Heather Macallister - How To Be the Perfect Girlfriend

Sara exhaled, sagging with relief. Still dealing with the enormity of her confidentiality breach, she could only nod.

She never made mistakes like this. Never. She’d been in a hurry and she’d been thinking about Simon, or certain parts of him, and look what had happened.

Now she should say something, but it didn’t seem like the time to flirt.

Still, couldn’t she come up with something witty? She stared at the paper in her hands as though there would be something witty to share about Charles Lufkin, who, according to his evaluation, arrived at work promptly and left just as promptly and who performed with satisfactory adequacy.

A real firecracker, that Charles. Nothing like a reality check of the males currently out there to make her appreciate the one standing in front of her. She scoured her uncooperative—and certainly inadequate—brain for something to say. At this point, she’d abandoned any thoughts of wittiness.

She drew a breath and prepared to meet Simon’s eyes.

He was gone.

Oh, great. Fabulous. She almost started after him to thank him, but knew she’d better wait until she calmed down and thought up something to say to him.

Sara put Charles Lufkin’s evaluation on the stack she had yet to file. Imagine that: Simon Northrup, the legendary by-the-book Simon Northrup, had saved her job. He’d taken the time to hand deliver the paper. He hadn’t called her supervisor in the payroll department to come and get it. He hadn’t called her to come and get it.

He’d brought it to her, himself.

How incredibly kind.

Sara heard a faint mental “ding” and realized that kindness was a trait she’d ascribed to her ideal man. And he’d been kind to her twice today.

If she weren’t careful, she’d find herself with a big, fat crush on Simon. Today had certainly put him in a different, and much more attractive, light. How could she ever have thought him intimidating and stuck-up? Stuck-up people didn’t fix paper jams—real or manufactured—for others and they sure didn’t cover for an underling’s mistake the way he had.

By the end of the day, Sara was not surprised to recognize crush symptoms, which meant that flirting with Simon for practice was now out of the question. Practice flirting only worked when emotions weren’t involved. So, no flirting. At least for practice—no, no, no. No flirting at all. She’d have to find another man of that type for practice. With Simon, it was professional contact only. And maybe a lot of paper jams.

Since she hadn’t properly thanked him, Sara screwed up her courage and climbed up to the twenty-sixth floor to stop by his office and basically say, “I owe you.” Like he’d ever collect. Still, it was the professional thing to do.

The twenty-sixth floor was definitely more plush than hers, Sara thought when she stepped off the elevator. The carpet was thicker, the colors more modern and the furniture trendier. Client photographs and media stills lined the elevator bays. The receptionist appeared to have already left for the day. Sara knew where Hayden’s office was, but she wasn’t sure about Simon’s. He probably had an office with windows, which meant if she stuck to the outer perimeter, sooner or later she’d eventually stumble across it.

It was sooner rather than later and there was no stumbling involved.

She heard him talking on the phone and stopped to listen for a moment and gather her thoughts. There weren’t a lot of thoughts to gather, considering she’d had all day to think about what to say to him. “Thank you” was heartfelt and sincere, but once it was said and he responded politely, there wouldn’t be a whole lot left to say.

She heard him return the phone to its cradle and stepped into the doorway. “Mr. Northrup?”

He was standing behind his desk and there was a flash in his eyes. A flash, not a gleam, and it only meant he recognized her. “Sara.”

“I, uh…” Don’t say “uh.” “I—”

The phone buzzed. He frowned, let two buzzes go by then held up a finger indicating that Sara should stay.

She hated that, hated waiting around while someone was on the phone, pretending that she couldn’t hear, when of course she could. Even worse was when the conversation took an unexpected turn and she had to decide if she’d continue to pretend to be oblivious, or leave.

She really didn’t have much to say to Simon. She could just mouth her thank-you and make her escape except…

Except Simon had reached for the phone without breaking eye contact. How sexy was that? He didn’t mean for it to be sexy, she told herself. He couldn’t help it.

She swallowed.

Simon continued gazing at her as he spoke into the phone. If she had to describe his expression, she’d say it was watchful. The weird thing was that she didn’t feel at all uncomfortable or awkward about it.

So she gazed—it wasn’t really staring—back at him. Only at his eyes. Warm chocolate velvet eyes. Awareness crept over her. Awareness of him. Awareness of her. Awareness of what could be.

Awareness that she was probably making way too big a deal of this. But then people with big, fat crushes on other people did that, didn’t they?

“Yes,” he said. “Ask them to come up.” A pause, then, “How many?” He blinked for the first time. Just once. “I see. Yes, it’s all right.” He hung up the phone as smoothly as he’d answered it. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh, no. I know you’re busy. I just wanted to say thanks for not making a big deal out of finding the paper.” She thought about the way that sounded. “Not that it isn’t a big deal, and I know it. And I want you to know that I know it. Huge deal.” Babble, babble, babble. She should have quit after “thanks.”

He wasn’t saying anything. That was the problem. If he’d said, “It’s okay” or something she would have stopped babbling. But he merely watched her, his lips on the verge of a smile. On the verge. No smile. Important distinction.

Sara swallowed again, and attempted to end the conversation with some finesse. She linked her fingers together. “I wanted to reassure you that your trust in my competence has not been misplaced.”

There. That should be precise enough for him.

“Right.” He looked down at his desk. “Well, I’ll just delete this scathing memo to the head of Human Resources denouncing your…competence.”

He pressed a key on the open laptop on the desk in front of him and then closed it.

Sara forgot to breathe.

Simon smiled faintly. “I was joking.”

“Oh!” Sara giggled inanely. “I knew that!”

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“A lot of people don’t get my jokes. I’ve always thought I was quite witty.” The line was delivered with the perfect deadpan expression. Despite his strait-laced reputation, the man clearly had a sense of humor. Don’t think about that.

Sara laughed, then wondered if she should have. “Maybe your jokes are just too subtle.”

“Chalk it up to my repressed boarding school up-bringing.”

“In England?”

“Yes.”

“You have a faint accent,” she told him so he wouldn’t think she’d been snooping in his file. And she hadn’t—not much.

“So does anyone who isn’t from Texas. I do try. I’ve been sprinkling y’alls and howdys throughout all my conversations.”

Sara tried to imagine a “y’all” passing Simon’s lips. Which made her look at his lips and the way they rested in that almost-smile position. His square jaw made him look strong, but the lips gave him a hint of vulnerability. All in all, it was a potent combination, especially considering his other body parts, which Sara had in no way forgotten.

He had a way of looking at her—maybe everyone—which made her believe that his entire attention was focused on her.