“Are they laced with cyanide?” I ask suspiciously, my hands itching to move the box of treats away from my case files to avoid getting greasy marks on them.
“Close, they’re laced with personality and a sense of humor.” She tucks her lips into her mouth, as if fighting a smile.
My lips quirk. She’s funny.
“Look,” she begins and takes the seat on the other side of my desk, “I know you weren’t expecting to work directly with me. I know Janice was supposed to be the lead contact, and I know I can be a lot to handle, but I really want us to work well together. More than anything, I want your event to be a success.” She lays her hands over her heart. “And I know how much you want that too.”
I stare at her a second too long, longer than I should, lost in all the incredible things about her.
“Can we be partners?” She makes praying hands in front of her.
Still having my doubts this morning, I re-read the reviews on her website. I even double-checked their legitimacy by calling Mike Stonehouse from TimeTock, the largest watchmaker in the world, which has a factory on the outskirts of town. He said he’s already booked Safire & Spark for the next five years, they are that good. He said it was because Sapphire understood the need to evolve with the times and recognizes employees’ needs.
Sapphire doesn’t just sound like she has her finger on the pulse; she’s a visionary.
I hate how wrong I was about her.
“Please? Just give me a chance?” Sapphire reaches out her hand in a gesture of goodwill, knocking over my stack of sticky notes and scattering them across the desk. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” Quicker than lightning strikes she suddenly stands up, hitting my desk and causing my full cup of cold coffee, which I’d completely forgotten was there, to slosh over the sides.
I growl, yes, growl, clenching my teeth together in irritation.
She’s a whirlwind of commotion. Pandemonium.
Muttering to herself, she pulls a paper tissue out of the box on my desk, then lifts the coffee cup to mop up the spill beneath.
“It’s fine, leave it.” I jump to my feet, and when I try to grab the cup from her grip, she tugs it back, but I pull harder, yanking it out of her hand, the sudden jerk causing the entire cup of coffee to splash all over my powder blue shirt, turning it a muddy caramel color, the liquid bleeding into the fabric.
As if time stops, she takes a breath and holds it, her eyes lifting to mine. “I’m so sorry,” she exhales in an inaudible whisper. “At least it wasn’t hot.”
“I think we’re done here, Ms. Feelgood.”
“Please forgive me,” she begs, looking hurt if I don’t accept her apology.
“It’s fine.”
“At least let me have your shirt and tie dry-cleaned. Is your tie silk? Oh, yikes. I owe you a coffee too,” she says, grimacing at my discolored and ruined shirt.
I slam the cup down on my desk, the last of the coffee splattering over the already soiled desk.
“Please. Just go.” My hands are practically twitching to clean, to regain control.
“I’ll email you.” She bows her head, shifting nervously on her feet.
“I think that’s a good idea, for everyone concerned. And take the donuts with you.”
Stepping back slightly, she looks away, sighing softly. “You don’t want the donuts?” Her voice rises by two octaves at the end, sounding completely bamboozled.
“I hate donuts.” I don’t.
“Right.” She fiddles with the multiple strands of gold necklaces she has on, her brow furrowing, as if offended by my insensitive words.
“Give them to your secretary.” She nods, averting my gaze, and with that, she storms out of my office, leaving a cloud of her signature scent behind that makes me want to bury my nose in her neck.
No, you don’t, it’s just a smell.
“Seriously?” I mutter to myself, looking down at the mess. She’s a one-woman hurricane.
I tug at my tie to undo it, then unbutton my shirt, take it off completely, and toss both in the trash before grabbing the donut box.