Impossibly Pregnant. Nicola Marsh
to create the final product.
In this case, the Brant file lay open on the desk to her right, the blank page on her ergonomic incline board and she didn’t have a clue. The harder she tried to come up with a concept, the more her mind drifted to the man at the centre of her project and she would start fantasizing, from the way his dark hair curled around the edges of his collar to the unique blue of his eyes.
A beep on her PC indicated she had mail and she clicked on the icon to display her e-mails—anything to distract her from her wayward thoughts.
From: [email protected]
Subject: New talent
Sorry 2 barge in on U & LB earlier.
Wow! IMHO, he is 2 cute!
U interested?
Luce
Keely smiled, in total agreement with her assistant’s ‘in my humble opinion’ appraisal of Lachlan, though cute wasn’t the first word that sprang to mind when describing him. Try sexy, irresistible and charming.
She typed a quick response, knowing she needed to concentrate on work but grateful for the distraction. Anyway, it would be interesting to get another female’s viewpoint on the subject—besides her overzealous friends, that was. If it was up to Emma and Tahlia, she’d be married to the guy already.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Latest assignment
Speaking of which, working on LB website now.
By the way, LB off-limits 2 U.
Interest level rising—all in the name of business, of course! U concentrate on Aidan.
K
She had no right to warn Lucy away from Lachlan. However, she took her job seriously these days, and if the Rottie told her to shadow the man, she would. She could shmooze with the best of them, yet somehow the thought of spending up close and personal time with her new client sent her into a tailspin—and she sure hoped she wouldn’t crash and burn.
Now, if she could just come up with a novel way to approach the man, without looking too obvious, she’d be well on her way to that hard-earned promotion.
Her phone rang and she picked it up, expecting to hear Lucy’s teasing tones.
‘Keely, Lachlan Brant here.’
She straightened so suddenly that she almost tipped out of her chair. Silly, really—it wasn’t as if he’d walked into the room or anything.
Taking a breath and aiming for casual, she said, ‘Hi, Lachlan. What can I do for you?’
He hesitated for a fraction of a second and, with her overactive imagination, the pause seemed laden with promise—maybe he would tell her exactly what she could do for him and, with a bit of luck, it wouldn’t involve work?
‘I was wondering how the website is coming along?’
She stared at the blank page and screen in front of her, crossed her fingers and said, ‘Fine. I’ve just been hashing around a few ideas.’
‘Such as?’
Great. Though she was creative in her job, she’d never been any good thinking on the spot, and having to tell little white lies was not one of her strong suits.
‘Uh…well, seeing as you’re on the radio, I was thinking of focusing on you to start with. Sort of like getting to know the man behind the voice?’ She silently applauded—not bad for quick thinking.
‘Sounds good. That’s why I’m calling, actually.’
She should’ve known. For a moment she’d hoped he’d been calling to keep flirting with her or, better still, maybe ask her out.
Get real. Focus. Before he thinks you’re a complete ditz.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to come out to the station tonight and take a look at where I work. You know, get a feel for what I do, maybe incorporate a few ideas into the site?’ His voice dropped lower, the deep tone sending an unexpected thrill up her spine. ‘Perhaps grab a coffee afterwards?’
He’d asked her out! He’d actually taken the matter of approaching him out of her hands and she couldn’t be happier.
‘Bring along my file and we can work on it while we have that caffeine fix.’
And, just like that, her hopes, which had soared to the heavens a moment ago, plummeted back to earth with a resounding thud.
He didn’t want to stare into her eyes over the rim of a coffee mug, flirt with her over an espresso or moon over a muffin.
Uh-uh. He’d asked her to have coffee with him to work.
She should be rapt he’d given her an easy way to start her assignment without having to come up with some lame excuse herself. Then why was she disappointed that his invitation had been about business and not a teensy-eensy bit of pleasure?
Instilling the right amount of enthusiasm into her voice, she replied, ‘Sounds good. What time should I meet you?’
‘Why don’t I pick you up? The security at the station can be a bit tough on strangers, particularly for the night shift. There’s a lot of crackpots out there who have nothing better to do than heckle me.’
She choked on the sip of water she’d been having, coughing and spluttering while trying to contort her arm to pat herself on the back.
‘Are you okay?’
She could’ve sworn she heard amusement in his voice but dismissed it. What was so funny about the fact that she’d almost choked to death?
‘Surely my suggestion to pick you up hasn’t got you that choked up?’
‘Depends on your version of picking up,’ she said, wondering where that had come from.
Darn it, he’d think she was flirting with him—which she was, but why couldn’t she be a whole lot more subtle about it?
‘Let’s start with the standard garden-variety pick-up from your place and see if we can work on the other pick-up over coffee.’ He chuckled, the sound of his rich, deep laughter enveloping her in its intimate cocoon, drawing her further under his spell.
And, just like that, he took up where they’d left off in her office, flirting like a pro.
She really shouldn’t encourage him.
He was business.
He was a psychologist who could spend a lifetime psychoanalysing her.
He was way out of her league.
‘I take your silence as agreement?’
Managing to shake herself out of her fantasy world, she said, ‘It’s an improvement on the choking, don’t you think?’
‘Nothing about you needs improving, Keely.’
She loved the way he said her name, drawing out the ee sound in its correct pronunciation. Many people called her Kelly and she hated it.
‘Thanks. What time tonight?’ She knew his show started at seven, which wouldn’t give her much time to get home from work and do the usual pre-date routine.
It’s not a date, her voice of reason screamed. And she happily ignored it.
‘Is six too early?’
Heck, yes! She wouldn’t have time to blow-dry her hair, pick out an outfit designed to impress and do a quick tidy up just in case he popped in afterwards.
‘No problem. I live in Beacon Cove, Port Melbourne. Apartment 8/24 on the Esplanade.’
‘Great. I’ll see