“Technically, huh?” But I’m smiling too. Only Chase could get me to smile when I should feel tricked. Maybe it’s his voice. His smile. Or the fact that it’s hard to get mad at a man wearing a cat-printed pocket square. But knowing he personally picked out my favorite shirt ever sends shivers down my spine. The good kind.
“‘Return to Sender’? Good song, but don’t even think about it.”
Crap.My cheeks heat, but I smile it out, like I was conscious of my odd habit.
Why do all my weird quirks have to rear up around this man?
Chase checks his watch. “We have some time, why don’t we order coffee at the café for your team before heading upstairs?” He steps back, gesturing me to the doors leading back to the retail floor.
Shaking off my embarrassment, I give him a sly look. “Returning to the scene of the crime, huh?”
He coughs. “Uh, yes. I guess we are.” Once through the doors, he walks beside me. “Although I wouldn’t call it a crime. Much too serendipitous for that.”
“I’ll be sure to use serendipity as my defense if I get arrested for flashing any more nipple today.”
Chase
I’m gettingside-eye from a barista.
It’s the same girl from yesterday. I think she’s hoping for another incident. And as much as I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Campbell’s nipples again, I’m extra careful with the carrier of coffees as we exit the café.
“Tell me about yourself, Ms. King. We didn’t get to talk much what with the wet T-shirt contest we had and then being interrupting by an irate, portly man.”
One side of her mouth quirks up.
“Why did you decide to start your own business?”
Her mouth flattens. “Same as anyone, I suppose. Be your own boss and all that.”
“True. I’m just surprised no one snapped you up out of grad school.”
Is it the light from the overhead chandeliers or did her eyes just darken?
She glances down, like she’s watching her step, but I’m pretty sure she’s just trying to hide her expression. “What do you mean?”
“You aren’t the only one who does their research. I know more than just what theForbesarticle highlighted.” I nod at a cosmetic counter, where two saleswomen are waving enthusiastically. “Graduated top of your class from NYU, with a bachelor’s in business and a master’s in marketing. Scouted right out of college to—”
“Yes. I am aware of my education and resume, thank you.” She stops at a shoe display featuring the shoes currently on her feet. “This display is great. Very artistic. This should be shot and posted on the store’s social media account.”
“Moore’s doesn’t have social media accounts.”
“I know.” The look Campbell gives me makes me feel chastised and aroused all at once.
If anyone else took that tone with me, or insinuated incompetence, I’d make a joke and move on (cough *Stan* cough). But when Campbell takes me to task, I want to prove her wrong. Do better. “Well, thatiswhy I hired you. I expect social media accounts to be a part of the marketing plan you’ll be pitching.”
“Yes. A big part of it.” She waves toward the display again. “But back to this—who’s in charge of displays?”
“I’m not sure.” I scan the floor and catch sight of Raymond, the floor manager. He sees me as well and makes his way over. While we wait, I realize Campbell has done it again. She’s avoided talking about herself. Interesting.
“Yes, Mr. Moore?” Raymond asks, his posture bordering on military precision.
I try not to cringe but fail. “Chase, Raymond. Call me Chase.”
One perfectly quirked eyebrow tells me he is not in favor of my request. He never is, but, as always, he nods in acknowledgement of it.
“This is Campbell King, of King Marketing,” I continue.
“How do you do, ma’am?” Raymond inclines his head in her direction.
