Torrid Little Affair (Forbidden Desires #3)

Corinne

“You sure you don’t want to come along?” Alyssa asked, rising to her feet and grabbing her purse. “I swear if I don’t get out of this place for at least an hour every day, my head will literally explode. Nobody wants that.”

I smiled at her and shook my head. “No, I swear. I’m fine. I have some stuff I need to handle.”

“Stuff like slipping into Cooper’s office and-”

“Stuff stuff,” I cut in, my cheeks heating. “Like none-of-your-business stuff.”

Alyssa sniffed and lifted her chin. “Fine, then.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re not insulted. You are like the hardest person in the universe to insult. You’re like titanium.”

She placed a hand on her hip and quirked her mouth to the side. “I’m not insulted. It’s just not like you to get all sassy with me. I’m nosy, so I was hoping that if I played all wounded, you’d feel bad and offer me some crumb of juicy gossip. But, apparently, you’ve toughened up. Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She yanked her trendy purse onto her shoulder and grinned at me. “Want me to bring you anything back?”

“A warm chocolate-chip cookie if the cart is there today.” I fumbled for my purse to get her some money, but she shrugged me off.

“I’ve got it this time. You owe me a cookie run in the future.”

“Deal.”

She scuttled away and disappeared behind the elevator doors with a ding before I settled back into my emails.

I would have loved to say that all of these were strictly professional, that I was so devoted to my job that I couldn’t leave for my lunch break that day. But the truth was that I was majorly behind on a project I’d been working on for months, and as of Monday, everything had been falling apart.

A charity festival for the orphanage in the heart of the city was scheduled for tomorrow, and though I’d spent weeks meticulously organizing the pie contest, dunking booth, and story hour, it seemed like everything was unraveling faster than a poorly knit sweater in a washing machine.

The storyteller’s baby was sick, the dunk tank was double-booked, and the pie-contest judges had suddenly decided to go on gluten-free diets. And that wasn’t even to mention the politics of trying to figure out which volunteer wouldn’t work with another volunteer because she may or may not have slept with the first volunteer’s husband. The politics of this was unlike anything I’d ever seen before.

In short, it was a nightmare, but with only twenty-four hours to fix it, I was determined to make my lunch hour count. So I started with the story-time lady, a woman from a neighboring suburb who was apparently the Meryl Streep of book narration. I dialed her, waited as the phone rang twice, then took a deep breath as someone picked up on the other end. In the background, a baby was screaming while a man’s voice seemed to be shouting back.Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

“Hello?” a tired-sounding woman murmured.

“Janine? Hi, this is Corinne from the Hearts for Saint Joseph’s Carnival-”

“Oh, hi,” Janine said in a rush. “Look, I know why you’re calling, but I really can’t come. I haven’t slept in three days, and any idiot can read an Amelia Bedelia book. I’m sorry, but you have to find someone else.”

“I understand, but if you could just consider the children. They-”

The line went dead, letting me know that Janine was definitely out, and I sighed before setting down the receiver.

“Everything okay?” a familiar deep voice asked, and I looked up to find Cooper a few paces from my desk, his brows knit in concern.

I shook my head. “Yes. I mean, no. Like, yes. Nobody is dying . . .”

“But everything isn’t okay?”

I rested my face in my hands and then peeked up at him through my fingers. “Everything with the company is fine. All the dates are set up, and no cancellations so far today.”

“I wasn’t asking about the company. I was asking about you. What’s going on?”

I swallowed and forced myself to meet his gaze. “It’s sort of a lot to explain. See, ever since I . . . graduated out of the system, I’ve volunteered for the orphanage to try and make sure the kids have toys and books and anything else they might need so that they can be kids, you know?”

“Noble of you.” Cooper nodded, his warm gaze already calming me some.

“But that’s not really the point. The point is that I’ve spent the better part of this year planning the big fall carnival for the orphanage, and everything is falling apart.”

“What’s everything?” he asked.

“Well, we’re having a pie contest and the judges backed out.”

“So, select a lucky ten people to taste and have them vote by ballot.” He shrugged.

I blinked. “Right. Of course. That’s an easy answer. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.”

“Because you’re too worked up.”

“Maybe.” I sighed. “But it’s more than that. The dunk tank got double-booked, and the story-time lady canceled too.”

“I know a dunk-tank guy. And, as a matter of fact, I can tell one hell of a story.”

I blinked. “How on earth do you know a dunk-tank guy?”

“I also know a glassblower, a hit man, a sword swallower, and a guy who makes tables out of recycled cans. You’d be amazed at the kind of connections you can make in this job.”

I smiled at him, relief rushing through me along with another warmer feeling I refused to name. “I just need the dunk-tank guy, but I’ll take the hit man’s name in case anyone else dares to cancel on me,” I joked, blinking back relieved tears.

“Sure thing. I’ll give him a call, but I doubt it’s going to be a problem. In fact, our company will donate the dunk tank.”

I shook my head, quickly doing the math and realizing I could use those extra funds as a head start on the Christmas jubilee. “Wow, Cooper. I don’t know how to thank you. You . . .”

“Saved the day? Yeah, I know.” He cracked his knuckles. “Now, what book am I reading?”

I shook my head again, a little more forcefully this time. “No, you don’t have to do that. I can find someone or do it myself or-”

“You’re going to be busy running this whole thing. Let me help you. I insist. Should I pick the book myself, or . . .”

I raised my eyebrows. “The kids voted on Delilah and the Dragon Slayer. I have a copy of it.”

“I can do that.” He grinned. “What time do you want me to pick you up? I’m guessing you’ll need help setting up too?”

“Uh, the carnival starts at noon.”

“So I’m guessing we need to get to the park or wherever by eight?”

I stared up at him blankly, though I knew better than to argue. “Yeah, eight works.”