Without saying another word, I ran my eyes over him. It struck me that he was not wearing something bespoke like pretty much everyone here. Don’t get me wrong, he still looked good enough to eat, but he was clearly on a budget. And at a place where everyone looked like they were heading to a New York Fashion Week photo shoot, it was sort of jarring. Still, it fit him well. No question, this guy could wear the fuck out of a suit. I held back a whimper when I envisioned him in a Brioni or a Zegna. They’d have to put out a heat advisory for the building if that ever happened.
“I thought I could detect a familiar accent when I was coming down the hall.” His perfectly blue eyes twinkled at what I was certain was an expression of utter mortification on my face. He sounded pleasant enough, but he was also alluding to the fact that I was yapping on my phone. This wasn’t the first time he tried to be cute. Rocco Quinn seemed to like fucking with me. And it was only a matter of time before he stepped on my last nerve and I reamed him out.
Thankfully, just as I was scrambling to respond to his weird-ass comment, the elevator got to my floor. I was planning to just leave him hanging and run off, but he was hot on my heels.
Dammit.
“Sounds like your mom misses you.”
Oh for fuck’s sake. Why did he have to act all fake nice?
I nodded without looking at him. “She does. Listen, Mr. Quinn—”
“You can call me Rocco.”
Nope, that was not happening. I was not letting this sexy bastard talk me into getting all chummy with him. I was already on thin ice as it was. He could keep his pheromones and his slick-as-fuck expressions to his damn self. I came to a dead stop a few feet away from the conference room door where my boss—and whatever shitty news she was about to give me—was waiting.
When I turned around, Rocco was looking down at me with an expectant smile. God he was handsome, that jet-black hair so dark it almost had a tinge of blue and those eyes, piercing. And I guess he had teeth after all, and of course they were perfect. Asshole. I shook my head hard when my traitorous brain started wondering what Pantone color his eyes would be.
Get your head in the game, Julia del Mar.
I straightened my back, determined to fight off the debilitating effects of those gleaming teeth and perfectly pink lips. I had to remember this niceness was probably his way off getting us to let our guard down. He was here to find ways to cut jobs. I was not about to mouth off and get myself fired, but I needed to get some things clear.
“Look.” I was proud of myself for not rolling my neck or pointing at his face. “I know you’re trying to be nice, but you make me nervous.” I pulled on the hem of my blue polka-dot dress and smoothed my yellow cardigan, avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“Why do I make you nervous?”
Uh, maybe because you’re here to close down as much of the foundation as you can.
I refrained from actually saying that because I had not been raised by a Puerto Rican man and Dominican woman just so I could act like I had no home training with the guy who could get me fired. But it was a close call.
“I’m sorry for saying that. You don’t make me nervous.”
Lies.
Rocco Quinn didn’t just make me nervous, he made me want to run my hands all over that big-ass body and moon over his almost but not quite curly hair and blue eyes, in spite of the fact that I knew he was out here gunning for my entire program. And yet, I still wanted to kiss the hell out him while I climbed him like a sequoia.
Enough.
I cleared my throat, while he looked at me like he was trying to read my mind. Jesus, I’d probably just jumped up like ten spots on his list of people to fire. In an effort to calm myself down, I looked down at my cream and navy blue Mary Janes and resisted the urge to tap the heels and see if I could Dorothy my way out of this mess. When I looked back up, he was still looking at me expectantly, like he was watching his favorite telenovela and could not wait to see what bananas plot twist was coming next.
I jerked a thumb over my shoulder, still flustered but powering through. “I have to go see my boss.” Nod. Smile. Eye contact. “Have a good day, Mr. Quinn.” There was no way I was calling him Rocco.
I stepped into the large conference room thinking that little interlude could not have gone more perfectly terrible, and made my way to Gail, who was sitting on her own at one end of the table.
As soon as I reached her, I knew shit was worse than I’d thought. Gail’s usual calm demeanor was gone and she looked full-on frazzled.
“Hey, sorry it took me so long to get up here,” I said, as I sat down next to her, trying to figure out what were all the papers strewn around the table.
Gail usually wore some colorful tops and slacks to work, but
