20: Affective

Only Evelyn wasn’t the only one with a stake in the relationship, and Mr. James was a brilliant financer with his eye on a lucrative investment.

“Miss Moore.”

Evelyn’s fingers froze on the keys of her typewriter. Did his sophisticated voice have to intoxicate her recalcitrant ears and drag her whole unrepentant body willingly along with them? As if to add to its impact, he hadn’t shouted for her from inside his office—he was standing close behind her, directly off one shoulder, probably in the doorway. She spun her chair to face him. “Yes, sir?”

Naturally, she’d been correct.

Andrew James leaned casually in the doorframe, ankles crossed and one hand tucked in his trouser pocket. In his other, he held his essentially empty coffee mug—still the clear pink Federal glass one she’d brought from home for him. Despite that the thirty-eighth floor kitchenette was stocked with a complete set of fine porcelain glazed mugs provided for guests, he’d refused to relinquish the one Evelyn had provide