Layne’s eyes widen to saucers and her bottom lip wobbles, but she manages to take my hand. “I’msosorry, sir. I was using voice to text, and?—”
I squeeze her hand gently, then hold both of my palms up. “Layne, I’m not angry. I came to apologize."
She blinks rapidly. “Really?”
The waitress catches my eye from across the room. “Coffee?” she calls.
“Decaf, please. Black.”
She grins, coming by with a cup and the orange-handled pot, topping up Layne’s half-empty mug as well. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Will do, thank you.” I look over to nod at her and catch her mouthing something to Layne that may have ended “super-hot”. When my eyes meet Layne’s, her fair cheeks are flushing slightly, fingers curled tensely around the silver metal edge of the formica table.
“It has recently come to my attention that my communication style might be considered kind of…”
The waitress’ dark ponytail swishes behind her as she walks by, clearing her throat and faintly muttering, “dickish.”
I burst out laughing.
“Yes, exactly. Dickish.”
“I didn’t…” Layne sputters.
“I stress you out. I didn’t mean to.”
Her fingers twitch, still gripping the table. Shit, now I’ve made it worse. I lift my hands, palms up, while taking a huge, encouraging inhale. She smiles, inhaling with me. My fingers count down three-two-one, then I lower my palms and we exhale together. We do that two more times, then I roll my shoulders. She copies me, then finally smiles.
“Let’s start again. I’m Mack. I’m very driven and used to be overly emotive through text-based communication. Everyone thought I was angry half the time. So I changed my communication style to stick to clear facts only.”
I pause to sip my coffee. It’s surprisingly rich for decaf. “I have clearly swung too far the other way and stressed out my amazing new assistant – which is terrible, since you’ve been doing a great job. Everyone is happy with you. I’m lucky to have you on our team.”
Although Layne seems more relaxed now, she frowns. “Sir, thank you, and I hate to interrupt, but we only have half an hour to get back to the Gillis people. They need a response to their request for a couple of security personnel for the weekend by five.”
“Do you have the brief?”
She finds it, then turns her laptop around so I can skim it. “Apparently there were thefts at the last two family weddings, when handmade cards went missing along with a lot of gift money. Ron Gillis wants to be sure that nothing like that happens this weekend at his daughter’s wedding. Plus, he wants someone to keep an eye on a few guests who, as he puts it, become a bit rowdy when they drink.”
“So, a couple to pose as distant relatives? Should be easy enough.”
Layne’s eyes roll. “If we had any staff available, yes, but everyone is booked or on vacation. I was going to ask your permission to reach out to other agencies to borrow someone.”
“I can do it. Will you join me?”
Her mouth falls open, drawing my undivided attention to her velvety lips. “Sir?”
“Mack. You can’t call me sir when we’re on assignment.” I skim the rest of the brief. “Friday night cocktails, Saturday lunch, then the wedding, followed by Sunday family brunch. We’ll be keeping an eye on drunk people, jewelry, purses, and the gift table. Honestly, this gig will be a breeze.”
“You wantmeto go?”
“Did you have any plans this weekend?”
“Well, no. But…”
“It’s your call, Layne. I think we’ll have fun, and I can show you that your boss is not an ice king.” I grin. “This is the perfect job for you to learn more of what we’re about, too.”
“One problem.” Layne looks down at her clothing, which, to be fair, is quite plain. “I’ve been too busy this month even to get a haircut. How will I fit in at an event like this?”
My gaze locks with hers, partly to prevent my eyes from running over her figure. If she looks that luscious in simple clothing, what will she look like in a form-fitting dress?