His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (12 page)

He said in a clear, carrying voice, “Thank you, Miss Crawford. You’ve been most helpful.”

I said, my voice polite but my face stern, “You’re welcome, Mr. Reeves.”

He turned around and strolled away.

As soon as he was gone, I opened one of the bottom drawers of my desk. I pulled out a sweater I kept on the off chance I might get cold. It didn’t compliment my outfit, but who cared. I quickly pulled it on and buttoned up the front.

I looked down at my chest and when I saw how well it camouflaged my braless boobs, I thought, “Thank you, baggy old sweater.” I could still kind of see my nipples, but at least it wasn’t so obvious anymore.

The rest of the afternoon dragged by, and with the steady flow of people coming in and out of my office spreading the latest gossip or seeking reassurances that the gossip was or was not true, I didn’t get much accomplished.

The sweater was too warm, but there was no way I’d remove it. My nipples were a terrible distraction as well. Gibson’s rough handling had left them super-sensitive to the tiniest stimulation. Every movement, every brush of fabric set them to tingling, aching, standing up all perky again. Ugh. It was awful. Awfully bad and awfully good.

And I was pretty sure that was exactly how Gibson meant it to be.

I didn’t see him again, only heard from others when he and his team left the building. I hadn’t expected a second goodbye.

When it was finally quitting time, I was thrilled to discover that it was not, in fact, windy outside, and I managed to get home without any unfortunate incidents. Once I was safely inside my apartment, I ripped off the hot sweater and dropped on my sofa.

What a day. A very, very long day.

I hadn’t lain there ten minutes when a knock sounded on my door.

I thought, hell, what now? Someone come to tell me I was being audited by the IRS? My car had been stolen? Someone wanted to share stories about his personal savior?

I heaved myself off the couch and went to the door. I kept the swing bar in place and opened the door a crack.

A young man waved a package at me. He said, “Delivery for Nonnie Crawford.”

Okay then. I’d open my door for a package.

After I signed the kid’s papers and was settled back onto my sofa, I tore the brown wrapping off the package.

It was a pale pink box, with fancy script on the top, spelling out the name of a French boutique I had never been inside, but had passed on my occasional window-shopping excursions downtown.

I opened the box, pulled back the tissue paper. Well now. Nestled in the paper were the most exquisite pink lace panties and bra I’d ever seen. I almost didn’t want to touch them, they were so delicate and pristine.

I gently lifted the panties out of the box. They were so soft, so light, and the pattern of the lacework was beyond intricate. Beautiful. And they were high-cut bikini style, the way I liked my panties, not an irritating thong.

I held up the bra. Also beautiful. Exquisite. I could tell it would fit perfectly.

Definitely not a twenty-five buck set from the outlet mall.

I shuffled through the paper in the box, looking for a card. No card. Oh well. It wasn’t like I didn’t know who sent it.

I was surprised, though, to find another layer under the paper. And another pair of panties. Blue silk panties. I smiled.

I didn’t want to be pleased. I wanted to stay at least partially disgruntled with Gibson for leaving me at work with no underclothes. But it was hard to stay annoyed when I was holding the most gorgeous lingerie I’d ever owned.

I tried, “Hey, he did owe you something for destroying your personal property,” but even that didn’t help much.

I was pleased. Pure and simple.

It was strange, being so pleased with someone I didn’t like.

I wondered. I knew the inspection was scheduled to continue the next day. Would Gibson come again?

Would I?

I laughed.

Chapter 7

The inspection team from Roundtree Holdings arrived at 10 a.m. Tuesday morning. Gibson wasn’t with them. I was more disappointed than I expected to be.

At least my co-workers weren’t as jumpy as they were on Monday. Most everyone who had the opportunity to meet with Gibson and his team spread the word that Roundtree seemed like a good organization.

Once I had some down time to think it through, I was more certain than ever that the sale could be a good thing for the company. All of us in management positions knew that the Lintons were nothing more than pains in our asses and drains on our profits.

During the worst of the recession, when we were forced to take pay and benefit cuts and to lay off employees, the three executive Lintons on the payroll never offered to take any kind of cut. I was actually surprised when they bailed the company out with a short term loan, at an exorbitant interest rate, of course. They wound up making a killing off of that loan. Rumor had it that they tried to get Isabel to keep the debt on the books, but she refused and repaid the loan in short order. I didn’t know if that was true or not, though.

All things considered, Roundtree and Gibson Reeves had to be a step up from what we were used to. As for the heads of management rolling, I could only hope that mine wouldn’t be among them. And Isabel. I hoped she would be kept on as well.

Ultimately, all we could do was wait and see, and do our jobs really, really well in the meantime.

On Wednesday morning, I was surprised when Stephanie called me, gushing, “They’re back!”

I said, “I didn’t think they were coming today.”

“I know. But they’re here. And that hot big shot is with them this time.”

Well, yay, I thought, then realized I should clarify. “Do you mean Mr. Reeves?”

“Yeah, the older one, with the smokin’ bod.”

I snorted. Stephanie was barely twenty years old, and about as silly as young women come. I said, “He’s old enough to be your father.”

She said, “I know. He’s like a best friend’s hot dad I never had. All of my friends’ dads had potbellies and beer breath.”

This conversation was rapidly going nowhere savory. I told her to get back to work, then tried to return to my study of the monthly sales estimates. No good. How was I supposed to impress the new boss with my job skills if he were going to keep coming around with that “smokin’ bod” of his?

I thought about what Gibson’s reaction might be if I told him what Stephanie thought of him. Gibson, the hot dad. I got this mental image of him standing there stoically, going all Spock-like with one cocked eyebrow, saying, “That’s illogical, Miss Crawford.”

I was in such a good mood.

Lunch time passed, and Gibson didn’t come to call. Then it was one o’clock, then two o’clock. Damn. I found excuses to leave my office, made too many trips to the break room for coffee I didn’t drink and snacks I didn’t eat.

Around three o’clock, I stood in my doorway, just leaning there, taking it easy, not doing anything special. Not waiting around for Gibson to finish his latest meeting or anything like that.

Then finally, he came out of the conference room. He didn’t look my way at first, but when he did, I caught his eye, smiled and nodded hello.

He gave me a polite nod in return. Then walked off in the opposite direction.

Well. What was I to make of that?

I didn’t notice Isabel walking up until she stopped beside me. She followed my gaze and watched the departing Gibson.

She said, “My mother would call him one tall drink of water. She has an eye for handsome men.”

I said, “Tall drink of water. Makes no sense to me.”

“It means he’s as cool and delicious as a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day. And that he’s tall.”

I laughed. “The cool part’s right, that’s for sure. I’ve never met anymore more chilly than him.”

Isabel looked at me. “I don’t see him as cold. I think he’s dignified. I actually like him ... so far.”

I said, “Oh, I didn’t mean I don’t like him.” Total lie. The first time I’d ever lied to Isabel.

She lowered her voice, “Just between you and me, I’ve asked around about Reeves and Roundtree. I’m hoping the sale goes through.”

I blinked. “Yes? Good. I’m glad.”

She gave me a firm and jaunty smack on my shoulder then headed off in her usual brisk, head-down way.

I returned to my office and sat down. I wondered what Isabel had heard about Gibson and his company. Whatever it was, if it was enough to convince Isabel, then it would likely be good enough for me.

At three-thirty, my phone rang. I snatched it up.

Before I could say anything, Stephanie said in a pretend-official voice, “All clear. All clear. The big shots have left the building. You may return to texting and playing Angry Birds.”

I sighed. “It’s me ... Nonnie.”

She eeked. “Sorry, wrong number.”

Click.

Silliest girl ever. And I made a mental note to keep my eye out for which co-workers might be spending their days texting and playing video games.

Of greater import, though, was the fact that Gibson was gone. He hadn’t visited me. Okay then.

Obviously, our fling on Monday had been a one-off. While I didn’t want a relationship with the man, I had thought that we could have some more fun together for a little while anyway. Maybe do something like what Elaine suggested. A sex buddy kind of thing. Non-friends with benefits.

I didn’t get home until after six that night since I stayed late at work to try to make up some of what I didn’t get finished thanks to my fruitless waiting around for Gibson.

Around eight o’clock, I turned off my television and thumbed through the text messages on my phone. I had received a text from Michael the night before, but didn’t return it. His message said, simply, “Call me.” Nope. Wasn’t going to do that.

I read back over the two messages I had received from one of the men I met the previous Friday night. He wanted to know if I would go out with him some time, discuss the possibility of us “scene-ing” together. A funny way to put it, I thought. But then, there had been a number of times I thought the BDSM stuff had some funny ways about it.

Did I want to scene with this new man? I wasn’t sure. He was fairly good-looking, seemed nice enough, and naughty enough. I didn’t know.

I was still debating the issue when I was startled by my phone ringing. I looked at the caller ID. Unknown. Hmm.

I answered a tentative, “Hello?”

A deep voice said, “Nonnie, it’s Gibson Reeves.”

Well, now. Hello!

I said, “Hi. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I was wondering if you’re busy right now. I’d like to stop by for a visit, if that’s okay.”

“Sure. Come on over.”

“I’m not far away. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“See you soon.”

“See you.”

I pushed “End.” I didn’t bother telling him my address. He already knew all that sort of stuff, right down to my phone number and salary.

Had I just gotten a booty call? I’d never had one before. Couldn’t imagine any other reason for him to visit me.

A zing bounced around in my belly.

I hopped up and straightened the living room in a frenzy. Ten minutes. Not much time. I dashed into the kitchen. Wondered if I had enough time to take a quick shower. Decided I did. Took the fastest shower of my life, careful not to get my hair wet.

I quickly touched up my make-up and hair, then ran to my closet. What to wear? What to wear?

I thought of Michael, his rule of nothing coming between him and his holes. Whoa. That seemed like a long time ago.

Gibson was not Michael, and I wasn’t Gibson’s sub, so I pulled out a pair of blue jeans and a short-sleeved knit shirt. I grabbed a pair of panties, but just for grins, I opted out of a bra.

I was putting on my shoes when I heard the buzzer sound. I rushed to the door and buzzed him in, then waited. I was a little out of breath from all the dashing about.

One breath. Two breaths. Breathe, girl. Calm down. I soon felt like I was on an even keel again. And just in time.

He knocked. I opened the door.

Gibson gave me a little nod and I stepped back to let him in. As he walked by me, I caught the scent of his cologne and a hint of something else. Bourbon, I thought. Probably so. I recalled tasting it on him at the Frederick Hotel.

I offered him a seat and he chose my easy chair. I sat on the sofa and looked at him.

He wore the same suit he had been wearing at the office that day, except now his tie was gone and his shirt was open at the collar. He reminded me of how he looked the first time I saw him, except his hair was slightly mussed, unusual for him. It still looked good, though. Made him seem kind of rakish.