Page 7 of Reaching Gavin

Chapter Three

Beingfive minutes late on my second day—especially after my emotionally traumatizing first day—felt like as bad an omen as the gray sky above. Seattle was usually sunny in the summer, offering a brief reprieve from the nine months of drizzle it was known for, but today was the exception. I dashed into the lobby as the first soft droplets hit the pavement. George, the receptionist, looked up and shook his head.

“I know, I know.” I dug into my purse to fish out my brand-new employee ID card. Somehow I’ve already managed to lose it. I found it at the very bottom, it having worked its way down to the bowels of my bag like all important objects usually do. I held it up triumphantly.

George leaned toward the counter and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Mr. North is on a tear. I’d head straight to the sixth floor. He hasn’t made it there yet.”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully even as my stomach took a nosedive. Not only was I late, but if I wasn’t careful, I risked angering my already annoyed boss.

“Look busy!” he called after me.

The elevator took the length of a Bible to arrive after I hit the button, my stress level ratcheting up with each second that passed until I’d hit a level of anxiety previously unheard of in a human being. I could be studied for science. When it finally came I breathed a sigh of relief, stepped in, and hit the button for the sixth floor.

I wasn’t certain what Gavin North’s problem was exactly. At the first opportunity, he’d passed me off to another associate for the tour. Then he’d shown Trevor around himself. Maybe he was a chauvinist, another white guy holding on to an old boys club mentality. It hadn’t been what I expected to encounter when I came to work here. Not after my numerous phone interviews and not after the research I’d done on the company. To be fair, there’d been a lot less information on Gavin North available. Most news outlets preferred to focus on the scandalous life of his late, silent partner Nathaniel West. Reporters were obsessed with figuring out why the real estate investor had chosen to get into business with a relative novice in his industry. Part of me was curious as well. I’d have to actually spend some time with him to find out, which would be difficult if he continued his preference for Trevor’s company.

I needed a plan. I would head to the sixth floor, drop my bag at my desk, and then latch onto the nearest friendly face. It was my best option, considering that on day two I didn’t really have a routine or a workload.

Fate had different ideas. The elevator stopped on floor three and I wanted to scream. Halfway to safety, the doors slid open and Gavin North got in. He stepped to one side, his gaze traveling over me and stopping at the purse on my shoulder.

“Just getting in, Miss Hart?” he asked conversationally.

Was it a trick question? If I said yes, would he morph into the terrifying boss monster George had just warned me about? I considered lying—a bad precedent to set this early on.

“Yes,” I admitted after an uncomfortably long pause. Best to stick to the truth. “I’m not used to Seattle. I get lost a lot.”

“An honest answer.” There seemed to a genuine note of surprise in his voice and something else. Interest maybe?

“Would you rather I lied?”

He raised a shocked eyebrow and I realized what I’d done. My Cassie filter had been off. I’d yet to activate it this morning. It had taken years for me to cultivate the presence of mind not to curse like a sailor. Mostly because I didn’t hear myself cursing. My best friends had spent the better part of our first years of college repeating what I’d just said back to me. But before coffee, I wasn’t fully present—at least not mentally—to put the bad habit in check.

I didn’t need to look in the mirrored walls of the elevator to know I’d turned the color of a freshly cooked lobster.

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out, carefully annunciating each word to avoid doing it again. “I speak sailor—literally. I haven’t had my coffee yet, so I don’t know what I said.”

“You don’t know what you said?” he repeated. Yes, it was clearly interest coloring his voice now. The elevator came to a halt on the sixth floor, but he hit the stop button before the doors could open. I was trapped with a god in a three-piece suit, who—rumor had it—was in a very bad mood. Except he didn’t seem like he was grumpy.

Gavin turned to face me and for the first time I saw how young he really was. I mean, he was older than me by several years, but the confidence he exuded made him seem older. My confession had stripped that away, leaving only the man behind. A slight smirk had crept onto his lips but it never became a full-blown smile. I swallowed hard as he unbuttoned his jacket and then smoothly slid his hands in the pockets of his slacks. Even with the arrogant, bossy veneer temporarily lifted, he moved with ease and the air of a man who wasn’t often caught off-guard.

“I suggest you work on that,” he advised. It took a second for me to process the soft words. At first, I thought he was being kind, a move which felt seriously against his nature. Then, I realized he was holding back.

“Are you laughing at me?” I took a step toward the elevator’s control panel, but he moved in front of it.

“I’ve never met anyone with swearing induced amnesia before.”

“It’s not amnesia.” I darted closer to the buttons again, which also took me a step closer to him—close enough that I could smell the expensive cologne he was wearing, a heady mixture of leather and bergamot that rattled me. I closed my eyes for a second to collect myself. “It’s more like a filter.”

“So your own language offends you?” The smirk had turned into a grin. It wasn’t the panty-dropping smile that usually caught my attention. No, Gavin’s smile lit his whole face and radiated out from him. I might as well have been made out of ice cream because I practically melted.

“I don’t find curse words offensive,” I admitted. “I just think of them as words. Maybe that’s why I don’t hear them. Are you aware of every time you say ‘the’ or ‘”and’?”

“You’re actually making a compelling argument.” Finally, a laugh. Somehow it felt better to hear it than to know he was holding it back. Maybe because it was as warm and genuine as his smile.

“Once I have coffee, I promise I’ll be in better control of it.” I eyed the big red button that would deliver me from the incredible awareness of this moment and into a shame spiral that would probably force me into hyperventilating in the bathroom.

“Coffee it is.” He hit the panel and the elevator dinged, announcing our arrival. With one fluid motion, he stepped to the side and gestured for me to go first.

Gavin North was a gentleman. I’d barely processed that thought when he added, “We wouldn’t want you to lose control at work.”