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I have a sinking suspicion the woman wearing a full face of makeup and designer spandex is headed this way, even before she stops directly in front of my desk.
“Good morning. Can I help you?” I ask politely.
She glances at the shiny nameplate affixed to the wall behind me,then twirls a piece of hair around a finger. The shade of her nail polish matches her outfitexactly. “Hi! I’m here to see Kit.”
I stare at her.
Unexpected visitors were not covered in Laura’s tutorial, and I didn’t think to ask. I’m not sure how this woman made it this far into the building. She’s not wearing a visitor badge, and her athletic attire makes me doubt she’s a fellow employee.
Is this athing? Does Kit invite random women to his office for …
My expression stays carefully neutral as I ask, “Is he expecting you?”
She giggles. “No. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
I attempt a smile, but my facial muscles aren’t cooperating. Not only am I uncertain how to properly proceed, but I’m annoyingly bothered by her presence here.
And I’m irritated that I’m annoyed. Kit can do whatever he wants. Here. Wherever. But I’d really rather it not be here.
I glance at the calendar open on my screen. According to it, Kit’s schedule is free until a conference call at noon.
I pick up the phone. “I’ll check if he’s available. What’s your name?”
“Sadie Carmichael,” she chirps.
I nod an acknowledgment before hitting the button that connects to Kit’s direct line.
He answers on the second ring. “Kensington.”
“Hi, K—” I falter on calling him Kit in front of his … something. It sounds too casual. “Hi. There’s a Sadie Carmichael here to see you. Should I send her in?”
Kit hesitates. And I have no idea whatthatmeans. “Sure,” he finally responds.
I clear my throat. “Okay. I’ll send her in.”
Sadie beams, then beelines for the door before I can address her directly.
I get a brief glimpse of the sailboat painting on the wall before the door shuts again. A few seconds later, I hear the low rumble of Kit’s voice on the other side of the wood, followed by a high-pitched giggle.
I answer two emails, vacillating between desperately trying to decipher the murmuring and adamantly blocking out any surrounding noise.
Five minutes later, I lose the battle with curiosity. I dig my phone out of my purse, duck under my desk, tap record, and whisper, “Does Kit have a girlfriend?”
Once I’ve sent the voice message, I straighten.
My spine hasn’t even hit the back of the seat before my phone’s vibrating in my hand. After a furtive look around—no one seems to be paying me any attention—I answer. “Hey.”
Lili’s laughing. “Kit? A girlfriend? What the hell gave you that crazy idea? He’s firmly anti-commitment.”
I relax. Kit’s close with his siblings. If he was seeing anyone, Lili would know.
And he said he was single—that night. Apparently, Idohave some faith in men remaining because I believed—believe—him.
Yet I’m still bothered by the faint voices I can hear through the door.
“Some woman just showed up at the office and asked to see him. Clearly not work-related.”
“Really? Who?”