Everywhere and Every Way
Page 36
His laughter pumped through the air and gave her way too much pleasure.
Morgan didn’t get much sleep that night.
She hoped he didn’t, either.
chapter ten
Morgan walked into Sydney’s office and stood by the desk. She smiled as Sydney nodded for her to wait, talking crisply into her Bluetooth while sifting through a massive pile of papers on her desk with one hand and tapping out something on her keyboard with the other. These tasks were completed with a mixture of booming male voices echoing in the air. Seems there was a heated argument going on over an episode of Game of Thrones right outside the door.
Morgan took a seat, giving a sigh of relief at the temporary easing of her aching feet. The thought of the hotel hot tub was getting her through the day, but the past week she’d fallen asleep before room service had even delivered her meal. She was in crunch time, and Morgan tried to remind herself that she went through this at every job. Coordinating the massive amount of electricians, plumbers, and construction workers was a bitch to deal with. The skeleton was now firmly wrapped, the windows and doors were finally installed, and now they were at the delicate part of the project: the time when supplies went missing, workers never showed up, fights broke out, and general chaos was the order of the day.
Fun, fun, fun.
So far, though, Caleb had impressed her. His competence, no-nonsense manner, and self-deprecating humor made him a well-liked boss who everyone seemed to want to please. That level of respect was hard to reach, and Morgan was forced to put another check in the benefits column.
The benefits of having a short affair with Caleb.
Since that night, they seemed to dance around each other with the question being the oversize pink elephant in the room. Cal never pushed, but with every long stroke of his gaze over her body, he told her again and again what he wanted. At first, she was worried the crew would pick up on those looks, but he was careful to treat her with a friendly distance when they were around anyone.
Morgan finally admitted she was playing the denial game. She also wondered how long he’d wait until he pushed the issue. Or, more importantly, if.
God, she wanted him to. How screwed-up was that? An independent, financially secure, ambitious, kind of sexually experienced woman waiting breathlessly for the man to grab her fiercely and kiss her senseless, thereby ending her denial in the most pleasant of ways.
So. Embarrassing.
Sydney clicked off and got up from her desk. “Sorry, Morgan, it’s been kind of hellish around here lately.” She jerked her thumb toward the loud guffawing down the hall. “And they’re not helping.” Her gorgeous red hair streamed down her back, and she wore an apple-green suit that showed off her eyes. The freckles scattered over her face and warmly curving mouth softened her appearance enough so most women couldn’t hate her for being so damn beautiful. In the time she’d spent here, her chats with Sydney were sometimes one of the highlights of her day.
Morgan grinned. “Well, you’re not going to be happy with me. I’m adding to the hellish day.” She opened her briefcase, slid out her famous clipboard—which she’d probably be buried with—and handed her a huge file. “Invoices, checklists, receipts, and a bunch of other nameless tasks.”
Sydney sighed. “Not your fault. I’m so used to being buried in work, I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I had five minutes to think.”
“Any possibility of hiring an assistant?”
Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Nah, I’m a control freak, anyway. Would spend all my time trying to tell him or her how to do things.”
“From one control freak to another, I hear you. Can I use the conference room? I have a Skype appointment with my client, and then have to wait for a few calls from the West Coast.”
“Of course.”
Tristan walked through the door without knocking. Morgan got an impression of lean height, wavy chestnut hair, and graceful features that reminded her a bit of old-school Cary Grant. The man exuded smoothness, grace, and a banked intensity hidden behind a chiseled exterior. He intrigued Morgan, but she wasn’t attracted to him the way she was to Caleb, who made her burn. Still, she appreciated the charcoal custom suit—complemented with a red silk tie and gold cuff links with his initials—that framed his very fit body.
“Where’s the Anderson file?” he demanded, stopping in front of them. “Hi, Morgan.”
“Hi, Tristan.”
Sydney’s mouth tightened. “In the file marked Andersen. And good afternoon to you, too. Thanks for knocking.”
Did his cheeks flush, or was that her imagination? His words were clipped and deliberate. “Good afternoon, Sydney. And the file isn’t there. I thought we finalized the final cost of the refurbishment and new deck. We need to close the account.”
His leashed power seemed to throw women off, but Sydney just turned her cool gaze on him like he was an annoyance. “I took care of it already. And did you check under Andersen with an e? It’s not spelled with an o.”
Tristan looked frustrated, and an odd energy burned between them. Odd. “Fine. I’ll look again. Are you going to lunch?”
“No time.”
His lips flattened to a thin line. “It’s past two. You need to eat. We pay you for lunch.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself. Been doing that a long time.”
Whoa. Tristan stubbornly refused to be dismissed, flicking his gaze back and forth between each of them as if trying to decide how to frame his response. Morgan cleared her throat. “Tristan, can I steal you for a few minutes? I need to confirm some final decisions on flooring.”
He treated Sydney to one more heated look, then nodded. “Of course. I have some time now.”
Sydney kept her face impassive. “Morgan, let me know if you need anything.” Then she turned her back on Tristan and left.
Tristan’s face reflected frustration, but he didn’t try to stop her. They walked into the conference room, and she began setting out her laptop, clipboard, and bulging files of paint chips, samples, and fabrics. “Dalton and I went over the fixtures and picked out the floor finishes, but the terrace materials need to be confirmed. Do we go with traditional pavers or flagstone? I’m thinking about a matching wall on the adjacent left corner of the property.”
Morgan didn’t get much sleep that night.
She hoped he didn’t, either.
chapter ten
Morgan walked into Sydney’s office and stood by the desk. She smiled as Sydney nodded for her to wait, talking crisply into her Bluetooth while sifting through a massive pile of papers on her desk with one hand and tapping out something on her keyboard with the other. These tasks were completed with a mixture of booming male voices echoing in the air. Seems there was a heated argument going on over an episode of Game of Thrones right outside the door.
Morgan took a seat, giving a sigh of relief at the temporary easing of her aching feet. The thought of the hotel hot tub was getting her through the day, but the past week she’d fallen asleep before room service had even delivered her meal. She was in crunch time, and Morgan tried to remind herself that she went through this at every job. Coordinating the massive amount of electricians, plumbers, and construction workers was a bitch to deal with. The skeleton was now firmly wrapped, the windows and doors were finally installed, and now they were at the delicate part of the project: the time when supplies went missing, workers never showed up, fights broke out, and general chaos was the order of the day.
Fun, fun, fun.
So far, though, Caleb had impressed her. His competence, no-nonsense manner, and self-deprecating humor made him a well-liked boss who everyone seemed to want to please. That level of respect was hard to reach, and Morgan was forced to put another check in the benefits column.
The benefits of having a short affair with Caleb.
Since that night, they seemed to dance around each other with the question being the oversize pink elephant in the room. Cal never pushed, but with every long stroke of his gaze over her body, he told her again and again what he wanted. At first, she was worried the crew would pick up on those looks, but he was careful to treat her with a friendly distance when they were around anyone.
Morgan finally admitted she was playing the denial game. She also wondered how long he’d wait until he pushed the issue. Or, more importantly, if.
God, she wanted him to. How screwed-up was that? An independent, financially secure, ambitious, kind of sexually experienced woman waiting breathlessly for the man to grab her fiercely and kiss her senseless, thereby ending her denial in the most pleasant of ways.
So. Embarrassing.
Sydney clicked off and got up from her desk. “Sorry, Morgan, it’s been kind of hellish around here lately.” She jerked her thumb toward the loud guffawing down the hall. “And they’re not helping.” Her gorgeous red hair streamed down her back, and she wore an apple-green suit that showed off her eyes. The freckles scattered over her face and warmly curving mouth softened her appearance enough so most women couldn’t hate her for being so damn beautiful. In the time she’d spent here, her chats with Sydney were sometimes one of the highlights of her day.
Morgan grinned. “Well, you’re not going to be happy with me. I’m adding to the hellish day.” She opened her briefcase, slid out her famous clipboard—which she’d probably be buried with—and handed her a huge file. “Invoices, checklists, receipts, and a bunch of other nameless tasks.”
Sydney sighed. “Not your fault. I’m so used to being buried in work, I probably wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I had five minutes to think.”
“Any possibility of hiring an assistant?”
Sydney wrinkled her nose. “Nah, I’m a control freak, anyway. Would spend all my time trying to tell him or her how to do things.”
“From one control freak to another, I hear you. Can I use the conference room? I have a Skype appointment with my client, and then have to wait for a few calls from the West Coast.”
“Of course.”
Tristan walked through the door without knocking. Morgan got an impression of lean height, wavy chestnut hair, and graceful features that reminded her a bit of old-school Cary Grant. The man exuded smoothness, grace, and a banked intensity hidden behind a chiseled exterior. He intrigued Morgan, but she wasn’t attracted to him the way she was to Caleb, who made her burn. Still, she appreciated the charcoal custom suit—complemented with a red silk tie and gold cuff links with his initials—that framed his very fit body.
“Where’s the Anderson file?” he demanded, stopping in front of them. “Hi, Morgan.”
“Hi, Tristan.”
Sydney’s mouth tightened. “In the file marked Andersen. And good afternoon to you, too. Thanks for knocking.”
Did his cheeks flush, or was that her imagination? His words were clipped and deliberate. “Good afternoon, Sydney. And the file isn’t there. I thought we finalized the final cost of the refurbishment and new deck. We need to close the account.”
His leashed power seemed to throw women off, but Sydney just turned her cool gaze on him like he was an annoyance. “I took care of it already. And did you check under Andersen with an e? It’s not spelled with an o.”
Tristan looked frustrated, and an odd energy burned between them. Odd. “Fine. I’ll look again. Are you going to lunch?”
“No time.”
His lips flattened to a thin line. “It’s past two. You need to eat. We pay you for lunch.”
“Thanks, but I can take care of myself. Been doing that a long time.”
Whoa. Tristan stubbornly refused to be dismissed, flicking his gaze back and forth between each of them as if trying to decide how to frame his response. Morgan cleared her throat. “Tristan, can I steal you for a few minutes? I need to confirm some final decisions on flooring.”
He treated Sydney to one more heated look, then nodded. “Of course. I have some time now.”
Sydney kept her face impassive. “Morgan, let me know if you need anything.” Then she turned her back on Tristan and left.
Tristan’s face reflected frustration, but he didn’t try to stop her. They walked into the conference room, and she began setting out her laptop, clipboard, and bulging files of paint chips, samples, and fabrics. “Dalton and I went over the fixtures and picked out the floor finishes, but the terrace materials need to be confirmed. Do we go with traditional pavers or flagstone? I’m thinking about a matching wall on the adjacent left corner of the property.”
