Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) by Gretchen Galway Read Free Book Online Page A

water on his face and rubbed it dry with the white cotton towel.  
    It had taken him three tries to get dressed that morning. He’d downgraded the slacks to dark jeans, switched them back to wool, then denim again. “It’s not a date,” he muttered, combing his fingers through his short hair.
    Why had he said he’d be in her department today? The art room was a minor player in the company, only a footnote to the design and engineering teams, who themselves were secondary to sales and finance. He didn’t need to be in the art room for any longer than the thirty minutes it would take to interview Rita, the manager.
    He smiled. The banjo player. And astronaut.
    There was a good reason for his joining their department today: he was sick of sitting in the basement, and his week interviewing everyone on the engineering floor had been tense. Adopting a low profile for a day or two, maybe longer, would help everyone relax.
    He repeated that to himself during his twenty-minute walk from his rental condo across downtown San Francisco to the Fite building, but when he walked into the art room, with his laptop slung over his shoulder and a coffee in his hand, relaxed was the last thing he was feeling.
    Rita hurried over to meet him at the door. “Oh, hello. Thanks for the email. Last night, I mean. Not that I wouldn’t be here at eight, but—actually, you might as well know, I’m not usually here at eight. I have two kids, and Liam hired me under the conditions that I would work nine to five with a shorter lunch, if necessary, which it usually is, but the CDs don’t usually drag themselves in until ten, even the ones without—”
    “This is for you,” he said, holding out the coffee. “I’m sorry for messing up your schedule. Tomorrow, please come in at your usual time.”
    Biting her lip, she took the cup from him. “I was blathering, wasn’t I?”
    “I have that effect on people. Comes with the job.” He smiled and looked around. Where was April? He probably shouldn’t ask. Even though most people seemed to find him completely opaque, he had to be careful. He shouldn’t ask direct questions about April until her appeal had worn off—within the next day or two, he hoped, if he immersed himself in her department and the thrill of having functional hormones wore off.
    “There’s usually only one freelancer here at a time, so it was easy to find you space. I’ve cleared this desk for you,” Rita said, ushering him to the cubicle across from April’s. They’d be sitting back-to-back.
    His heart began to pound. Right now would be a good time to get a fucking grip .
    One or two days. That would do it.
    Clenching his teeth, he set his laptop on the desk.
    “Is it okay?” Rita asked. “I’ve got another spot over here, but it’s cramped. Three monitors take up a lot of room.”
    “No, no, this is great.” He met her gaze and smiled politely.
    “Oh my God,” a voice burst out from the other side of the cubicle wall. “I will never, ever, ever be a morning person, and if one of those early bird worm-loving freaks gets in my way, I’m not responsible for what happens.”
    Zack, a morning person, had sensed she had arrived even before she spoke—it wasn’t just the fruity perfume she was wearing, but the squeak of heavy rubber soles in the hallway that gave her away.
    “Good morning,” he said. He could feel his smile brighten from polite to puppy-happy.
    Be careful, you dork . He had a reputation for being about as flirtatious as a filing cabinet, with excellent results. He was young but serious and responsible. Sexual harassment was a claim he advised his clients to take seriously. He could hardly commit it himself, even accidentally.
    He noticed her frown just as she tried to hide it by turning away to sit at her desk. “Morning,” she said softly.
    He untangled his laptop cord and plugged it in, adjusted his bag, phone, and laptop on the desk, and removed his full-sized notebook and one of his many