Page 590 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

It seemed hard to believe she’d worked at this mill as long as she had. It was supposed to be a temporary job, a rung on her way to the top. Now, two divorces and twelve years later, here she sat.

“Excuse me. I’m here to see Sean O’Conner.”

Barb looked up to see the epitome of youth standing in front of her. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”

Her eyes followed the blonde as she seated herself near the window and gracefully crossed her legs. Small pearls adorned her ears, and her hair was twisted in a bun held by a simple pearl comb. She wore a white, silk blouse and pleated navy pants. Barb sucked in her stomach. You had to be tall and lean to get away with looking that good in pleated pants.

Even though Barb didn’t have much to keep her busy, she kept the woman waiting for a few minutes. She raised an eyebrow. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I doubt that.” Barb saw the look of surprise that flickered over the young woman’s face. She watched her lean forward in her seat.

“Excuse me?”

“I said, what is your name?”

“Sydney Lassiter.”

“Humph,” Barb said and looked down at her appointment schedule.

Sydney studiedthe petite brunette and guessed the woman to be in her early forties. Good grief. What was the deal?Why was the woman being so hostile? The sound of a vehicle door closing caught Sydney’s attention, and she looked out the window. Two men were getting out of a pickup truck. One of them was ordinary looking, but the other man looked like he just stepped out of GQ Magazine. There weren’t many men who could compare with Adam Sinclair as far as looks were concerned, but even Adam paled in comparison to this man. He was about six foot, four inches tall and had an athletic but slender build. His dark hair and olive skin shimmered in the morning sun, reminding her of a Greek statue she’d seen in Rome, Italy. But there was nothing statuesque about this man; every inch of him screamed alive.For an instant, Sydney forgot her appointment, and her heart skipped a beat. This guy was dangerous, the kind of man who could distract her from accomplishing her goal. If he worked in the mill, she would stay as far away from him as she could get.

She watched the man walk around the side of the building and out of sight.

The secretary cleared her throat, causing Sydney’s face to warm. She realized the secretary had been watching her and hoped her face hadn’t revealed her admiration. Sydney turned to face the woman.

“Mr. O’Conner is out of the office,” the secretary said. “You’ll have to wait.”

“When do you expect him back?”

Barb’s eyebrow arched. “When he comes through the door.”

Sydney nodded and leaned back in her chair. She tried to ignore the flash of irritation that sparked.

Twenty minutes later, Sydney was still waiting. She approached the secretary’s desk. “Is there any way you can call Mr. O’Conner and let him know that I’m here? He is expecting me.”

Instead of answering, the secretary pushed a button on her phone. “Sean, Sydney Lassiter’s here to see you.”

A voice came through the speaker. “Yeah, she’s late. Our appointment was at ten o’clock. Obviously, punctuality is not very high up on Ms. Lassiter’s priority list.” There was a slight pause. “Tell her to wait another five minutes, will you Barb?”

“Will do.” The woman turned to Sydney and shot her a look of triumph. “It will be another few minutes.”

“I heard.” Sydney’s blood began to boil. “You knew who I was all along, and you knew that Mr. O’Conner was expecting me.”

A red light flashed on the secretary’s phone. Barb and Sydney stared down at it. “Yes?”

“Tell Ms. Lassiter that I will see her now.”

“Well that was a mighty quick five minutes. Don’t you agree?” Sydney asked.

Barb stood, but before she could move, Sydney walked around her desk and opened the door to the inner offices. “Don’t bother. I can find my own way.”

It wasn’t very hard to find Sean O’Conner’s office. The house, turned office, was little bigger than a bathtub. Sydney walked through the room, crowded with a copy machine, fax machine, and a few desks, then back to the closed door that readSawmill Manager. She knocked once and then opened the door.

There was Mr. GQ himself, sitting in his chair with one foot propped up on his desk. He seemed annoyed that he had to remove it and sit upright in his chair.

“Have a seat,” he said, not bothering to stand. “Ms. Lassiter, I presume?”