James snorted with laughter. "Losing your edge there, old man. And here I thought your fat bank account was going to make you unstoppable with the ladies."
"That's the Ice Queen," one of the junior executives said. "Rainer just needs to turn up the heat a bit."
"Wanna bet?" James asked.
I left them outside the elevator, placing their bets. I actually had to jog down the hallway to catch up with Tasha. "Tasha, hold up," I called.
She glanced over her shoulder, her coppery curls bouncing. "If it's not about work, I'm not stopping," she said.
"It is, I swear," I said, catching hold of her bare shoulder. My mind went blank.
Tasha shrugged away from my hand and tapped a high-heel as she waited. "Well? What work have you been doing already this morning?"
The thought of Sheila, the interior designer, and her delectable view flashed through my head. Normally, my mind would have detoured off into enjoyable daydreams, but today it hummed with only one thought. Tasha. The whole empty interlude, the first like that that I had ever turned down, was nothing compared to Tasha's dark-brown eyes and the satin of her bare skin. I could still feel the heat of her on my fingertips.
"Tying a few things up at home," I said. "Did I tell you I bought a new house?"
"Really, Rainer, we don't have time for this. You do remember we have an early meeting with Stan, I mean, Mr. Eastman. Right?" Tasha asked.
Another person she was on a first-name basis with, except he was the Chief Operating Officer of our whole damn company. I blinked as a few far-fetched rumors caught traction in my head. "You and Mr. Eastman? Are you two close?" I asked.
Tasha whipped around and marched towards her office. Again I had to race to catch up. I reached out for her silken, bare shoulder, but she rounded on me and jabbed a finger into my chest.
"I'm not going to catch you up every day, Rainer. This is your project now, and I expect you to do your share," Tasha said.
I caught her jabbing finger and held her hand as long as she would let me. "Catch me up on what?"
Tasha yanked her hand free. "Of course you don't know. We're facing a public relations nightmare of epic proportions, the whole project is in jeopardy, and you, of all people, don't have a clue."
My hand went to the pocket that held my phone. Topher had been calling all morning, and I hadn't checked a single message. My email inbox was jammed full, but I had been too distracted learning that Tasha had a pregnant sister. "I'll know soon enough," I pointed out.
"GroGreen is under attack for encouraging people to skip the real gardening and just sit on their couches. We're being charged in the court of public opinion for adding to the U. S. obesity problem. Our app has been downgraded to nothing but a silly game."
I groped for Tasha's hand again, and this time she didn't pull away. "Are you serious?" I asked.
My assistant, Topher, came rushing up. "Mr. Maxwell, I've been looking all over for you. Did you get my messages? My emails? My. . . Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."
I ignored Topher's preoccupation with our interlaced hands and tugged Tasha towards her office. Her assistant, a vacant-smiling temp, glanced up serenely. "Hello, Ms. Nicholas."
"It's Nichols, Amy. My name is Ms. Nichols," Tasha said.
"Sure, right. Would you like some coffee?"
Tasha's hand slipped from mine as Topher and I gaped at the useless assistant. It was clear at that moment that any work Tasha did, the amazing work she did for Hyperion, was completely on her own. While I sat in an office with a view, letting my overeager assistant organize everything for me, Tasha worked alone with her back turned to the gray-brick view behind her.
"Ms. Nichols, I have the latest reports," Topher said. He rushed after her into her cramped office.
I ignored the flirty smile from the useless temp and followed my assistant. He was right to aim his hard work at Tasha, and, for once, I was glad I had something to offer her.
"If Hyperion can't recover from the bad press, it will encourage lawsuits, and the company will have to freeze the assets gained from the app sales," Topher said.
"We'll lose our bonuses?" I asked.
"That's all you care about, isn't it?" Tasha asked. She crossed her arms and leaned on her utilitarian desk. "Your billions are safe; it's just the company's name, r
eputation, and our professional respect that is at risk."
She thought that I didn't care about anything but my bank account. Neither she, nor my assistant, could hear the nagging voices in my head. It wouldn't matter how much money I had made, how I had secured the Maxwell fortune for generations to come. If my work lost the respect of everyone, the whole nation from what Topher was saying, then my family would never let me forget it.