams. The dreams she’d turned her back on to make her mother happy after her father had died. Exchanging art for beauty pageants, modeling, and a career in front of the camera.
A career cut short after Alistair, bitter at the end of their affair and blaming her, had bad-mouthed her to the whole industry. Logically she knew that it hadn’t been her fault because it wasn’t like he’d told her, “Oh, and by the way, I’m married.” But she still hadn’t been able to kick the feeling that she was somehow responsible for the whole mess her life had turned out to be.
Realizing she was fingering the glass bead she wore on a chain around her neck, Marisa dropped her hand, tore her gaze away from the vase, and took a gulp of coffee instead. Whatever, that was the past. She was done being a failed model and a married man’s mistress. She was following her childhood dreams now. Dreams of creating art. Creating fragile beauty out of liquid.
“Mar? Can you come and help me with this spreadsheet?”
“Sure, Ben.” She put her cup down, pushed herself out of her chair. “Coming.”
…
Luke finally finished the Gibson analysis around five. Later than he would have liked, but not by much. A couple of minutes. Which left him ten minutes to deal with his e-mail rather than fifteen. But that would be okay. He’d keep his responses quick, which would mean he’d be on time for an after-hours meeting with another couple of clients.
Opening up his e-mail program, he was pleased to see there weren’t many—most of the time, Lisa dealt with his mail. One from Caleb Steele with more details about this crazy auction idea his friend had dreamed up. It was a skills auction, with all the proceeds going to a charity that helped underprivileged kids achieve their dreams. Luke had agreed to donate his financial skills to the project since managing money was a particular gift he had, and one he enjoyed passing on to other people. Especially people who didn’t have much money to start with.
But it wasn’t Caleb’s e-mail that made him stare. It was the one from Marisa Clair. What? Again? What the hell was the woman doing?
He should be angry. Not excited. Or curious. Or full of a strange kind of exhilaration that had him reaching for the mouse to open the message before he could think.
He should definitely be deleting the bloody thing.
But he didn’t. He read it instead.
It took him a moment to make sense of it. On the surface, she seemed completely serious but then, as he read the word “panties,” he knew she wasn’t. Oh no, she was teasing him again.
Now he should be angry, or at the very least, supremely irritated.
Except he wasn’t either of those things. His mind wouldn’t let the issue of her panties and her computer alone. He kept having visions of going down to the Total Tech offices and demanding to see what color she was wearing today. Of her sliding up her skirt, revealing soft white thighs, and…would she really be wearing a red thong?
Luke cursed. Viciously. He didn’t swear in the normal of scheme of things, not because he was a prude, but because he didn’t let his emotions get to the point where swearing was necessary.
Yet it seemed vital now. He was starting to get hard, for Christ’s sake. Because he could not seem to get the image of Marisa and her little red thong out of his goddamn head.
This woman was driving him crazy. Not what he wanted when crazy was what he was trying to leave behind.
Still cursing, Luke began a response. He didn’t bother with the salutation this time, just got straight down to business.
The color of my own underwear is none of your concern. I direct you once again to company e-mail policy.
Yours sincerely,
Luke McNamara
CEO McNamara Financial and Compass Media
He sent the message, along with an Internet link regarding the proper use of company e-mail, then proceeded to handle the rest in his in-box. But a minute later, a reply from her pinged back.
Luke swore. Again. He should have closed the program, but now it was too late. He had to read it and he had to answer. Immediately.
He opened up the e-mail.
Luke,
I have perused the company e-mail policy (thank you for your helpful link) and nowhere does it mention that talking about underwear via e-mail is forbidden. Especially when it’s technically work-related. The connection between my undies, the IT department, and my computer is this—there are ways to get men to do things for you, and flashing my underwear at them does the trick nicely. Especially when one is wearing a red thong.