approached her desk. Over the smooth hum of
keyboards, she asked, “I've got an appointment with Virgil Britten.
Could you please direct me to his office?”
“Is your name Laura Witherow?” After nodding
yes, she was directed down yet another corridor.
This corridor was much shorter to Laura's
relief. At the end was another small office, consisting of only one
person. This woman, too, was around her own age and smiled upon
greeting her, obviously expecting her. Laura returned the smile
uncertainly. The small quarters hardly appeared to be the reception
area for the president of the company.
“Laura Witherow? If you'll just have a seat,
he'll be with you in a few minutes.”
She took one of the two cushioned seats
against the opposite wall of the receptionist's desk then took a
quick survey of her surroundings. The office was small, fairly
empty, and modestly plain for one who was head of the company. The
walls were a weary cream tone with one print of nothing in
particular hanging from it. Laura's eyes digested the only sense of
life in the room came from the receptionist's desk. It was
splattered with color consisting of family photos, comic clippings,
and humor mugs. She looked up to find the receptionist smiling
across at her.
“Decorating is left in the hands of my boss,
but the desk is all mine.” She cared to explain.
Laura smiled just as the buzzer on the girl's
telephone rang. Without hesitation, the woman, Cara Henderson, as
her nameplate identified, picked up the receiver. “Yes, you're 9:15
appointment has arrived. Ms. Witherow is—”
Laura glanced up as the woman's voice was cut
short and her pleasant smile averted into a frown. With a brief
glance in Laura's direction she looked down at her appointment
book, then said into the receiver, “Laura. Laura Witherow.”
In the next second, the door adjoining the
small office swung open and a large familiar form filled its
entrance. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 3
Laura spun around, startled at Dexter
O'Reilly's unexpected appearance. Her eyes drank in his appearance,
taking note of his business attire and how it formed his masculine
physique and gave him a semblance of power. He was exactly how she
remembered him. Right from the thick brown locks above those
forceful but dynamic eyes, down to the small shadow of growth along
his hard sturdy jaw-line.
She caught herself floundering as she
attempted to get to her feet nonchalantly. “I see your mood hasn’t
improved in the past eight months, Mr. O'Reilly.”
He shot Laura a troubled glare. “Who told you
where to find me?”
Laura was taken aback. “No one. I found you
myself—I mean, I found Britten Investment myself. Where you came
from, I've no idea.”
“I happen to work here. I’m Britten’s chief
financial officer. What are you doing here?”
“I thought you ran Summer Meadows?”
“I’m just their financial adviser. So again,
what are you doing here?”
“I thought you were the owner?”
His lips thinned. “It’s none of your business
my position in the food chain. Now, whatever your reason, I suggest
you turn around and leave the same way you came. I have no interest
in a reconciliation with you.”
Angry, she threw back at him. “I’m not here
to see you. I'm here to see Virgil Britten. I have an
appointment—”
He swore under his breath and scowled down at
her for the longest moment before growling, “When will you get out
of my life?”
Startled, she muttered, “Pardon?” But then
found herself hurt by his blunt words and immediately went on the
defense. “I'm not in your life. And if you would kindly direct me
to Virgil—”
Turning abruptly, he marched back into his
office. His reaction was so swift it completely took her by
surprise. Floundering for only a moment, she felt a surge of
irritation and swiftly followed him into the interior of his
office.
“Do you mind?” she promptly demanded.
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do,”
keyboards, she asked, “I've got an appointment with Virgil Britten.
Could you please direct me to his office?”
“Is your name Laura Witherow?” After nodding
yes, she was directed down yet another corridor.
This corridor was much shorter to Laura's
relief. At the end was another small office, consisting of only one
person. This woman, too, was around her own age and smiled upon
greeting her, obviously expecting her. Laura returned the smile
uncertainly. The small quarters hardly appeared to be the reception
area for the president of the company.
“Laura Witherow? If you'll just have a seat,
he'll be with you in a few minutes.”
She took one of the two cushioned seats
against the opposite wall of the receptionist's desk then took a
quick survey of her surroundings. The office was small, fairly
empty, and modestly plain for one who was head of the company. The
walls were a weary cream tone with one print of nothing in
particular hanging from it. Laura's eyes digested the only sense of
life in the room came from the receptionist's desk. It was
splattered with color consisting of family photos, comic clippings,
and humor mugs. She looked up to find the receptionist smiling
across at her.
“Decorating is left in the hands of my boss,
but the desk is all mine.” She cared to explain.
Laura smiled just as the buzzer on the girl's
telephone rang. Without hesitation, the woman, Cara Henderson, as
her nameplate identified, picked up the receiver. “Yes, you're 9:15
appointment has arrived. Ms. Witherow is—”
Laura glanced up as the woman's voice was cut
short and her pleasant smile averted into a frown. With a brief
glance in Laura's direction she looked down at her appointment
book, then said into the receiver, “Laura. Laura Witherow.”
In the next second, the door adjoining the
small office swung open and a large familiar form filled its
entrance. “What the blazes are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 3
Laura spun around, startled at Dexter
O'Reilly's unexpected appearance. Her eyes drank in his appearance,
taking note of his business attire and how it formed his masculine
physique and gave him a semblance of power. He was exactly how she
remembered him. Right from the thick brown locks above those
forceful but dynamic eyes, down to the small shadow of growth along
his hard sturdy jaw-line.
She caught herself floundering as she
attempted to get to her feet nonchalantly. “I see your mood hasn’t
improved in the past eight months, Mr. O'Reilly.”
He shot Laura a troubled glare. “Who told you
where to find me?”
Laura was taken aback. “No one. I found you
myself—I mean, I found Britten Investment myself. Where you came
from, I've no idea.”
“I happen to work here. I’m Britten’s chief
financial officer. What are you doing here?”
“I thought you ran Summer Meadows?”
“I’m just their financial adviser. So again,
what are you doing here?”
“I thought you were the owner?”
His lips thinned. “It’s none of your business
my position in the food chain. Now, whatever your reason, I suggest
you turn around and leave the same way you came. I have no interest
in a reconciliation with you.”
Angry, she threw back at him. “I’m not here
to see you. I'm here to see Virgil Britten. I have an
appointment—”
He swore under his breath and scowled down at
her for the longest moment before growling, “When will you get out
of my life?”
Startled, she muttered, “Pardon?” But then
found herself hurt by his blunt words and immediately went on the
defense. “I'm not in your life. And if you would kindly direct me
to Virgil—”
Turning abruptly, he marched back into his
office. His reaction was so swift it completely took her by
surprise. Floundering for only a moment, she felt a surge of
irritation and swiftly followed him into the interior of his
office.
“Do you mind?” she promptly demanded.
“Yes, as a matter-of-fact, I do,”
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