sofa. I picked it up and hung it on the valet in the corner closet so it wouldn’t wrinkle. Parker always kept an extra suit and a couple of extra shirts at the office. Once I’d done that, I picked up the tray he’d pushed to the side of his desk.
“Thank you,” he said.
I glanced at him, for a moment wondering if he was speaking to me, but he was still engrossed in the computer screen. Since there was no one else there and he wasn’t on the phone, he must have been speaking to me. It was a little odd. He didn’t usually say anything when I took away his tray or hung his jacket.
“You’re welcome,” I murmured, since it would have been weird to just ignore him. I couldn’t help but wonder if Ryker’s biting comment earlier was why I was getting a thank-you now, which kind of took the pleasure from it. Not that I did my job for thank-yous; I did it for a paycheck. But still.
“Could you get me the file on that new Russian firm we’ve been buying from?” Parker said. “Rogers has it, I believe.”
I frowned, thinking. “You mean Bank ZNT?”
“That’s the one.”
“Of course.” I headed for the door, then hesitated, glancing at Parker. He looked up.
“Yes?” he asked.
“I was just wondering, and it’s probably none of my business, but about the detective who was here earlier. Um, is…everything okay? Do you need anything? Something I could do…” I was rambling now so I shut up.
Parker was looking at me in that intense way of his, which had me rethinking sticking my nose in something that was obviously private. I looked down at the tray I held, unable to meet his gaze, and uneasily shifted my weight from one foot to the other.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have pried,” I blurted, balancing the tray on one arm so I could pull open the door.
“Sage,” Parker called out, stopping me. I looked back at him. “There’s nothing you can do, but I…appreciate the offer.”
That eased my embarrassment somewhat and I gave him a fleeting smile and short nod before hurrying out of the office.
I watched the clock much too closely that afternoon, the butterflies in my stomach getting more fluttery with each passing hour. By five forty-five, I gave up working at all and just started cleaning off my desk. I didn’t know if the butterflies were from nerves, anticipation, or both.
What if he’d just been messing with me? The men I’d dated tended to be safe types, men who had solid white-collar jobs and worked in office buildings. I’d never in my life dated a man who knew how to shoot a gun, much less carried one on him. All my dates wore suits and ties, drove sensible cars, and didn’t own leather jackets. And none of them embodied the guy-my-mom-warned-me-about cliché quite like Ryker did.
I must be out of my mind.
I went to the ladies’ room to check my hair and touch up my makeup, looking myself over critically. I looked very…businesslike, I guessed. My pretty yellow heels and scarf at least dressed up the dreary white blouse and navy skirt. I had a decent body that should probably get to the gym more often, but my waist was narrow, my hips curved, and I filled out a C cup bra reasonably well.
Digging in my purse, I added some more blush to my cheeks and reapplied my pale rose lipstick. My skin was a warm peach and in the summer I tanned to a golden brown. My dark hair went well with my deep brown eyes, though I often wished I had light eyes, which was probably why I was always attracted to men with blue eyes.
After tucking some wayward strands of hair back into my braid, I took a deep breath. I eyed my blouse. Should I maybe undo a button? It was done all the way up with only about an inch of skin showing between the bottom edge of my scarf and the top of my blouse. I hesitated, then undid a button, then one more. I had decent cleavage, might as well show it off. And now I looked a bit more like a woman who’d get asked on a date by a cop named Ryker.
Glancing at my watch had me scurrying out the door. It was six o’clock and I was going to be late, not that it was necessarily a bad thing. I’d rather he show up