measured way around the dial to dead on the hour, then plucked the receiver off the ancient black desk phone and said brightly, “Good Morning, Solomon Charters. Hold Abbot?” She looked over at him, grinning hugely. “Let me see if he’s around.”
Hold slashed a hand across his throat, shook his head, even got to his feet, prepared to beat a hasty retreat before he had to talk to the Windfaller on the other end of that call—probably female and ready with a proposition he’d have to find a non-insulting way to fend off. He’d just about run out of charm, and for a man who hailed from a part of the country where charm was as much a part of the culture as pralines, that was saying something.
Jessi rolled her eyes, but said into the phone, “He’s not here, Mrs. Hadley.” After a “Yes,” a couple of “Mm-hmmms,” and some scribbling, she said good-bye and hung up the phone, holding out a pink message slip. “How about dinner?”
Hold crossed the room to brace his backside against her desk, just near her right elbow. “Sign me up, sugar.”
“Boy, you’re good at that,” Jessi said. “The little lean, the eye contact, and the way you call me ‘sugar’ in that slow, easy Southern drawl. Smooth as Bourbon. Laureen Hadley is a goner.”
“Who? What?”
“Laureen Hadley. You’re having dinner with her tonight.” Jessi handed him the pink message slip. “Eight sharp, which is quite the sacrifice for Mr. Hadley since, according to Mrs. Hadley, eating that late will wreak havoc on his digestion. Mr. Hadley is always one taco away from complete intestinal meltdown, so that’s really no big surprise.”
Hold stared at the slip a minute, then wadded it up and tossed it in the trash. “I’m not having dinner with the Hadleys. I’m busy tonight.”
“Of course you are,” Jessi said in a way that told him she thought she knew exactly what he’d be busy doing. Or rather whom.
She reached into the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a stack of pink message notes and handed them over. “Take your pick.”
Hold dropped them in the trash. “I’m busy then, too.”
“Why do you encourage them if you’re not interested?”
“I don’t encourage them.”
She twisted around in her chair, rolling it back a couple feet so she could stare at him, brows arched. “What do you call flirting?”
“Harmless fun. A way to pass the time, make a woman feel good about herself.”
“Harmless for you, maybe. Around here it’s like making yourself the only bone in a roomful of starving dogs. Once they get done swiping at one another, the last one standing is only going to…”
“Gnaw on me a little while?”
She gave him a slight smile. “For starters.”
“You made your point, Jessica. From now on I’ll only flirt with you.”
“At least I know you don’t mean it.” She rolled back to her desk, pulled a stack of paperwork over in front of her.
“What makes you think I don’t mean it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you flirt with, oh, every woman between legal and the grave? What would make me any different?”
“I don’t know,” he parroted. “Maybe the fact that I’m attracted to you?”
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s true, Jessica. I’m saving myself for you. Ask any woman between legal and the grave. They’ll tell you I’m all talk and no action.”
“I have no interest in your love life.”
Not for long, Hold thought as he pushed off her desk. And he was running out of patience. Sure, he’d only been there a couple of weeks, and while he’d wanted Jessi from the moment he saw her, he’d decided to give her time to get used to the idea. She was, however, being purposely, stubbornly , obtuse.
Or maybe there was something more at work this morning.
Hold slid the stack of papers out from under her unseeing eyes. “Want to share your problem with Uncle Hold?”
“You’re not my uncle.”
He grinned, settled beside her again. “Glad you noticed.”
She