Also, how much I’d enjoy spending more time with her.
“Do you have plans for tomorrow?” I asked Allison suddenly as I opened the passenger door and Miriam climbed in.
She seemed surprised by my question. I was kind of surprised myself. “Not really. Why?”
I hurried around to the driver’s side and opened that door as well. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to come by and help me out for a few hours.”
“Me? What can I do?”
I rubbed the back of my neck. It wasn’t easy for me to ask for help, but with Irene being out until Monday, I didn’t have much choice. I could postpone and reschedule some things, but that would put me even further behind.
“You’re extremely organized.”
“She is,” Miriam said, peeking at us from within the vehicle. “Some might even say anal.”
Allison scowled at her sister while I had to keep my lips from curling into a smile. My siblings often said the same thing about me.
“I could really use those skills. My former assistant left me with a bit of a mess, and as a paralegal, you understand the importance of proper documentation.”
Yeah, that sounded good. Not sophomoric at all.
Chapter Nine: Allison
I bit my lip and appeared to consider it as I slid behind the wheel, but that was only to keep from appearing too eager.
“I’d pay you for your time, of course,” he said, as if that were what was giving me pause.
Hell, I’d do it for free. I loved creating organization out of chaos. And bonus: I’d get to spend the day with Paul Cerasino.
“I suppose I could do that,” I said calmly, but inside, I was doing a series of fist pumps.
“Great. Will eight o’clock work for you?”
“Perfect. See you then.” I started the car, anticipation bubbling inside me. I took a moment to surreptitiously appreciate the view as he was walking away.
“I think someone likes you,” Miriam sang softly.
“It’s not like that.”
“Are you kidding? The air was practically cracking between you two.”
The possibility that those tingles I’d been feeling weren’t wholly one-sided was a thrilling one, but unlike my romance-loving sister, I lived in the real world.
Was Paul Cerasino a hot, successful, intelligent, golden-hearted Italian Stallion? Absolutely.
Was I—a healthy, young single woman who valued those qualities—attracted to him? One hundred percent.
Were we going to spend a few hours together, fall in love, and indulge in a torrid, steamy love affair? Hardly.
“Save it for your stories,” I said on an exhale, ignoring my body’s response to that last thought, which, unfortunately, was accompanied by images of hot office-desk sex. “He’s just in a bind—that’s all. His receptionist is out and he fired his assistant earlier today.”
We pulled up in front of Miriam’s apartment building. Despite the unseasonably warm evening, a chill ran up and down the length of my spine as we got out of the vehicle. I held back and looked around but saw nothing unusual as we entered the building.
“Why did he fire his assistant?” Miriam asked over her shoulder.
I didn’t want to go into detail about Stella’s territorial behavior, especially with Miriam waxing romantic notions about Paul and me. Besides, my theories were based primarily on supposition, not hard evidence.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess she wasn’t doing a very good job.”
“And suddenly, you appear, just when he needs you most.” She grinned. “It’s fate.”
“Enough,” I said irritably.
I reminded her that I wasn’t going to be around long enough to think about starting anything, and that I was only taking him up on his offer because I liked keeping busy. She wisely said no more on the subject, but her eyes were twinkling when she wished me sweet dreams a short while later.
I WAS UP EARLY, EXCITED by the prospect of having something useful to do. And maybe, just maybe, part of me was looking forward to spending the day with Paul too. Admittedly, I had had some pretty sweet dreams.
I arrived at the Wilkins building office shortly before eight and met Paul as he was exiting the lobby café with two large cups and a bag. He was once again clean-shaven, though in all honesty, he’d looked mighty hot with a day or two of scruff. His suit was a charcoal gray today with a deep red power tie. I had mentioned the man could wear a suit like nobody’s business, hadn’t I?
I felt underdressed next to him even though I sported my nicest pair of jeans and a sweater borrowed from Miriam. I could have worn my suit, I supposed, but I’d only brought the one, and it seemed tacky to show up in the same outfit twice.
“Coffee and breakfast.” He grinned, completely oblivious to my silent appreciation. “I hope you like muffins. I got enough for both of us.”
I assured him that I did like muffins. What I liked even more was his thoughtfulness.
“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”
“Says the woman who went out of her way to bring me lunch yesterday.”
“That’s different. You were swamped and having a bad day, and I’d just added to it.”
“If it makes you feel better, think of this as a transparent attempt to get on your good side before you see what’s waiting for you.”
I laughed, certain that it couldn’t be that bad.
I was wrong.
Hours later, I sat in the conference room among stacks of files, investigative reports, depositions, affidavits, transcripts—pretty much any documentation that could be associated with a case. It was bedlam. There was no logical system. No sense of rational organization whatsoever. My OCD was firing on all cylinders, desperate to create order from the chaos.
I was glad I’d come prepared with my labeler, assortment of clips, and colored Sharpies. Yes, I carried them with me everywhere, thanks to the nifty zipped travel kit I kept in my satchel. It didn’t compare to my much larger collection at home, but
