Читать книгу One-Night Mistress...Convenient Wife - Anne McAllister, Anne McAllister - Страница 7

THERE were no hot looks from Christo on Monday morning. No glances that lingered. No politeness even.

Well, Natalie supposed he was polite enough. But he was absolutely businesslike, curt and remote every time he spoke to her. The intense awareness she’d felt on Friday was more like a determined deep freeze today. He didn’t even meet her eyes, but looked out the window all the time he was giving her instructions.

She remembered her mother saying more than once, “Christo is such a pleasure to work for. He’s always so even-tempered.”

Even-tempered, as in his range of emotions went from stern to dour? He smiled enough at his clients. But he scarcely looked at her.

He wouldn’t even take the time after his nine-thirty appointment left to come and look at a scan of a handwritten document she had up on the computer screen.

“You can figure it out,” he said curtly and stayed at his desk, not looking up as he flipped through papers and sorted them into folders. Natalie knew he had two pre-trial conferences in L.A. in the afternoon. She supposed he was preoccupied with them.

He saw two more clients, then came out of his office shortly before one. “I won’t be back until late.” He was shrugging into his suit coat and his tie was once more neatly knotted, his hair just combed.

“Anything else I should do while you’re gone?” Natalie asked.

“Take a lunch break.”

She blinked.

“You didn’t on Friday. You went out and grabbed sandwiches.” It sounded more like an accusation than a comment. “So today, go eat. I won’t be back until late,” he went on. “So I don’t need you bringing me sandwiches.”

So the sandwich had offended him, had it? Why? Had it made him think she was making another bid for attention? As if! She had simply done what she knew her mother would have done.

But she didn’t say that. She gave a light shrug, as if it didn’t matter one way or the other to her. It didn’t. It really didn’t.

Christo opened the door, then looked back over his shoulder. “You don’t need to stay late, either.”

Natalie didn’t even deign to reply to that.

She would stay late if she had work to finish. If she didn’t, she’d leave. And he could take his handsome face and his bloodymindedness and go stuff them both where they’d do some good.

“Whatever you say, boss,” she muttered. But he was gone and didn’t hear her.

Just as well. She finished the letter she was working on, then at quarter past one, took her lunch break, as ordered. She didn’t leave the office, but ate her tuna fish sandwich sitting at her mother’s desk. She did, however, spend the time catching up on her own work for Rent-a-Wife.

Sophy had done the scheduling this week, but Natalie still had the billing to do. If Mr. Stickler Savas wanted everything in businesslike boxes from here on out, that was fine with her. She’d do her work now and start back on his after lunch.