Free Restraining the Receptionist: ... the Receptionist, Book 2 by Juniper Bell Page A

answer, because he was too busy looking up at a group of four men who’d stopped by our booth.
    “Simon. Fancy seeing you here.” The leader of the group gave an empty smile, his glance slithering across me.
    “Hello, gentlemen.” Simon nodded at each in turn. I felt in my bones the effort it took for him to appear sober. “Top of the evening to you.”
    “Likewise. We’ve been discussing our meeting. Some of us seem to think we need to revisit a few issues.” The men still wore their business suits and actually looked fairly cute. Mid-thirties to early forties, at the oldest. I tried to dredge up a memory of what business the Woodfield Group was in and failed. For all I knew, they sold fields of wood.
    “Call me tomorrow. We’ll set up a time.”
    “Well, we were thinking maybe a looser atmosphere would help. If you want to stop by our suite at the Tropicana, we’re going to be doing Jagermeister shots until we can’t stand it. We’ve got some burgers on the way too.”
    It sounded dreadful, but I sensed Simon getting interested. If he went with them, would I have to go too?
    Simon whispered in my ear. “I should probably do this. Ethan’ll have my ass if I let this one slip away.” I didn’t comment on his unfortunate phrasing.
    “Go ahead, I don’t mind,” I told him.
    He rose to his feet, only swaying a tiny bit.
    The man in charge turned to me. “You’re more than welcome to join us, Miss…”
    “Arthur. Dana Arthur. I’m Cowell and Dirk’s receptionist.” I told him that to prove I wasn’t just a random girl hitting on sexy Simon, but I should have kept quiet.
    His gaze sharpened. “Even better. I’m sure you can help us through some of the hurdles we keep running into.”
    “No,” said Simon, sharply. “She’s not at work right now. She’s on vacation. She quit.”
    “I didn’t quit. Well, maybe I did. Or will. Anyway, I can attend the meeting if you want.”
    “I don’t want.” Simon set his jaw in that familiar stubborn way. But even though I was uncertain about my continued employment at Cowell & Dirk, I wanted him to stay employed. I didn’t want Ethan to be mad at him for losing the contract. If there was some way I could help, I wanted to do my part. I shoved aside his hand and stood up.
    “I’d love to join you all. Obviously, Simon’s the expert but if I can facilitate anything, I’m happy to do so.”
    The man, who looked to be part Arab or South American or something, gave me a broad smile and gestured for me to precede them out of the bar. They crowded after me. I distinctly felt four sets of eyes on the back of my apricot Creamsicle sundress. Simon stayed close to me.
    “Don’t trust these guys,” he hissed in my ear. “They’ve been pulling all kinds of crap on me. And I don’t like the way they’re looking at you. What’s with this dress, anyway?”
    He looked at me as if he’d just noticed I was dressed like a lost little debutante.
    “Ethan gave it to me.”
    His eyebrows drew together. “I don’t like it.”
    “Well, I’m not taking it off now.”
    “Don’t you dare.” Pleasure shivered through me. My own pirate Simon, acting like he was the boss of me, just the way I liked it. Maybe later I’d be able to coax him into bed back at the Trump Plaza.
    The Woodfield Group had a sweet conference-room-type suite at the Tropicana with a fully furnished rust-red living room, a messy kitchenette, and a huge bouquet of fake tiger lilies on the coffee table. It had a lived-in look, with a couple suit jackets tossed over the backs of chairs and a five-pound hand weight rolling around on the carpet.
    Soon I had a margarita in one hand and had kicked up my feet to listen in on the meeting. Boring stuff, if you asked me. I sipped my drink and flipped through someone’s Men’s Fitness and tuned out the talk about “termination protocol” and “management structure”. I was reading an article about the new craze in indoor rock climbing when the words