I pass the desks and make a left with Prince Charming tailing close.
"Hey, Hall," he calls, and a brunette's head pops out of a cubicle.
A tall lady in a black jumpsuit stands up and hurries toward us. "Mr. Rhode, what brings you here?"
He points at me, and I smile. "Abby Shepherd," I say, holding out a hand. "I'm here to discuss editing videos for your website—"
"Yeah, yeah." Kaz waves me off. "Take a seat. I'll be right there."
I shrug and shoot a glance at Mr. Rhode the hot stuff over my shoulder as he watches me walk away. He casually rests an elbow over a cubicle's divider, then turns to Kaz. "What's your status on the Middle-East web campaign? Why aren't the ads live yet?"
"The agency asked for a couple of days to make minor adjustments..."
"Jesus." Mr. Rhode tucks his hands into his pockets and shifts in his place. "They'll only add titles. Any dumb-ass can do it."
"Titles in different languages, Mr. Rhode. The back-translations just got approved, and the fonts—"
"We need those ads running yesterday, Kaz. The sponsors are paying for something we haven't aired yet. How am I supposed to explain your fuck up to our partners? What am I even doing with you if you can't deliver a simple task on time?"
I peer over the cubicle's walls and bite my lip as I leave my laptop case on Kaz's desk. Thank God I am not her, because I'd break into sobs right now. Mr. Hot Stuff is the burning kind.
"I'm sorry," Kaz mumbles. "I'll get it sorted..."
"Never mind." Mr. Rhode walks over to my cubicle and stands in the doorway. "You edit videos, right? Can you do titles?"
I look around to make sure I'm the only one in the tiny space before I nod. "Uh-huh."
He clenches his jaw and breathes into his chest again. God, I wish he didn't do that... His oaky perfume hits me. I have to take back a step to refocus.
"We have ten ads, each to be titled in different languages. Can you do it today?"
"Do you have the fonts?" I ask, unzipping my laptop case.
"Kaz?" Mr. Rhode raises his brows.
"Yes. Yes, we do." She hurries and squeezes past Mr. Rhode. Then she opens a drawer by the corner, and hands me a flash drive. "You can connect to our server with this," she says and explains how while Mr. Rhode watches our every move with his arms crossed.
"It's fine. Should take an hour or so," I assure her, but then Mr. Rhode's frown deepens, and I know that I've picked the wrong words.
"She says an hour. The agency gives you two days." He taps on the wall. "Is it time to switch agencies, or should I find a new producer, Kaz?"
Ouch... Okay, his reaction is over the top. "It's not Kaz's or the agency's fault," I explain, landing a friendly hand on Kaz's shoulder. "I'm a freelancer—the best one in Manhattan. My schedule revolves around emergency projects like these. Besides, I'm super fast."
Kaz is leaning over her desk with her back turned to King of Frowns, biting her lips. "We'll get everything ready in an hour, Mr. Rhode." Her voice quivers.
"What you'll get, is coffee." He steps aside and swings a finger out the door. "I'll sit here and make sure the videos get delivered."
Kaz opens her mouth to argue but then shuts it again. I'm sure she can feel the heat from the Burning Man just as I do. "Yes, Mr. Rhode," she says and scurries outside, balling her fists into a tight clench.
I feel for Kaz, I really do. But I'm here to get things done, not to take sides.
I clear my throat, open my laptop, and settle on Kaz's squeaky seat. Mr. Heat pulls a chair from another cubicle and rolls it next to mine. I need more AC in here because sweat covers my forehead instantly. I run my fingers under my bangs and wipe the beads clean.
"How do you take your coffee?" he asks.
My eyes open wide at his silky tone. How can this man hiss like a poisonous snake one second and be tender the next? Am I imagining this?
"Umm, it's fine," I say, but when he frowns again, I quickly add, "Plain. No milk, no sugar."
His thin lips twitch into a smile, which disappears when he turns to Kaz. "Get them from the fitness editor's office."
"Yes, Mr. Rhode."
"And Kaz?" She stops when he calls her again. "Bring them while they're still hot. Don't take a couple of days."
Kaz's face turns crimson as she nods and rushes across the cubicles.
I suck in a deep breath. This is why I'm a freelancer. I hate corporate dynamics. I've worked in production companies for a couple of years. Never again. I only hope Kaz won't spit in our coffees because if this man keeps frowning, I'm going to drink it. I'll drink it even if Kaz shits in it.
After a few clicks and drags, the project files and the fonts appear on my screen. Okay, I was feeling sorry for Kaz, but with the editing tools she has on the system, she could easily do the task on her own in a couple of hours. Bitch is just lazy.
Keeping my thoughts to myself, I install the fonts to my laptop, open the first video, and start editing.
Mr. Rhode leans toward my screen. I close my eyes. His cheek is inches away from mine. His oaky perfume now has hints of his sweat, and the sweetness of it makes me dizzy. I want to turn my head and press my lips against his. But I can't move—I can't even dare to breathe.
When he backs away an inch, I wiggle in my seat and start exporting the first video. "So, Mr. Rhode," I say to neutralize the heavy tension in the tiny cubicle. "What's so special about the fitness editor's coffee?"
The corner of his lips curl into a half grin as he crosses his arms and relaxes into his chair. "It's the best coffee in New York," he says.
"Have you tried Dunkin' Donuts?"
His brows shoot up in amusement. And then he laughs. And I laugh too—at the way he laughs. His shoulders are shaking as if I told him the funniest joke he's ever heard. I want to give myself a pat on the back right now.
"Seriously," I continue. "It's not that bad. Okay, Pret is better, but Dunkin's is everywhere."
He wipes a happy tear from the corner of his eye and smiles at me. "Believe me, you won't ever want to drink another Dunkin's once you try this one."
I believe him. I'd believe him if he told me our world is ending and drinking this coffee is the only thing that can save our souls from an eternal blaze. Not that I'd mind burning with him until the end of time.
His smile freezes when he looks into my eyes with those caramels, and his breath hitches again. "I don't know what I'm looking at," he says softly. "But yours are the deepest... bluest eyes I've ever seen."
A rebel smile conquers my face. He is flirting with me! He is flirting, and it's adorable! I can barely hold back from throwing myself into his arms. I hear my own voice say, "Thank you." And I'm glad I didn't say anything inappropriate as I graze my palm at the edge of Kaz's desk.
Well, you know what? I'm not going to hold back. I have nothing to lose. I reach for my laptop case and take out a business card. "You've got a pen?"
He dips a hand into his inner pocket, takes out a shiny, black pen, and hands it over. His lips are quivering. Is he trying to fight a grin?
My hand feels numb but I somehow manage to write down my personal number, then blow the ink dry, and give it to him.
"Do you live in Philadelphia?" he asks, reading the tiny writings on my card.
"I used to. I moved to the city a couple of years ago. The clients rarely ask for my address so I didn't think it was worth updating it."
"Abigail Shepherd from Philadelphia... Any chance you're related to the Nobel Prize winner, Samuel Shepherd?"
I bite my lip. There it goes. "Yeah. My dad."
His eyes widen, and he stops flicking the corners of my card.
"If you want to interview him sometime, well, you know who to call." I wink. Is it weird? It probably is. What's a sexy men's health magazine supposed to do with my awkward dad and his round belly anyway? Do they even care about the cure for neurodegenerative diseases? I straighten up and lean toward him with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, that came out wrong. Dad isn't big on publicity, actually. He's shy—very shy. If it were up to him, he wouldn't leave the campus. The dean forces him to attend some charities and events—"
Mr. Rhode shakes his head as if saying not a problem, and places my card into his shirt's pocket.
"But if your boss wants me to talk to him, I can definitely ask," I add.
His lips twitch into a smile. "I'll think about it. Thank you, Abigail."
"Abby." I smile back. "Call me Abby."
He nods, then reaching into his inner pocket once again, he pulls out his business card. "Roman Rhode."
My eyes widen when I read his title. "Chief Executive Officer?" I laugh and roll around in my chair. I thought he was the head of production or something! I can't believe I used my dad to flirt with Mr. CEO. And I definitely can't believe that I gave him my number.
He is laughing too, but his laughter is restrained this time—the cocky, chesty kind. His shoulders are shaking as he licks his lips and crosses his arms. "Nice to meet you, Abby."
The vibrations of his voice from how he calls my name blossom within me and create a whole new world somewhere deep, deep inside.
"Nice to meet you too, Roman."
He holds his breath, and we stare into each other's eyes, trying to understand what feels so familiar. Then I find the answer. We are the same.