The Sweetest Hours. Cathryn Parry

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СКАЧАТЬ STRETCHED HER arms, twisted at her waist and then bent down and retrieved her fallen coat. She’d been overcautious in protecting herself from George Smith.

      Clearly, he was not a physical threat, she thought, as she walked to the company break room. George seemed harmless enough beneath his rough exterior, once he’d lowered the gruff defenses he hid behind.

      She hung her coat on a hook by the far wall, beside the vending machines and the coffee brewers. She couldn’t help but still wonder about the phone conversation she’d overheard him engaged in, but it would’ve been unwise to push him too far. That call had been private...intimate.

      In all likelihood he’d been speaking with a Scottish lady. A girlfriend from his homeland, perhaps? That would explain the accent he’d been using—and the reason he’d been covering it up. It could just be simple embarrassment.

      Still, it was best she inform her supervisor what was going on in the offices. It was safest that way. She didn’t want Andrew calling her “unprofessional” over her handling of the consultant, not if she could help it.

      Carrying her purse under her arm, she slipped down the hall and into her hideaway in the factory. The best part about working at Aura Botanicals was the great smell of the organic body creams that they manufactured—a scent that was everywhere in the air, fresh and clean.

      If she used her imagination and considered the silver lining in every cloud, then working for Aura was like taking a spa day every time she came to work. The essential oils of juniper and birch cleared her head, and the milk-based lotions made her feel like Heidi on her own mountain in Switzerland.

      But the scent of the beeswax—the honey—was her favorite, and it was most concentrated in the inventory storeroom she chose to make her phone call from. Lingering amid the racks and bottles to take deep, cleansing breaks was her secret escape during regular workdays.

      Positioning herself near a small square window, high above her, she took out her phone and texted Dirk, her supervisor.

      Immediately he rang her back. When she answered his call, she could hear the “Chicken Dance” playing in the background. Dirk was at one of his Saturday wedding-DJ jobs he loved so much. Who was she to stomp on someone’s dreams?

      “Yo, Kristin, I was just gonna call you. Did you hear that Andrew’s wife went into labor?”

      “I did.” Kristin had forgotten about that in all the excitement with George Smith in her office. “Do you have any news?”

      “No.”

      “What did Andrew say?” she prodded. “How is Robin doing?”

      “Ah...he just said that there’s a management consultant in the plant, and that you’re in charge of him for the day.”

      “I’m in charge? Well, it was great of him to let me know about it.” Too bad Andrew couldn’t deign to talk to her himself instead of going through “channels.” Mentally, she rolled her eyes. “What does he want me to do? The consultant asked to be let into the computer system, and he requested a tour of the factory, too.”

      “Hey, you know I would help you out, but I’m at work today,” Dirk said.

      Kristin gritted her teeth and took a breath from the smell of the honey around her, reminding herself to stay calm. “So am I, Dirk.”

      “That’s great,” he said. “Look, I’ll see you Monday. You’ll do fine, okay?”

      “Wait!” She jumped down from the shelf she’d been sitting on. “Don’t hang up on me yet.” Her boss seemed only too happy to distance himself from the consultant’s visit, and she wasn’t getting a good feeling about this. “Do I have your permission to show him our operations?”

      “Andrew said you’re in charge. This is your decision.”

      “Well, what does that mean exactly?”

      “Honestly? If anything goes wrong today, it’s on you.”

      “Me?”

      “Sure. You’re the one who’s there.” Dirk made a laughing inflection of the word. “I can’t cover you from here. If Andrew gets mad at you, then he gets mad at you. Shit happens, and it is what it is.”

      She hugged herself, pacing the small storeroom. More than anything, she needed to keep this job. Suddenly, there were more stakes involved than just being “distracted” from her work. Yes, she’d thought George Smith was interesting; she’d enjoyed questioning him. When he’d smiled, she’d been intrigued. His eyes were nice. Kind. Not threatening at all. And, of course, there was that accent...

      She sighed, opening one of the lotion bottles and inhaling for fortitude. Dirk was, in effect, reminding her to be on her guard. Reminding her of her shaky standing at Aura of late. Ever since Laura had died, there’d been no one to protect her from Andrew.

      “Kristin, I need to go. It’s time to announce the cake-cutting.”

      There was nothing more to be done. Discussing the decision with Dirk wouldn’t solve a thing. She needed to trust her gut.

      “I’m just keeping you informed,” she said. “Have a good wedding.”

      * * *

      MALCOLM HAD WORKED with a lot of successful women in his professional life—CEOs, saleswomen, accountants—and what they all had in common were determination and strength of will. None of them were pushovers.

      Kristin wasn’t a pushover, either. She was just...surprising. She had a different style of operating, he supposed, that of a natural free spirit. When she smiled at him and tilted her head, he could see where he would have to be extra careful not to let himself be lulled off guard. Because at the end of the day, as the cliché went, everybody had their own interests at heart. As he well knew.

      “Is everything all right?” he asked Kristin as she stood again in the doorway to the office—to her office.

      She nodded grimly and set down two steaming mugs on his—her—desk. “It looks like I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said. “George.”

      He made sure not to flinch at the false name. His poker face in action, he nodded.

      “Great. Er...I’m going to need some help with navigating this computer system. It’s not an accounting program I’m familiar with.”

      “That’s because we bought the rights to the source code, and it’s evolved from an older software package.” She slid one of the mugs toward him. “Here. I brought you some coffee. If you don’t like coffee, there’s tea and cocoa in the break room.”

      “This is...great. Thank you.” He curled one hand around the warm brew. Black, the way he liked it. “Could you, ah, show me the report screen?”

      “Do you want financial reports or manufacturing reports?” she asked coolly.

      “Ah...the shop floor reports with costs, projections and capacities would be most helpful for now.” Damn, he was distracted. Good thing he already had everything else he needed, directly from Jay Astley himself.

      Personally, СКАЧАТЬ