CHAPTER 3

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COLE

I get to work early as usual. It would be better if it was by choice. Instead, I'm coming in at about seven each morning because I can't sleep well enough at night.

I have to work myself to the bone every day, so I'm tired enough to sleep. Even then, I only get two, or three hours tops. Then there's the nagging ache in the base of my neck. I know it's just waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn into a full-blown migraine. And there's nothing I can do to stop it.

When I step into the lobby this morning, I don't feel the urge to wince. In the week since I started working here, we have gotten a few things done.

It hasn't all been a walk in the park, of course. The first thing I did was send a memo to all of the businesses leasing the workspace in the building to ask for a meeting. It was basically a time to just hear their complaints. And such complaints there were.

Apparently, there had been rent increments about four times in the past years. The owner of one of the law firms that leased a space in the building said he had been planning to file a suit against Charlton if there was another increase.

There were many grievances aired, some of which stunned me. In the end, I had them all send emails with a list of their complaints, while I hired a company to do the repairs on the building.

At this point, we are basically operating at a loss. With the embezzlement and everything in between, we have no funds to work with out of this branch. Instead, we are pooling from our reserves.

I have stopped wincing at the sight of my office. I've had the bed taken away, so there's that. But I cannot justify the expense of renovating the space yet, not when there is still so much to be done in the rest of the building.

I've considered doing it on my dime, but I still haven't gotten around to calling Celine. Thinking about her makes me feel guilty again. I consider leaving her a quick email, then shake my head. If I do that, she would only get more furious at me. I'm going to call her. Maybe this evening.

I'm about to schedule it into my calendar when a sound distracts me. I see the door knob turning and cock my head.

Since it's not yet eight, I wonder who would be coming in. Into this office in particular. Could it be Manning? My blood begins to race at the thought of that man appearing in here. Then the door opens fully... And I see brown.

Okay, so it's not exactly brown. It's a woman dressed in brown. For a few seconds, before she notices me, I take her in. Her hair is brown. The color of mud, I mean. It looks like she hasn't had a haircut in years. She is wearing a cream-colored blouse, but over it is an unflattering jacket the color of mud, just like her hair.

Her skirt is almost the same shade as the Expresso I have every morning. Her shoes are brown too, and she has a matching bag.

I'm still wondering how a person could be so... brown, when she finally sees me. She gasps, flails back, and would have probably crashed to the floor if the door hadn't been behind her.

"Who are you?" she asks. "Why are you here?"

I would have easily dismissed her. In fact, I was ready to do just that. Then I hear her voice and feel all the blood in my body rush south. Seriously.

I literally have to freeze my body in place as I wait for my brain to start working again. Her voice is like sex. It is throaty, deep, and somehow airy at the same time. I'm not sure exactly how to qualify it except to say that if I hear her speak one more time, I might lose control of myself.

And at the same time, I need to keep her talking. I have to know if it's my mind playing tricks on me.

She asked you a freaking question, Cole. "I think the proper question, ma'am, should be who are you? Considering you just barged into my office this early in the morning, I believe I should be asking the questions."

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