His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) by Deena Ward Page B

the worst of the recession, when we were forced to take pay and benefit cuts and to lay off employees, the three executive Lintons on the payroll never offered to take any kind of cut. I was actually surprised when they bailed the company out with a short term loan, at an exorbitant interest rate, of course. They wound up making a killing off of that loan. Rumor had it that they tried to get Isabel to keep the debt on the books, but she refused and repaid the loan in short order. I didn’t know if that was true or not, though.
    All things considered, Roundtree and Gibson Reeves had to be a step up from what we were used to. As for the heads of management rolling, I could only hope that mine wouldn’t be among them. And Isabel. I hoped she would be kept on as well.
    Ultimately, all we could do was wait and see, and do our jobs really, really well in the meantime.
    On Wednesday morning, I was surprised when Stephanie called me, gushing, “They’re back!”
    I said, “I didn’t think they were coming today.”
    “I know. But they’re here. And that hot big shot is with them this time.”
    Well, yay, I thought, then realized I should clarify. “Do you mean Mr. Reeves?”
    “Yeah, the older one, with the smokin’ bod.”
    I snorted. Stephanie was barely twenty years old, and about as silly as young women come. I said, “He’s old enough to be your father.”
    She said, “I know. He’s like a best friend’s hot dad I never had. All of my friends’ dads had potbellies and beer breath.”
    This conversation was rapidly going nowhere savory. I told her to get back to work, then tried to return to my study of the monthly sales estimates. No good. How was I supposed to impress the new boss with my job skills if he were going to keep coming around with that “smokin’ bod” of his?
    I thought about what Gibson’s reaction might be if I told him what Stephanie thought of him. Gibson, the hot dad. I got this mental image of him standing there stoically, going all Spock-like with one cocked eyebrow, saying, “That’s illogical, Miss Crawford.”
    I was in such a good mood.
    Lunch time passed, and Gibson didn’t come to call. Then it was one o’clock, then two o’clock. Damn. I found excuses to leave my office, made too many trips to the break room for coffee I didn’t drink and snacks I didn’t eat.
    Around three o’clock, I stood in my doorway, just leaning there, taking it easy, not doing anything special. Not waiting around for Gibson to finish his latest meeting or anything like that.
    Then finally, he came out of the conference room. He didn’t look my way at first, but when he did, I caught his eye, smiled and nodded hello.
    He gave me a polite nod in return. Then walked off in the opposite direction.
    Well. What was I to make of that?
    I didn’t notice Isabel walking up until she stopped beside me. She followed my gaze and watched the departing Gibson.
    She said, “My mother would call him one tall drink of water. She has an eye for handsome men.”
    I said, “Tall drink of water. Makes no sense to me.”
    “It means he’s as cool and delicious as a cold glass of water on a hot summer’s day. And that he’s tall.”
    I laughed. “The cool part’s right, that’s for sure. I’ve never met anymore more chilly than him.”
    Isabel looked at me. “I don’t see him as cold. I think he’s dignified. I actually like him ... so far.”
    I said, “Oh, I didn’t mean I don’t like him.” Total lie. The first time I’d ever lied to Isabel.
    She lowered her voice, “Just between you and me, I’ve asked around about Reeves and Roundtree. I’m hoping the sale goes through.”
    I blinked. “Yes? Good. I’m glad.”
    She gave me a firm and jaunty smack on my shoulder then headed off in her usual brisk, head-down way.
    I returned to my office and sat down. I wondered what Isabel had heard about Gibson and his company. Whatever it was, if it was enough to convince Isabel, then it would likely be good