Kinsley as she stood there, obviously irritated with him. The funny thing was, usually when people nagged him it made him mad, but he found her completely disarming. His gaze dropped to her full bottom lip.
He’d be willing to wager that those lips would taste better than that expensive champagne that Marcos had given them at lunch, and he was getting a little hot and bothered at the realization that he hadn’t yet had a taste of Kinsley’s lips.
He smiled as he added that task to his mental to-do list.
“I’ll be happy to call her now,” Christopher said, offering his best smile.
“That’s a good idea. The sooner the better. I don’t mean to tell you what to do, but you really should check that email account several times a day.”
“I checked it three days in a row and there was absolutely no email,” he said. “I’ve been busy. I know this is your brainchild, but people aren’t exactly lining up to leave us messages.”
Her brows knit. “Christopher, do you see that piece of paper I gave you? There are ten unanswered messages on there. Well, seven if you don’t count the three from Judy Davis.”
Her face was so expressive. Those lips were so full. It was mesmerizing to watch her mouth as she talked. He realized he was sitting there grinning stupidly as she reprimanded him. Still, he wanted to laugh. Not at her, but at the situation—at the way the woman had somehow gotten under his skin, but in a good way. A sexy way. A way that made him want to walk over and unbutton the top button of her blouse to loosen her up a bit. Hell, he didn’t want to stop there—
“Are you listening to me?” she asked.
“Every single word.” He pursed his lips to remove the grin from his face.
Now her hands were on her hips. The stance drew her blouse tight across her breasts. The fabric between the middle buttons gaped a little bit. He forced his eyes back to her face. And she wasn’t smiling.
Uh-oh. Busted.
“Then would you please tell me what I just said to you?” she said.
“You were talking about the messages from Susan Davis.”
“Judy,” she enunciated. “It’s Judy Davis. For goodness’ sake don’t make matters worse by calling her the wrong name.”
He looked down at the papers he was still holding in his hand. He shuffled the two sheets and saw that yes, indeed, the message said Judy Davis.
He smiled to mask his embarrassment. He never had been good with names. “I know her name is Judy. Says so right here.” He waved the paper at her. “I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“You don’t like me very much, do you?” he asked, eager to hear what she would say. Of course, he was daring her, and he got exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
She blanched. Her eyes flew open wide, and a look of innocence overtook her formerly contemptuous expression.
“I have no idea why you would say that,” she said. “You’re my coworker and I respect you.”
Respect, huh?
But then she surprised him.
“And while we’re on the topic of respect,” she said, “I need to make sure that we understand each other in a couple of areas.”
“Of course,” he said. He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “Kinsley, please sit down.”
She shook her head. “No, I’d rather stand, thank you.”
Christopher shrugged. “Okay, suit yourself, but if you’re going to stand I guess that means I will, too.”
He stood and the slightly panicked and perplexed look clouded her face again. “You don’t have to do that. Really, you don’t.”
“Of course I do. It makes me uncomfortable to have you towering over me.”
“What? You’re not going to tell me that you’re one of those people who believes his head should always be higher than the heads of his subordinates?”
What was this? A dry sense of humor?
He walked around to the other side of the desk, careful to respect her personal space.
“No, but that’s not a bad theory.”
This time she looked at him as if he had just grown another head on his shoulder.
“You do know I’m kidding, right?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Kinsley. We’ve been working together for what—two months now? I would hope that you would know me better than that by now. You’re great at what you do. But you need to loosen up just a little bit. This isn’t brain surgery.”
“It may not be brain surgery, but I take what I do seriously and I would like for you to take me seriously.”
What?
Was that what she thought? That he didn’t take her seriously? She was one of the most competent, capable people he’d ever worked with. He liked her poise, he liked the way she related to their clients and of course, he loved the way she looked. But maybe that was the problem....
The Fortune mystique didn’t seem to work on this woman who was all business, all the time.
Why not?
Why was she immune when most of the women in Red Rock practically bowed down when a Fortune entered the room?
He liked that about her.
All she wanted was to be taken seriously. He understood. That’s all he’d wanted from Deke. To be respected for what he did and how he did it.
“Point taken,” he said.
She took a deep breath, held it for a moment and then silently released it. He saw her shoulders rise and fall as she did so.
“There’s one more thing,” she said.
Christopher gestured with both hands. “Please. Anything. You can talk to me.”
“First—”
“I thought you said there was only one more thing?”
She gave him that look again, as if she were saying really?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I do respect you, Kinsley. But could you please unfurrow your brow for just a moment? Unfurrow your brow and smile. Will you do that for me?”
She stood there for a moment looking at him as if she still wasn’t sure whether or not he was joking. He held his ground, looking at her expectantly. Finally, she forced a smile. It was the most pathetic and amusing attempt at one he’d ever seen.
“I mean a real smile.”
She put her palms in the air, finally uncrossing her arms. “I don’t understand what you want from me. But I’m going to tell you what I expect from you—I’m not your Girl Friday. I don’t mind helping you, but I’m not your secretary. Secretaries make lunch reservations. Outreach coordinators, which is what I was hired to do for the Foundation, will check the email account if it’s something you don’t want to do. But you have to communicate with me, Christopher. I’m the one who had to deal with Mr. Jamison when he called wondering why we had dropped the ball. I told him we were experiencing technical difficulties with the new email account. But I don’t want to lie, and I can’t continue to cover for you.”
Her voice was serious but surprisingly not accusatory. What amazed him even more was his reaction to what she was saying. He simply nodded and said, “You’re right. We do need to communicate better. If you have suggestions on how we could do that, I’m happy to listen to what you have to say.”
“Maybe