Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,155

behind her, she jumped a mile.

“Sorry,” she said, turning to face him. “Hi. Yeah, I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to get here, so …” And snapped her mouth shut on the words.

She knew how to be Blake’s assistant. She’d been totally confident—well, almost totally—in the job in Wild Horse. Except that this wasn’t Wild Horse, and she wasn’t going to be his assistant. But still. She could do this. She didn’t have to babble and apologize.

He said, “Come on back and I’ll introduce you. But—huh.”

“What?”

He hesitated, and she said, “Come on, Blake. Spit it out.” The receptionist heard, because she looked up, and boy, did she look surprised.

Blake, though, grinned. “Well, yeah. That’s the Jennifer we know and love. Stop looking so nervous. You’re going to be great. But let me guess. Kristiansen’s buying your clothes now. What, moving you into his house wasn’t enough? I thought you were friends. That’s the story I heard. ‘We’re just friends.’ I distinctly heard that. I told Dakota I was pretty sure that wasn’t going to last. Got to say, though, I expected it to last longer than this.”

Jennifer folded her arms. “You know … this is rapidly escalating into none-of-your-business territory. Is there a point you were trying to make?”

“That necklace,” he said. “That thing’s a chain. It has a padlock.”

“It does not,” she said. “I left the padlock off. It’s a lovely string of freshwater pearls on one half, and a chain on the other. All right, a somewhat heavy chain, but that’s because it’s modern, not whatever grandma style you were expecting from me. And how do you know about the padlock anyway?”

“How do you think I know? Kristiansen’s not the only one who buys presents. Except that I’m buying that for my wife. Plus, you’re not edgy. If there’s one adjective I would use to describe Jennifer Cardello, it would not be edgy.”

“How do you know?” You didn’t rage at your boss. You didn’t call him on his stuff. You were diplomatic.

You were failing. “Maybe I’m exactly that edgy,” she told Blake. “Maybe I’m more edgy. Maybe you don’t know me nearly as well as you think you do.”

“I’ve known you for almost three years. Give me a break. Also, that necklace is about twenty-five hundred bucks, and those shoes are, what, seven-fifty? This isn’t some billionaire romance. This is a guy who’s never done ‘serious’ in his life, trying to impress you, or maybe just buy you, by giving you designer stuff.”

“Do you go around pricing designer clothing as a hobby?” she asked. “Is that it?” Trying to be lofty. Trying to keep the upper hand. Also trying not to scream at her CEO. “They were not that much, I’m sure, and neither was the necklace. It can’t have been. It’s sterling silver. The pearls are freshwater.”

“It’s Tiffany Hardwear,” he said. “Which you had to know, because I’ll bet you a hundred bucks he took you there to pick it out. Even Kristiansen isn’t buying that necklace unless he’s sure the woman wants it. What, he didn’t let you look at the price tags? Figures. The shoes are Louboutin, because they have those red soles, and you bet they cost that much.” He squinted at her like he was trying to read her mind. “He’d better not be pushing you to do anything over the top. You’re pregnant.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I hadn’t noticed. What, no comment on my dress? What’s wrong with that? Because, for your information, I look great. Also extremely professional. I am wearing a beautiful knit dress in a subdued aubergine with long sleeves, a high neckline, and a flared skirt. I’m wearing a lovely pearl necklace with a silver chain, and black suede pumps with two-inch heels. I’m the definition of professional and appropriate.”

“Dress doesn’t have a low hemline, though, does it?” Blake asked.

She sat down in one of the black-leather reception chairs and said, “Call Dakota.”

“What? I’m not calling Dakota. I’m at work. We’re here to work.”

“Yeah?” She eyed him. Jeans. White cotton button-down shirt. Cowboy boots. Three-thousand-dollar jacket. She didn’t think he had too much room to talk.

Of course, he was the CEO, which meant he got to dress however he wanted. But still. No way. She said, “Call Dakota and tell her what you just said to me. See what she says. Go on,” she added when he looked like he had no idea how to respond. “I’ll wait.”

“Fine,” he said. “You do that.” And stalked