done. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the intercom seems to be on the fritz today. You have a call on line one.”
“Thanks.” He dropped the pencil on the blotter and rubbed a hand across his forehead as weariness seeped into his bones. He hoped the caller wasn’t Cara. She surely planned to prod him once again about the locket, and at the moment, her big-sister guilt-trip was exactly what he didn’t need. He glanced at the flashing green light on the phone console and heaved a sigh, wishing he could put off the call. Impossible…if the call was from Cara, she’d never back down. She remained the most persistent person he knew.
Except for Carol. Sometimes the middle-aged woman reminded Grant of his mother—no-nonsense and to-the-point but with a heart of gold. She did her best to help him stay focused and on track. Grant never worried about the day-to-day operations of Anderson Investments when he was away, due to Carol’s watchful eye.
With great effort, he rolled the office chair in a semi-circle to snatch a stack of papers from a wire bin on the cabinet behind him. He held the sheaf out for Carol. “This file is ready to fax.”
“I’ll get it done without delay.” Carol approached the desk and took the papers. She turned slightly to curl her nose in distaste as she glimpsed the untouched lunch on his desk. “You haven’t eaten.”
“An apt assumption.” Grant pressed a palm to his gut once again and felt the chatter of gurgles that erupted at the thought of ingesting even a morsel of food. “My stomach seems to be…less than cooperative at the moment.”
“You have to eat, Grant.” Carol’s voice softened just a bit. Her lips bowed into a frown as she waggled a finger at him. “You’ve been working so hard. You need sustenance.”
“I’ll get to it, I promise.” Yet, Grant knew he was in trouble when Carol called him by name. She could be tenacious as a pit-bull, a quality that had earned her the office nickname, Bulldog.
“Well, don’t delay. You need your energy.” Her brown eyes crinkled around the edges as her forehead creased. Grant knew she must be in her sixties, but her trim figure coupled with an energetic take-charge attitude and sharp wit made her seem years younger despite the salted hair and glasses. “What good will it do you to fall ill?”
“One missed meal won’t leave a lasting mark.”
“Even so…it’s not a favorable habit to start.” She propped her free hand on her hip as her gaze held his. Suddenly Grant felt as if he were all of seventeen and under the grand inquisition in the judge’s chambers once again.
He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie that suddenly seemed to stifle his breath. The room had turned unbearably warm. “I’m not intending to make it a habit, but I appreciate your concern.”
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d eat at least a few bites of that sandwich. You haven’t been yourself lately, you know.”
“I haven’t?”
“Not at all, and you have me concerned.”
“No need to be.” He swiveled in the chair, avoiding her gaze as he busied himself with a file. “I’m fine.”
“Are you…truly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” To humor her, he turned back toward the desk and reached for the lunch sack. He delved inside and drew out the turkey on rye that had been delivered from the deli down the street. The aroma of Swiss cheese and fresh vine-ripe tomatoes ignited his appetite as he unwrapped the sandwich. Perhaps Carol was right…he should eat at least a little something. He took a bite—a big bite—and forgot his manners as he spoke around the mass of meat and bread. “How’s that?”
“It’s a start.” She nodded, satisfied, and crossed her arms with the sheaf of papers held tight to her chest. “Is there anything else you might need at the moment before I head to the fax machine with these?”
“Did you call the pharmacy to have Gemma’s inhaler refilled?”
“I did.” She dipped a
“Thanks.” He dropped the pencil on the blotter and rubbed a hand across his forehead as weariness seeped into his bones. He hoped the caller wasn’t Cara. She surely planned to prod him once again about the locket, and at the moment, her big-sister guilt-trip was exactly what he didn’t need. He glanced at the flashing green light on the phone console and heaved a sigh, wishing he could put off the call. Impossible…if the call was from Cara, she’d never back down. She remained the most persistent person he knew.
Except for Carol. Sometimes the middle-aged woman reminded Grant of his mother—no-nonsense and to-the-point but with a heart of gold. She did her best to help him stay focused and on track. Grant never worried about the day-to-day operations of Anderson Investments when he was away, due to Carol’s watchful eye.
With great effort, he rolled the office chair in a semi-circle to snatch a stack of papers from a wire bin on the cabinet behind him. He held the sheaf out for Carol. “This file is ready to fax.”
“I’ll get it done without delay.” Carol approached the desk and took the papers. She turned slightly to curl her nose in distaste as she glimpsed the untouched lunch on his desk. “You haven’t eaten.”
“An apt assumption.” Grant pressed a palm to his gut once again and felt the chatter of gurgles that erupted at the thought of ingesting even a morsel of food. “My stomach seems to be…less than cooperative at the moment.”
“You have to eat, Grant.” Carol’s voice softened just a bit. Her lips bowed into a frown as she waggled a finger at him. “You’ve been working so hard. You need sustenance.”
“I’ll get to it, I promise.” Yet, Grant knew he was in trouble when Carol called him by name. She could be tenacious as a pit-bull, a quality that had earned her the office nickname, Bulldog.
“Well, don’t delay. You need your energy.” Her brown eyes crinkled around the edges as her forehead creased. Grant knew she must be in her sixties, but her trim figure coupled with an energetic take-charge attitude and sharp wit made her seem years younger despite the salted hair and glasses. “What good will it do you to fall ill?”
“One missed meal won’t leave a lasting mark.”
“Even so…it’s not a favorable habit to start.” She propped her free hand on her hip as her gaze held his. Suddenly Grant felt as if he were all of seventeen and under the grand inquisition in the judge’s chambers once again.
He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt, loosening the tie that suddenly seemed to stifle his breath. The room had turned unbearably warm. “I’m not intending to make it a habit, but I appreciate your concern.”
“And I’d appreciate it if you’d eat at least a few bites of that sandwich. You haven’t been yourself lately, you know.”
“I haven’t?”
“Not at all, and you have me concerned.”
“No need to be.” He swiveled in the chair, avoiding her gaze as he busied himself with a file. “I’m fine.”
“Are you…truly?”
“Yes, ma’am.” To humor her, he turned back toward the desk and reached for the lunch sack. He delved inside and drew out the turkey on rye that had been delivered from the deli down the street. The aroma of Swiss cheese and fresh vine-ripe tomatoes ignited his appetite as he unwrapped the sandwich. Perhaps Carol was right…he should eat at least a little something. He took a bite—a big bite—and forgot his manners as he spoke around the mass of meat and bread. “How’s that?”
“It’s a start.” She nodded, satisfied, and crossed her arms with the sheaf of papers held tight to her chest. “Is there anything else you might need at the moment before I head to the fax machine with these?”
“Did you call the pharmacy to have Gemma’s inhaler refilled?”
“I did.” She dipped a
Similar Books
