-Author Unknown
Mark wore a tailored, navy pin-striped suit that fit his athletic build even better than the tuxedo he had worn on Saturday. His dark brown hair was slightly mussed but not messy, and he was just as sexy today as two nights ago, flipping casually through the latest issue of Sports Illustrated.
Karma gathered herself. “M-Mr. Strong?”
“Yes.” He spun toward her as he closed the magazine and dropped it on the lobby table. Then his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. It was the expression of someone who knew her but couldn’t quite place her face. “Have we met?”
Was she so different in her real clothes that he didn’t recognize her? With her real hair and her real shoes? She had recognized him immediately, but he didn’t know who she was, even after how intimate they had become with one another. She glanced at the floor and smoothed her palms over her blazer as much to dry them as to find something to do with her hands.
When she met his gaze again, she saw realization dawn in his expression. The hard line of his brow softened and rose briefly before crinkling in awareness.
He cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and smiled. “Small world.”
“Yes, it would seem so.” She held out her hand. “I’m Don’s assistant, Karma Mason.”
The ruse of being a model was officially over, not that he’d believed her in the first place. She was a whole lot of nobody special. She wasn’t a model or a rich, Chicago socialite, or even Cinderella. She was Karma, executive assistant by day, wannabe journalist by night, and about as conservative as Mother Teresa, even if her innermost thoughts seemed to have taken a more liberal track in the last few days.
Mama T would not approve.
Mark’s brow ticked with awareness, and he took her hand as he tilted his head slightly to one side. “Pleased to finally meet you, Karma.”
The choice of his words, as well as his inflection, made it clear he referred to the fact that he had never actually gotten to know her, just as she had never really gotten to know him. So much for charades, because there was no way to hide the truth, anymore.
His gaze swept with swift efficiency down her body and back to her face. The once-over took all of a second, but she felt stripped on the spot, as if he were kissing her again, right there, in Solar’s lobby, casting away her logic and reason with little more than a glance.
She gestured toward the stairs. “I’ll take you up to Don’s office.” Forcing her feet to move was like slogging through mud. Or maybe nearly set concrete.
“Karma,” he said thoughtfully as they started up the stairs. “So, you’re Don’s assistant?”
“Yes.” She took hold of the railing, willing her legs to stay under her.
“You know, I recently met a woman named Karma. She was…intriguing.”
Oh boy. Breathe, just breathe.
Heat flooded her face. “What a coincidence.” Her wobbly legs threatened to give out. Mark was so not what she’d expected today. She had thought she would never see him again, yet here he was, in her world instead of his.
This was no longer a fantasy. It was a nightmare.
When Mark had arrived at Solar this morning, the last thing he had expected was to come face-to-face with the woman who had captivated his thoughts the better part of yesterday. He had felt awful about how he had treated her Saturday night and had racked his brain to figure out a way to learn her identity and how he could reach her to at least send a note of apology. He never imagined he would actually see her again. And now, here she was, leading him up the stairs to meet with Don Jacoby…apparently her boss. Talk about your strokes of luck.
He trailed behind her, studying her mannish suit, the unremarkable, low-heeled patent leather shoes, and the tight chignon holding all that beautiful hair in a bundle that denied its glory. Her story and everything about her was beginning to make sense. Her innocence, her mystique, the way she had seemed so unsure in that dress. And yet, the dress and the strappy gold stilettos had seemed to fit her personality better than this masculine garb and clunky footwear.
“So, not a model,” he said at the top of the stairs as he fell in beside her.
Her cheeks flushed. “No, not a model.” She lowered her gaze to the floor then started down the hall.
The self-conscious gesture tugged at his curiosity. Seeing her here, in her regular surroundings, wearing what he could only guess were her regular clothes, with her hair pulled into what was probably her regular hairstyle, he couldn’t integrate the woman in front of him with the woman he had met this past weekend. They were two totally different people sharing one body. Which persona was real? Which one was a front?
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said. “Models are too high maintenance, anyway.” He had dated a model once. Never again.
She looked up at him. “High maintenance?”
“Absolutely.” He lightly elbowed her arm. “Being an executive assistant is much better.”
Biting her bottom lip as she smiled, she turned her attention to the front again.
Life had given him another opportunity to set things right. To apologize and behave like a gentleman instead of a heathen ass.
“Karma, I wanted to—”
“Mark, good to see you again.” Don walked around the corner, hand outstretched.
Mark had met Don only once, during his off-site meeting with Solar’s executive team a few weeks ago.
His apology momentarily interrupted, he shook Don’s hand. “Likewise.”
Don led him away from Karma, toward his office. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Water?”
“Coffee’s fine.” He glanced over his shoulder, wishing he’d had just a few more seconds with Karma.
Don turned toward her. “Karma, could you please grab Mark a cup of coffee? Thank you.”
Under the circumstances, with his apology still sitting on his tongue, Mark hated that Karma now rushed away to fetch him a cup of coffee like some waitress. It smacked of salt on a wound. Mark would have preferred helping himself, but he followed Don into his office, set down his briefcase, and unbuttoned his jacket as he took a seat.
A moment later, Karma appeared beside him, holding a steaming mug of coffee. She handed him cream and sugar separately. “I didn’t know how you take it.”
“Black, one sugar,” he said, mesmerized by her pale green eyes the same way he had been Saturday night. “But this is perfect. Thank you.”
With a polite nod, she turned and exited the office, closing the door behind her.
As he and Don forged past the usual pleasantries and started in on the business at hand, he vowed to follow up on that apology as soon as he got the chance. Life had given him a second opportunity to make things right, and he refused to waste it.