ADDICTED

9

My automatic brewer already prepared half a pot. I poured most of it into a tumbler for myself and the rest into a mug for her. As I added the cream and sugar to Leah's, I wondered what the fuck I was doing. I wasn't sure why I had offered her coffee. If anyone was fetching coffee, it should have been Leah. She was the assistant and I was the boss. Not the other way around.

Muttering curses to myself, I carried the coffee upstairs. Leah had settled into her chair and appeared to be reviewing her notes. I placed the mug beside her.

"Thank you," she said with a glance over her shoulder. Something about the posture of her body, the smell of her conditioner, and my proximity to her sent a jolt straight down to my dick.

"Fuck," I swore under my breath. I turned away before she saw my erection and headed for my office.

"Everything okay?" she called after me. "James?"

"It's Mr. Muller!" I yelled back.

She didn't say another word. I felt like breaking my desk in half. What the hell was wrong with me? She was just some woman. She'd been with my brother. The last thing I needed was the drama of that. I needed a good, hard lay. Maybe then I'd stop getting hard every time I looked at her.

Christ. Get your shit together, you horny fuck.

New York would be a good place to find someone this weekend. There were plenty of bars in our hotel area. My skills were rusty, but I hoped it wouldn't take much verbal exchange anyway.

I returned to the conference room after a few minutes of cooling down. Leah shifted her things so I could sit across from her.

"The coffee is really good," she told me. Her eyes analyzed my face. "Thanks again."

I ignored the remark. "Have you emailed your ideas to me? We can cover them together."

"Yes, I emailed them to you a few minutes ago."

Pulling up the email on my laptop, I perused the document. It was well-organized and her ideas filled two pages. I was impressed but didn't admit as much.

"You have three categories," I noted. "Why that number?"

"I looked at other charity models. That's the number most of them use. Most donations fall into the first two and then the rest are much fewer. If you look at the second page, I suggest four categories."

"Why is that?"

"The needs theory of motivation. People want status and, as you said, to maintain that status. By adding a fourth, more elite category, we undoubtedly will have donors who choose that."

"Mhmm. That category earns a seat at the 'red table'?"

She nodded and tapped around on her keyboard. Then she turned her laptop around to face me. "I have an idea. A charity ball. It'll help us bring in donors and their status will earn them certain arrangements."

"Not a bad idea." I had a ballroom scheduled in a month for such an occasion already. Her ideas intrigued me, though. "How do you intend to segregate the categories without creating tension between the donors?"

"Don't mix the masses. The red table will be closest to the stage. The other categories will be spread evenly in a radiating fashion so that they can all see but to varying degrees. I'm thinking we should have some kind of entertainment—a show, maybe. We can also do a drawing and a silent auction. Keep the donors engaged."

"And you plan to organize this?"

Leah arched a brow at me. "I'm not an event planner. For something this size, we need a professional. A team of professionals might be even better."

"That's humble of you."

"It's realistic. I'm good with numbers and managing people. That's about the extent of it."

"Then your next assignment will be to create a planning team. I'll send you our budget and you can figure out how much hiring a small team will cost," I said. She visibly brightened with an almost-smile. "The finance committee will have to approve it, but if you can make something they'll pass, I'll consider giving you more responsibilities."

She took a deep breath but smiled. "Fair enough. I'll get on it. Now, back to the donation categories and their incentives . . ."

The day passed quickly. Leah and I nailed down reasonable goals for donors and descriptions for each donor category. We met with the finance committee and introduced our ideas. They were more supportive than I expected.

I mentioned Leah's challenge to put together a planning committee and she flushed like a doll. She could handle herself well, nonetheless. I was surprised by her engagement with the committee. She asked questions even I hadn't thought of and answered their questions with poise. By the end of the meeting, I could tell everyone in the room was pleased with her.

At five o'clock, we wrapped up the formal document for the incentives that would be saved in the foundation's archives. Leah packed up her laptop and notebook, filing her colored pens neatly into their fabric case. It seemed I wasn't the only particular one here.

"What's the smile for?" she asked, her eyes catching mine.

I dropped whatever absurd motion my face was making and looked to the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh." She slipped her bag over her shoulder and crossed her arms. "Well, you should do it more often. You have a nice smile. Probably an expensive one at that. It shouldn't be wasted."

Rolling my eyes, I pushed myself up from the seat and rounded the conference table. She sighed before heading out. I went directly to my office.

"Goodnight, Mr. Muller," she said.

"Bye."

I closed the office door and leaned against my desk. My hand dragged through my hair, loosening the gel I had so carefully spread this morning.

Everything felt warm and humid. Suffocating, almost. I blew out a breath and felt a bead of sweat roll down my temple.

What the fuck was happening to me? I shoved away from the desk and fisted my hands. I needed a cold shower and food. Maybe I'd go for a hike later. Something to clear my head of this fog.

I couldn't believe I had smiled at her. Without knowing.

"Jesus," I muttered under my breath.