Читать книгу Make Me Need - Katee Robert - Страница 10

TRISH LIVINGSTON DIDN’T do sad. Life was too short to focus on the negative crap. No matter how bad things got, it could always be worse.

Granted, she wasn’t exactly sure how much worse her life could get. She was drowning in student loans, living with her wonderfully understanding but ultimately smothering parents and the only job she could get was one with her older brother’s cybersecurity company.

Positive, Trish. You could be homeless. Your parents could be awful people—or gone completely. You could have as few job prospects as you did two weeks ago.

She smoothed a shaking hand down her skirt and squared her shoulders. Maybe this wouldn’t be so unnerving if Aaron was actually here to introduce her to his partner and walk her through her responsibilities. But his fiancée had had their baby a week earlier than expected, so he was currently playing the doting father. He’d offered to slip away for a few hours, of course. That was what her brother did—took care of everyone around him. She’d declined because that was what she did—smoothed waves and gave people what they really wanted.

The elevator shuddered to a stop and the door slid open, removing any chance she had to change her mind. Trish smoothed her hair back as best she could, pasted a bright smile on her face and stepped out.

From what Aaron said, this entire floor was Tandem Security offices, which seemed a little strange since it was the two of them, but who was she to complain? Trish eyed the front office. Not the most welcoming first impression. A layer of dust covered the desk and she’d been under the impression that plastic plants couldn’t actually die, but the teetering tree in the corner threatened to make a liar of her. Even the chairs were eyesores, a perfectly functional beige...that belonged in a hospital waiting room somewhere.

She walked over and sank into one and grimaced. Thought so. Whoever had designed these chairs didn’t want the occupants to spend any amount of time in them. She shook her head and muttered under her breath, “Well, this is what Aaron hired you for. Apparently he actually does need someone—desperately.”

“What do you want?”

She jumped to her feet and teetered in her cotton candy–pink heels. “Sorry, I was just trying out the chairs and...” She trailed off as she caught sight of the guy who’d snarled at her. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt that stretched tight across his impressive chest and set off his dark brown skin to perfection. A chiseled jaw and shaved head completed the picture and made her mouth water.

At least right up until she registered who this must be.

Trish turned her smile up to an eleven and stepped forward. “Cameron O’Clery? I’m Trish Livingston. Aaron was understandably occupied, so he said I should just head over here and make myself at home.” She held out a hand until it became clear he had no intention of shaking it. Undeterred, she dropped it and smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from her skirt. “I know he mentioned this place needed a bit of a face-lift, but I never realized my brother had quite such a gift for understatement.”

He stared and finally shook his head. “Info is in the top drawer of the desk. Do what you want.” Cameron turned and stalked down the hallway and out of sight.

Trish frowned. She rounded the desk and pulled open the creaky drawer. The only things in it were a credit card with Tandem Security’s name on it and a paper with account names and passwords written out in neat block lettering. A little more snooping found a brand-new laptop tucked in the next drawer down. Trish shot a look down the hall, but since Cameron hadn’t made an appearance, she shrugged and booted it up. Typing in the websites listed brought up accounting software, an email address and the company software itself. She scrolled through the list of clients—past and present—and sighed. This would be a lot easier if I had a little guidance.

Chin up, Trish. You know how to make the best of any situation. This is no different.

She stood and propped her hands on her hips. Since she had to start somewhere, the waiting room was the way to go. Aaron had hired her to redesign the office space, liaise with incoming clients and provide general support to him and Cameron. She turned in a slow circle again, mentally tallying everything she needed to accomplish her first goal. No reason to pay top dollar for everything. It didn’t matter if the company could afford it or not. Even bargain shopping, it would be a chunk of change to do it all at once, so she’d roll up her sleeves and save costs wherever she could.

She palmed the credit card and headed into the back offices. There were no plaques or signs to indicate where anything was, but only one door had light coming from beneath it, so she headed in.

“I’m busy.” Cameron didn’t even bother to look up from his monitor.

Good grief. If this is his attitude, I can see why Aaron needed someone to handle clients. She didn’t let her smile slip, though. “I can see that, so I won’t take much of your time.” Trish held up the credit card. “Just let me know the budget for the front office and I’ll be out of your hair. Or, well, you have a shaved head so...” She smiled harder. “Sorry, I’m wasting time with babbling. Budget, please.”

His dark brows drew together and he finally deigned to look directly at her. “What?”

“A budget. For the front office.” The urge to keep talking bubbled up, but she pressed her lips together to prevent the words from escaping. Call it a hunch, but Cameron O’Clery didn’t seem the type of man to appreciate small talk or meandering conversational threads.

His frown didn’t clear. “Spend whatever you want.”

Lord, grant me patience. She crossed her arms over her chest. “With respect, I do better when I have clear guidelines. A budget would be helpful.”

Cameron cursed, as if this two-minute conversation had taxed what little patience he had. “Spend what you need to. If I think you’re out of line, I’ll tell you.”

Of that, she had no doubt.

Recognizing this was a losing battle, Trish edged back out of the office. “I’ll just get started, then.”

“Do that.” He turned back to his monitor, and it was as if he’d forgotten she was in the room.

She’d never been so summarily dismissed in her life, and Trish couldn’t deny that it rankled. She opened her mouth, but common sense got the best of her. As satisfying as it would be to pester one half of her new bosses, it was her first day. Better to set a precedent of doing her job well before she started pressing Sir Crankypants to hold down an actual conversation.

She headed back to her desk and considered. It was Friday, which gave her today and all weekend to get the decorating stuff out of the way. Then she could start bright and early Monday with figuring out the client aspect. Aaron wanted her to deal with new clients’ preliminary meetings to get a baseline for what services they required. From there, either Aaron or Cameron would take the client. Though I guess Cameron will be taking them all until Aaron is back in the office.

One problem at a time.

She dropped into her desk chair and pulled a dusty notebook out from the second drawer. A list would keep her on track. Trish gave the room one last look and sighed. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch before she caught herself and forcibly straightened them. None of that, Trish. Think positive.

Working as a glorified secretary for her brother’s company might not be part of her bright plans for the future, but that didn’t change anything. She gave 100 percent. It was what she did—who she was. This job would be no different.

She’d be the best damn glorified secretary Aaron and Cameron had ever had.

* * *

Cameron finished the last bit of code for his current client’s site and sat back. There were still tests to run and scenarios to play out to ensure he’d filled every nook and cranny with the proper protections and hadn’t left any back doors accidentally open, but they could wait until tomorrow. He rubbed a hand over his head and then stretched. He was past overdue for a massage—he usually kept regular appointments to prevent the kinks in his back from getting too bad—but Aaron’s pending fatherhood had kept his partner out of the office more and more as his woman’s pregnancy got further along, and more work had landed on Cameron as a result.

He didn’t mind. His friend was happy, and that was enough for Cameron. He liked the work, liked keeping occupied with it. All he had was an empty apartment waiting for him, so it wasn’t as if he missed much by spending more time in the office.

As he pushed to his feet and stretched more fully, he frowned. What’s that smell? Another deep inhale had him checking his watch. It was well after eight in the evening, so who the hell was painting?

Cameron stalked out of his office, already calculating where the vents could be sending the scent from. It was probably the floor below theirs. The woman who ran the consulting business down there liked revamping her office with startling regularity. Saying shit wouldn’t accomplish anything, and it was after-hours. He was just tired and hungry and overreacting.

He reached the front office and stopped cold. White cloth covered the floor and blue painter’s tape marked off both the ceiling and trim. Half the white walls were now a soothing green, but that wasn’t what set him back on his heels.

No, that was reserved for the barefoot woman teetering on the top of a stepladder—above the sign set into the step warning not to stand above that point—her curly blond hair tied back in a haphazard knot that looked like a bird’s nest. He started forward, belatedly realizing she still wore the outfit she’d had on earlier, a simple black skirt that hugged her hips and ass and a loose pink blouse in the same startling shade as the heels she’d worn.

This is Aaron’s little sister. Get your eyes off her ass.

It was a great ass, though. As she went onto her tiptoes, the muscles in her lower half flexed and he had to bite back a groan. At least until she wobbled and overcompensated. Cameron jumped forward and caught her. He was a bastard and a half because he let himself enjoy the feeling of her in his arms for several seconds before he set her back on her feet.

Trish shoved the cloud of curly blond hair that had escaped its knot back and gave him a blindingly bright smile. “Thanks! I thought I could do this without scaffolding, but those nine-foot ceilings are no joke.” Her smile wobbled. “Crap, I’m sorry. I got paint on you.”

Cameron looked down to the streak of green marking his shoulder and then back at her. “You just took a nosedive off a ladder and you’re worried about my shirt?”

“Well...yeah.” She shrugged and leaned over to set the paint roller on the tray perched precariously on the ladder. “I fell. You caught me. Thanks again, by the way. But there’s no reason to dwell on it.”

He stared into those guileless blue eyes. She truly looked more worried about his shirt than any injuries she would have suffered if his timing had been a little off. “What would you have done if I wasn’t here and you broke your leg?”

“At that angle, I’m more likely to break an arm.” When he just glowered at her, she huffed out a breath. “My phone is right there, within easy reach.” She pointed at the ladder. “If I didn’t topple the ladder when I fell, and for some reason I wasn’t able to stand, I would have kicked it over, retrieved my phone and called for help. Happy?”

Fuck no, he wasn’t happy. The woman was obviously crazy, because she didn’t seem the least bit concerned with that scenario. Cameron crossed his arms over his chest. “If I leave right now, you’re going to climb right back up that ladder and finish painting, aren’t you?”

“No?”

He growled. “If you’re going to lie, at least try to pretend you’re not fishing for the right answer.” He gave up his happy thoughts about the pizza place down the block from his apartment. There was no way he could leave this woman unsupervised. He’d spend the rest of the night worried that she’d fallen again and he hadn’t been there to catch her, and there would be no rest and a whole lot of indigestion in his future. Cameron stalked around the ladder, testing its stability. Should be fine as long as no one stands on the top of the damn thing. He pointed at the untouched brush near the paint can. “You’re on edges.”

“Actually, I—”

“You’re on edges,” he repeated, staring her down. “I’ll handle this.”

Trish opened her mouth, drawing his attention to her pink lipstick. He’d never had a thing for painted lips before, but the bright pigment made the sharp Cupid’s bow of her top lip stand out against her skin and... For fuck’s sake, she’s got freckles. She was downright adorable, and that should be enough to banish any thoughts of getting his hands on her perfectly rounded ass or kissing her until she forgot about whatever argument she was obviously debating delivering.

It wasn’t.

He wanted her, and hell if that didn’t complicate things.

Cameron hadn’t bothered to date in longer than he cared to think about. It was so much goddamn work getting to know another person. Most of them ended up storming off before the second date because he said something wrong. Or he didn’t talk enough. Or he talked too much about work because, God forbid, that wasn’t a safe subject, either. It was exhausting just thinking about it, and he hadn’t met anyone tempting enough to make him want to run that particular gauntlet. Easy enough to scratch the itch in loud bars where talking was the last thing on either his or his prospective partner’s mind, but even that had gotten tiresome recently.

If he’d run into Trish on the street, he might have asked her out. Might have let her obvious enthusiasm and sunny attitude wash over him.

But she worked for him. What was more, her big brother was one of the few people in this world who not only put up with Cameron’s bullshit without expecting him to change but also was a genuine friend.

He might want Trish, but she was the one woman he couldn’t touch.