Page 42 of The Unwilling Bride
The two of them turn to look at me, then turn forward and put their heads together.
“Don’t you dare bet on me again.”
They don’t reply. They’re totally betting on me again. Not that I’m going to let that stop me.
Someone’s gotta speak up for Ollie. And I guess that person is me. I can’t, in good faith, continue with my job when someone who needs it even more than me is losing his.
But bringing it up with the boss? The man who’s made it clear his cardinal rule is not to contradict him? Am I going to do this?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I turn and head up the hallway toward the lion’s den—I mean, his office.
Yep, apparently, I’m doing this.
I reach the door just as it opens. A shaken Ollie walks out. He looks like he’s about to burst into tears.
“Ollie, wait for me, okay?”
He’s so dazed, I know he didn’t hear me.
“I promise, it’s going to be fine.” Maybe not for me, but I gotta try.
He blinks then glances at the door. “I don’t think you should go in there.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“He’s busy.” He shuffles his feet.
“He’s always busy, but this can’t wait.” I nod at him reassuringly.
“There’s someone in there with him.” He shifts his weight as if uncomfortable.
I frown. “You were in there with him.”
“Until she interrupted us.”
“She walked in on the two of you talking?”
James would not let anyone cut in when he's in the middle of something work-related. Unless… “She’s someone he knows personally?”
“Maybe.” He doesn’t meet my gaze.
Which tells me everything I need to know. The Duke of Deep Freeze has a girlfriend? This, I need to see. I turn and knock on the door.
I expect him to ask me to leave. But he calls, “Come in.”
I slip into the office. And come to a stop.
The Ice Commander is sitting behind his desk, a bored look on his face.
He looks from me to the tall, willowy brunette standing next to him. She doesn’t seem to notice when I enter. She’s completely engrossed in James.
“You haven’t called me in weeks. So, I decided to come and check up on you.” Her voice is low and husky. When she places her red tipped fingers on his shoulder, he raises an eyebrow.
He doesn’t shrug her off. Or tell her to keep her distance.
A stab of something like jealousy slices through my chest. Nah, not jealousy. Most likely, just exhaustion from being overworked. I shove the confusing sensations aside and survey James’ companion with interest.
With her elegant posture, the woman looks like she stepped straight out of a fashion magazine.
