Gray told himself he wasn’t watching the clock.
But when the knock came at his door, he was prepared.
Hell, he should be prepared. He’d been up half the night trying to decide exactly how to play this moment.
“Come in,” he called, only after carefully schooling his face into a mask of cool indifference. No doubt his new “assistant” thought she could stroll in whenever she pleased because her sister was dating the boss.
Gray knew women like Sophie Dalton. Women whose middle names were “manipulation.” They manipulated the system, their careers. Men.
Especially men.
And Gray had no intention of being played. Certainly not by a troublesome ditz who dressed like a hooker in her spare time and went out of her way to stand out like a sore thumb in an otherwise impeccably mannered family.
He needed to put distance between them. Immediately.
But the woman standing at his doorway was not the too-sexy blonde he’d been waiting for.
It was Ms. Jennings, the company’s HR manager. He stifled a groan. Not that there was anything wrong with her. It was just employees in general. Not exactly his strong suit.
Ms. Jennings…Beth, if he remembered correctly…was not a particularly attractive woman. She didn’t try to be. He liked that about her. It kept everything simpler. Her ink-black hair was too dark against pale skin, and the choppy, chin-length cut did nothing to soften her broad features.
Like most men, Gray knew little about women’s fashion, but it was obvious that her army-green slacks and boxy blue blazer would never be featured in any fashion magazine.
But all interactions with Ms. Jennings so far had pointed to efficiency. And that was all he cared about.
Gray realized he’d been staring at her, and as a result her welcoming smile had faded slightly as she shuffled her feet nervously.
“Ms. Jennings, come in,” he said, realizing that they’d been working together for a few days now and he’d barely spoken to her. He racked his brain for idle chatter. The book he’d bought on being a relatable manager had said something about expressing interest in employees themselves, as well as in their work.
Which really was just another way of promoting small talk. His Achilles’ heel.
Gray desperately grasped for a topic that would say I’m interested rather than I’m prying.
Are you married? Any children?
No way. Too personal.
Any cats?
Too stereotyping.
Can you recommend a dentist?
Ugh. Then she’d think he’d been studying her teeth.
“How was traffic?” he asked finally. He immediately winced. Was this the best he could do? There were probably species of ferns that would make better company than him.
“Traffic was fine, thanks,” she said, her brow furrowing.
“For me too,” he said with a curt nod. Jesus, Gray.
Ms. Jennings’ face relaxed slightly at his awkward response. Clearly she’d realized he wasn’t intimidating so much as pathetic. He wasn’t sure which was worse.
“I made a fresh pot of coffee,” she said, approaching his desk and extending a cup toward him. “I took a guess. Black?”
He preferred a splash of cream, actually. And he’d already gotten his coffee. But he surreptitiously passed his old cup aside and accepted the company mug with a curt thank-you.
“Ms. Jennings, do you happen to know anything about the…” Gray broke off and gestured at the walls surrounding his desk.
“Ah yes,” she said with a resigned sigh. “The trophies.”
“Is that what you call them?”
“It’s what Martin called them. I call them atrocities.”
Gray was inclined to agree with Ms. Jennings’ assessment. His successor had failed to mention that he’d be leaving his wall decorations behind. The CEO office of Brayburn Luxuries looked like a menagerie. No matter which direction he looked, Gray found himself staring at an elk, a moose, a bear, and some animal he didn’t even recognize.
Between the hunting trophies, the rocking chair–style desk chair, and the fact that he was pretty certain there were occasional safari noises coming from somewhere, Gray’s nerves were starting to fray.
The first day on a new job was stressful enough without having to work in the middle of a zoo in an unfamiliar city.
With an assistant he’d accused of being a damn streetwalker.
As if reading his thoughts, Ms. Jennings brightened. “Perhaps your new assistant can take care removing Martin’s decor and finding something more your style. She starts today, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well I’m just glad you were able to find someone else so quickly! It’s a shame about Laura not working out—we all liked her when she came in for interviews.”
Gray might not be great with people, but he didn’t miss the slight censure in the HR manager’s tone. She hadn’t been happy about having to do rush paperwork for an employee she’d never even met. Apparently Martin Brayburn had been a fan of “group hiring” to make sure everyone had good rapport.
Gray wasn’t even sure he knew what “good rapport” meant.
“I appreciate you helping establish Sophie into the system so quickly. I know it’s not common procedure.”
He tried for a grateful smile and was relieved when she softened slightly. “No problem. I’m sure she’s wonderful if you hired her on the fly.”
Wonderful?
Sophie was definitely not wonderful. She was more like…
Well, there really wasn’t a word for Sophie Dalton.
When he’d seen her that night in Las Vegas, she’d just been so damn inappropriate. The hair, the sparkly eyelashes, the endless display of creamy skin. Those friggin’ thigh-high boots that practically begged to be wrapped around a man’s waist…
And the not-so-minor fact that she’d been the spitting image of the woman who’d broken his heart.
You stomped all over a stranger’s dignity because of a woman you haven’t seen in over a year. Well done, sir.
So Vegas had been a disaster.
And the train wreck that was the Dalton family dinner hadn’t been much better. Gray had already been annoyed at himself for letting himself get talked into joining Brynn at her parents’ house. He’d been having a brief wave of loneliness and she’d caught him at a bad time.
But he would have endured a lifetime of solitary evenings not to have to seen the horror on Sophie’s face when she’d walked into the room and seen him.
Hell, he should have been feeling horror as well. Instead he’d felt dismay.
Dismay that the Las Vegas showgirl he’d been fantasizing about for the past two weeks was really an all-American girl next door. And sister to the woman he was seeing.
Not that he and Brynn were serious. Not even close. Hell, when she’d called to invite him to dinner, he’d barely been able to picture her face.
But that didn’t mean he was okay with being attracted to her little sister. And he was definitely attracted.
There would be no more of that.
He’d learned the hard way that charming, manipulative women like Sophie were not for him.
Grayson Wyatt did not repeat mistakes.
“How’d you find her?” Ms. Jennings asked curiously. “Did she come recommended?”
Gray nearly snorted. The only person likely to recommend Sophie Dalton would be a gigolo or one of her patrons at that bar where she’d worked. Surely nobody in the professional world would want a piece of aimless fluff wandering around the office.
Then why did you offer her the job? his mind nagged.
He clenched his coffee mug in irritation at his own misstep. She wasn’t supposed to accept. In fact, he’d been certain that she wouldn’t. She’d made it perfectly clear that she couldn’t stand the sight of him.
And yet, he’d misread her. No surprise there, but it didn’t make the situation any less…dire. They’d barely been able to make it through dinner without suffocating each other with hostile tension. At least, he thought it was hostility. It was possible the tension was slightly more…sexual.
Either way, working in close proximity was a singularly bad idea.
Where is the wretched minx?
He glanced down at his watch with a scowl. “She’s supposed to start today.”
It had been nearly a week since the disastrous dinner at the Dalton household, but it had taken a few days for all the paperwork to go through. A few days in which he’d been certain she’d reconsider. A few days in which to order himself to grow some balls and back out of the arrangement.
But he hadn’t. Backing out before she’d even had a chance to start felt petty.
Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.
Gray’s office phone rang and he jumped at the chance to escape the awkward conversation.
“Ms. Jennings, would you excuse me?”
“Sure thing,” she said with a wave. “I’ll point Ms. Dalton to your office when she arrives.”
Just wonderful.
“Wyatt,” he barked into the phone.
“Ah, there’s my favorite ray of sunshine.”
Gray relaxed at the familiar voice. Ian Porter was his best friend from college and one of the few people besides his brother whom Gray knew in Seattle.
“How’d you get this number?” Gray asked.
“Sweet-talked the receptionist. She sounds cute.”
Gray grunted noncommittally. He didn’t know if Brayburn Luxuries’ main receptionist was cute or not. He hadn’t thought to look when he’d walked through the main reception lobby this morning. Hadn’t thought to notice any of the employees, for that matter. Perhaps he should go make nice on his lunch break.
“So, what’s up?” Gray asked curiously. Ian might be one of Gray’s few friends, but they rarely talked on the phone to chitchat.
“I’m on marital damage control. I was supposed to invite you over to dinner this past Sunday, but I completely forgot, and Ashley’s out for my blood. Come over this weekend and get her off my back?”
“I’d love to.” Gray was glad his friend couldn’t see his regretful wince at the belated invitation. If only Ian knew the hassle he could have saved Gray if he’d remembered to pass on his wife’s request the previous weekend. Gray could have spent Sunday evening with his best friend and godson. Instead he’d been struggling to survive in enemy camp with a pseudo-girlfriend he didn’t even want and her marriage-minded parents.
And Sophie. Ian could have saved Gray from Sophie.
Speaking of which…
Female laughter was disturbing the former quiet of the executive floor.
Familiar female laugher.
She was here.
“Hey, Ian, I gotta go. But I’ll be there on Sunday. Can I bring anything?”
“A girlfriend? That would earn me extra brownie points with the wife.”
“Absolutely no way in hell,” Gray replied, his eyes scanning the glass wall for the source of the laughter.
Ian sighed. “Fine. Just bring some wine?”
“Done. See you then.” Gray hung up the phone and froze when he finally spotted her.
Apparently the manipulative monster had already made a new friend. One of the sales associates whose name Gray couldn’t remember.
Sophie caught his glare through the glass and her smile slipped as the sales guy…Brent? Brendan?…pointed her toward Gray’s office.
Gray rose slowly from his office chair as she came trotting toward his open office door.
Do not lose your cool, he ordered himself.
He’d already done that in a jammed elevator. And again in the Daltons’ bathroom. So far he was two for two in losing his mind around Sophie. Something he planned to put a stop to. Now.
Gray did a double take as he caught a good look at the woman standing in his doorway. There was no sign of the Sophie he’d seen in the elevator or the Sophie he’d met on Sunday. There were no hooker boots, obvious makeup, or scrappy little top that hoisted her breasts clear up to her chin. Not that he’d noticed.
But also gone were the ancient jeans that had fit just a tad too snugly around her tight backside. Gone was the defiant, ditzy persona she’d maintained around her parents.
This Sophie looked…well, exactly as a new CEO’s assistant should look. Her light green skirt fell respectably to her knees, and her white blouse was conservative. He couldn’t even criticize her high heels, even if they did seem too sexy. Because, to be fair, he’d seen a dozen women wearing similar styles on his walk to work.
The only indications that this was the same woman were the blonde Playboy hair and bright blue eyes.
Simply put, she was perfectly respectable.
Sophie hadn’t made a single misstep in this conversion from hooker to tomboy to office assistant. He should have been pleased. Instead he felt…off-balance.
Off-balance from her conservative attire, off-balance from her placid smile. And definitely off-balance from the fact that his fingers were itching to unbutton those respectable buttons and see the real Sophie.
He was in serious trouble.
* * *
You can do this, Sophie reminded herself for the hundredth time that morning.
But looking into Grayson Wyatt’s glowering gaze, she wasn’t so sure. For starters, his gray suit was like a punch in the gut. It was identical to the one she’d admired in Las Vegas. Back when she’d wanted to jump his bones.
Back before she’d learned he was a jerk.
She was smarter now. Now she knew exactly what he was. An uptight, judgmental, socially impaired prick.
Whose eyes still made her…tingly. Crap.
She tried to think of something cutting and witty to say, but her brain seemed to be malfunctioning. Although she wasn’t sure if it was nerves from the unfamiliar setting or nerves from him.
In happier news, he didn’t seem to be handling her presence any better than she was handling his. He looked slightly constipated.
“Hi,” she said, wincing at the weak opening. “Witty” apparently was not in her cards this morning.
He gave a curt nod but made no effort to welcome her into the office.
“What’s with the glare?” she asked.
“What did you expect, welcome balloons?”
Sophie’s patience frayed. She stomped closer to his desk. “Did you ever think to call? I assumed you were going to back out on our deal until that woman from human resources called and asked me to send over a formal application.”
“I never back out on a deal, Ms. Dalton.”
“But you wanted to,” she accused.
“Of course I wanted to.”
Sophie felt a little stab of regret at the certainty in his tone. His irritation at their situation didn’t come as a surprise. And it wasn’t like she wanted to work for this man. She’d only agreed to it with the intention of making his life miserable. And obviously what made him miserable was her.
But somewhere beneath her Old Testament–style revenge fantasies, a little part of Sophie wanted to make Gray change his mind about her. Impress him. She wanted to prove that she could do a good job and make him eat his horrible words in the elevator and in her parents’ powder room.
“You may as well go set your bag down,” he said with a resigned sigh. “I don’t need you at the moment.”
Sophie’s jaw dropped slightly at the curt command and sheer irritability coming off of him in waves. “Are you kidding me? It’s both of our first day on the job, and we’re not even going to…you know, talk?”
He glanced up at her for a brief moment. “If we were new to each other, I would, of course, invite you in to sit down and fake interest in your life and what your hobbies were. But since we’re past all that—”
“Really?” she interrupted. “Are we? The only thing I know about you is that you’re trying to get into my sister’s pants. And the only thing you seem to know about me is that I turn tricks on Saturday nights.”
Gray finally gave her his full attention, but not until he’d made a show of rubbing his eyes like she was an exhausting toddler. “You’re right, Ms. Dalton. I’m behaving badly. Please sit down.”
“I think I’ll set my purse down at my desk first,” she said, turning on her brand-new patent-leather blue pump and flouncing out of his office.
But her initial surge of satisfaction about defying him faded almost immediately.
He really didn’t like her.
The full magnitude of her situation settled around her like a storm cloud. It had seemed like such a harmless game on Sunday night, but now that she was actually here, she was realizing that she’d have to earn her paycheck.
And that meant pleasing Mr. High and Mighty.
“But not in the sexual way,” she muttered to herself snidely, remembering Las Vegas all too vividly. “Because he’s not the type to ‘pay for sexual attention.’”
Sophie identified her desk by the WELCOME, SOPHIE card next to one of those fancy corporate gift baskets. She’d bet her new shoes that it wasn’t Gray himself who’d initiated the gesture. Flicking open the card, her suspicions were confirmed. It was signed “the team at Brayburn Luxuries” in a distinctly feminine scrawl. He probably wasn’t even aware of its existence.
Setting her imitation designer purse down, she surveyed her workplace. Sophie let out a little squeal as she took in the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk.
All of the Seattle landmarks sparkled up at her from the high-rise windows. Well, okay, not so much “sparkled,” considering the fog, but still. There was the Space Needle, endless water, big-ass mountains. She could have been looking at a poster for Sleepless in Seattle. Minus the adorable image of lovelorn Tom Hanks and perky Meg Ryan before she’d gone all edgy and weird.
Her desk phone rang and Sophie plopped into her chair to answer it. “Hello?”
“Is that how you’re going to answer the office phone line?”
Sophie swiveled around in her chair to stare through the glass walls to Gray’s office. He was staring back. She really hated that he was wearing another of those dark charcoal suits. Men in modern, sexy suits were a major weakness of hers.
“Are you seriously calling me?” she asked. “From ten feet away?”
“Very astute, Ms. Dalton. Perhaps by the time we leave today, you will have managed to remember that you’re not answering the phone at your sorority house, and you will have aspired to actually follow the directions of your employer.”
“Do you have any friends, Mr. Wyatt?”
“Friends?”
“It’s a tricky concept for someone like you, I’m sure. They’re essentially people who place themselves in your company voluntarily.”
Silence.
She watched through the glass as he broke eye contact and stared at a stack of papers on his desk. His expression was mostly unreadable, but for a brief moment, Sophie had the sensation that he was almost human.
“See if you can manage to be in my office within the next two minutes, Ms. Dalton. Surely even you can handle that.”
Nope, definitely not human.
Sophie hung up and tapped her home-manicured nails against her fancy new desk.
The morning was not going as planned. He was supposed to be cool and indifferent, and she was to be polite and professional until she’d figured out a plan of attack.
Instead he looked ready to explode, and she hadn’t even been trying to annoy him.
And already she was itching to see what was beneath that icy surface. That was so not part of the plan.
Sophie assessed her two options:
Stick it out and figure out how to work with Mr. Holier Than Thou, or…
Quit.
Quitting was the obvious choice.
The whole point of this respectable-job thing was to be, well…respected. That was pretty much out the window considering the one person who was now supposed to save her ego was the very same person who’d crushed it in the first place.
Even the luxury of working in a place where nobody spilled beer on you or “accidentally” brushed your boobs wasn’t worth working for a man who’d seen you wearing little more than a bandanna tied around your waist.
Especially one whom you also had to face at family functions.
And the drive-him-out-of-his-mind revenge plan still held appeal, but she wasn’t sure how to do that and be a competent employee at the same time. Her two goals were working against each other.
Something you should have thought about before getting into this mess, she chided herself.
So quitting it was.
Or…
Sophie contemplated a third option.
Leave the ball in his court.
It wasn’t her usual course of action. She liked to be in control. But this way, Sophie couldn’t be accused of being a quitter. More than likely he was already thinking of ways to get rid of her. And then he could be the jerk, and she could be the poor fired victim.
Mind made up, Sophie took her sweet time reapplying her lipstick. Not because she wanted to look her best, of course. At least, not just that. Mostly it was because the thought of making Grayson Wyatt wait on her was rapidly improving her mood. She added a dab of shiny gloss to her lower lip to make it look fuller. Then she checked her mascara and blush.
Primping complete, Sophie strolled over to his office, taking care to let her hips sway just a bit. If this was going to be her last day on the new job, she at least wanted to get the most out of her brand-new outfit. Gray definitely seemed like the type who would prefer everyone to knock and await permission. So she barged in.
And blanched.
The office was horrible.
She didn’t know how she’d missed it the first time she’d come in. Probably because she’d been too busy trying to avoid her new boss’s death ray gaze. But she was getting a good look at it now. It was creepy. Even for Gray.
“Whooooo-eee!” she turned in a full circle. “I love what you’ve done with the place. Did you decapitate all these animals yourself? I’d ask if they were dead first, but I know better. Destroying creatures you deem beneath you is a hobby of yours, am I right?”
He looked up from his files, and the eyes that met hers betrayed nothing. Not even annoyance.
“They’re not mine,” he replied curtly. “The former CEO left the, um, decorations when he retired,” he said finally. “I’d prefer something less cluttered.”
“Wow, you liking no clutter? That’s a shocker.”
She was oddly relieved that the hunting paraphernalia wasn’t his. Sophie was a bit of an animal lover and certainly didn’t need one more reason to dislike him.
She settled uninvited into the chair across from him. “So, what’s up, boss?”
Silence. Sophie waited impatiently while he finished whatever it was that he was reading. She accidentally-on-purpose let the toe of her supercute new shoe bump against his desk.
Thump. Thump. ThumpThumpThump. THUMP.
Finally he finished his reading and set it aside. She was pretty sure he’d just been staring at a blank piece of paper in order to make her wait on him, but considering she’d taken five minutes to put on lipstick for that same purpose, she didn’t judge.
“First things first, Ms. Dalton—”
“Stop with that. Call me Sophie.”
Gray paused. Blinked at her. Considered. “No, I don’t think so.”
She couldn’t resist an eye roll.
“As I was saying, Ms. Dalton, there are a couple things I want to address before we discuss your long-term, routine responsibilities as executive assistant to the president.”
“Oh, is that your title? I didn’t see it plastered all over your fifty different nameplates.”
His poker face didn’t budge. “I understand that this job is a new…career direction for you. Care to explain why?”
Sophie’s carefree attitude evaporated. He was poking in areas that nobody had access to. “I don’t really see how my motivations are relevant.”
Just fire me so we can get this over with.
He pressed on. “So you’re telling me that quitting your waitressing job the very day after you got back from Las Vegas—”
“How did you know that?”
As if she needed to ask. Obviously Brynn had given him the details. Reason number eight hundred and fifty-four why it was a bad idea to work for someone who dated your only sibling.
Gray proceeded as though she hadn’t interrupted. “You quit a waitressing job just days after I assumed that you were a prostitute. Are the two incidents related?”
“Maybe I just got tired of the lousy tips.”
“So then you’d find a more upscale restaurant, you wouldn’t just wiggle your way into the corporate world!”
Sophie sneered. “Says the man born in a white collar.”
Gray leaned forward slightly. “I’ve met your parents, Sophie. I’ve seen the house you grew up in. Still want to talk to me about white-collar?”
She flushed. Whoops.
“Point taken,” she grated out. “And since you’re the one who brought up my family, aren’t we going to talk about the fact that it’s weird that you’re dating my sister?”
“I thought we established the awkwardness of that connection in your parents’ powder room.”
Sophie shifted uncomfortably, remembering exactly how charged that particular confrontation had been. “Well, then you shouldn’t have given me a job,” she muttered.
“You weren’t supposed to accept!”
Sophie sucked in a breath at his outburst. She couldn’t help it—his reaction stung. She’d known all along that he’d been merely trapped by her sister’s interference and that he didn’t actually want to hire her. But a small, pathetic part of her thought that maybe he’d offered because he wanted to keep her around.
Fool, she thought harshly. Men like Gray did not relish connections with women who wore miniskirts and ratty jeans and whose résumés boasted how many shots they could carry on a tray. Somehow she didn’t think he’d appreciate the nuances of a Buttery Nipple.
Oh God, do not put “Grayson Wyatt” and “nipple” in the same thought, she instructed her sex-starved brain.
“Ms. Dalton, what I was trying to get at with my questions…I need to know whether your decision to hastily quit your waitressing job had anything to do with my less-than-gentlemanly assessment of you in that elevator.”
Sophie threw up her hands in exasperation. Clearly the man was not going to give up. “Okay fine. Yes. YES. The whole mistaken-for-a-hooker thing wasn’t exactly a balm on my ego. And so, yes, I decided it might be time to change some things in my life. Happy now?”
His lips pressed into a firm line before he nodded once. “Okay.”
“‘Okay’? That’s it?”
Sophie saw temper flash across his gaze and he very purposefully set one palm on his desk as he leaned forward. “What exactly am I supposed to say? My corporate life has just become a nightmare, and I have to accept that I have nobody but myself to blame. All because I hurt a party girl’s feelings and inspired her to play dress-up.”
Anger snaked down Sophie’s spine and she stood up, slapping her own palms on his desk so she could get in his face. “That’s why you regret insulting me? Because it led to this?”
As she said “this,” she waved her hand between their two bodies, and Gray’s eyes followed the motion of her hand before he halfway stood and put his face within inches of hers.
“Quit,” he commanded.
Sophie could feel his breath on her face. “Fire me.”
“And have a lawsuit on my hands? I don’t think so. You’d sue me halfway to China.”
“Well, I’m not going to add ‘quitter’ to my lengthy list of flaws, so if you want me gone, you’ll have to haul me out by the hair,” she shot back.
Sophie saw his fingers flex briefly and suspected there was nothing he’d like more than to follow through with her suggestion. But the hot, angry Gray was slowly fading.
Sophie watched with an odd pang of disappointment as the Ice Man returned, and he slowly lowered to his chair. For a moment he’d seemed so…alive.
“How about a compromise?”
She squinted warily. “What sort of compromise?”
“It’s more of a trial period, actually. One week to see if we can put the past behind us.”
Sophie considered. One week. She could do that. Probably.
People separated the personal and professional all the time, and half of her friends hated their bosses. Maybe her situation wasn’t so different after all.
And the sad truth was, she needed this job. It was either this or ask her parents for a loan. Her stomach turned at the thought.
“Okay,” she snapped, before she could change her mind. “It’s a deal.”
She expected him to respond with smugness. After all, she had just agreed to his terms. With no arguing. Everything she knew about him so far said he should be gloating.
Instead he looked…panicked.
But about what?
Once again, the flicker of humanity she thought she saw disappeared from his face in an instant.
“Fine,” he said with a dismissive wave. “We’ll reassess the situation next Friday.”
She nodded in agreement. “And in the meantime? Anything you want me to do besides answer the phone and follow your bidding?”
His silver eyes seemed to burn hot before he shifted his gaze to the wall behind her. “How do you feel about decorating?”
Sophie shrugged. “Amenable.” I hope you like pink.
“Amenable,” he repeated. “That must be a first for you.”
He waved his hand in the general direction of the dead animal gallery. “Get rid of all this. Donate it, sell it, keep it, ship it back to Martin Brayburn. I don’t care what you do with it so long as you get it out. Once that’s complete, we’ll discuss what I want to replace it with. If anything.”
“Should I be writing this down?” she asked sweetly.
“If you think you need to.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Anything else? Boss?”
“Mr. Wyatt,” he corrected.
“Whatever.” She was already heading to the door.
“Sophie,” he called, just as she was about to walk out.
She felt a weird jolt at hearing him say her first name. She ignored said jolt. “Yeah?”
“Do you think we’ll be able to survive a week of…this?”
She didn’t have to ask what he meant by “this.” But of course neither one of them would put a name to it and say it out loud.
Not with their history. Not with their work relationship. Not with her sister.
“I don’t know, Mr. Wyatt,” she responded. “But it will be fun to find out.”