Chapter 53 No Side Glances
Elizabeth had made a pot of chicken soup that morning.
She ladled it into a thermal container and drove to Johnson's Building. Once she arrived downstairs, she called Tom.
"Elizabeth, Mr. Johnson said you can bring it straight to his office."
She blinked in surprise. "Alright... thank you."
Pulling into the parking garage, she stepped out with the container in hand. She hadn't expected him to have her deliver it upstairs.
The elevator doors slid open and she walked out, greeting the assistant secretary she used to work with.
"Ms. Penrose, Mr. Johnson wants you to wait in his office," Sofia Moore said as she unlocked the door for her.
"Thanks," Elizabeth replied with a polite smile.
She stepped inside, scanning the familiar space. Nothing had changed.
Sofia soon returned with a cup of coffee, then left to handle her own work.
Elizabeth didn't have to wait long. The door opened, and Armando walked in—tall, lean, his expression cool—Tom trailing behind him.
Armando hung his suit jacket neatly on the rack, his cold gaze settling on Elizabeth.
Elizabeth didn't stand. She wasn't his secretary anymore.
Tom placed a file on the desk, gave Elizabeth a brief nod, and left. He couldn't quite understand why Armando had asked her to bring food up today. Tom had always suspected Armando cared about her, though he treated her with a certain ruthless edge. Then again, thinking of Sherry, maybe he was imagining things. Armando's devotion to Sherry was well known.
Elizabeth wore a V-neck, fitted dress with a slit. Her legs were crossed, posture poised.
Armando sat down, glanced at her once.
She checked the time—she needed to head to TechStrong for work soon. Rising, she set the thermal container on his desk. "I made chicken soup today. Try it. I've got to get to work, so I'll head out."
"Elizabeth, let's talk first."
She paused, a faint smile in her eyes. "Alright."
Leaning back in his chair, his voice low and cool, he said, "Don't bring food here again. I won't eat it."
Her breath caught.
Silence filled the office.
Armando opened the file on his desk. "Take it with you."
Her lips curved faintly. She'd always known he was cold. Bracing her hands on the desk, she leaned toward him. "Armando."
His gaze locked on her. She'd never been this bold before. Her scent drifted across the short space between them.
He crossed his legs, masking the sudden, unwelcome rush of heat.
Elizabeth straightened, smiling. "If you don't drink it, throw it away. I'm going to work." She turned and walked out, heels clicking against the floor.
The thermal container sat abandoned on his desk, glaringly out of place.
"Elizabeth, you're late by two minutes and one second."
Elizabeth had just stepped into her office with a coffee when she saw Yosef lounging on the sofa, long legs stretched across the coffee table, cigarette between his fingers, his other hand checking his watch.
"Morning."
She set down her coffee and got to work—pulling open the curtains, sorting the signed documents to pass along to the right department.
Yosef watched her icy indifference. His brows lifted. "What, is it that time of the month?"
Her expression cooled instantly.
"These files are urgent. Sign them now." She carried five documents to the sofa, uncapped his pen, and handed it to him.
The topic was dropped.
He swung his legs off the table, took the files, and removed the cigarette from his mouth.
Elizabeth plucked it from his fingers. The curling smoke between her long fingers was oddly captivating.
Yosef glanced at her, then skimmed the documents. Finding no issues, he set them on his thigh and signed. The fabric stretched tight over the muscle he'd built recently.
"Buy me new suit pants after work," he said.
Her job included sourcing clothes for her boss. Back when she worked for Armando, she'd done the same for him. Thinking of Armando brought back the unpleasant morning conversation.
"I'll measure you later."
She handed the cigarette back, took the signed files, and stepped out to call the relevant department.
When the work was done, she returned with a tape measure.
Yosef stood, arms out, cooperative. If they were buying pants, they'd need shirts too.
She noted his chest, waist, and arm length, then bent to measure his hips.
He kept his gaze straight ahead. She was wearing that V-neck dress.
"Thighs," she said, crouching to wrap the tape around his leg.
His voice came from above. "Elizabeth, I'm a man. Don't get too close."
The tone carried more weight than the words.
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, finished the measurements, and left. She'd been quieter than usual today.
Yosef arched a brow, watching her walk away without a single retort. "Elizabeth's acting strange..."
After work, she headed for the mall. Yosef followed, climbing into her car.
"Not going to Lana's tonight?" she asked, starting the engine. He was already reaching for a cigarette.
"Not in my car, thanks."
He pocketed it. "I need some time alone to relax."
She said nothing.
"And I'm thinking of changing lovers."
Yosef rotated partners every few months.
They went straight to the men's clothing floor. Elizabeth, knowing his measurements, picked quickly.
"Don't I need to try them?" he asked, trailing behind.
"Do it yourself," she said coldly. She wanted to get home early.
He actually took a pair she'd chosen into the fitting room.
Elizabeth reached for a navy suit jacket at the same moment Emma did.
Emma's eyes widened. "Ms. Penrose?"
"Ms. Sutter." Elizabeth let go of the jacket.
Emma was on the phone but smiled politely. "I'll look at something else."
"Joe, do you have Mr. Robinson's clothing sizes? I'm at the mall," she asked into the phone.
Joe hesitated. "Ms. Sutter, I'll need to check first."
Emma wanted it to be a surprise, so asking Timothy directly was out of the question. "Joe, don't tell Mr. Robinson. I'll figure it out myself, thanks."
Just then, Yosef stepped out of the fitting room and spotted Emma. "Emma, buying clothes for which man?"
"For Mr. Robinson," she said, cheeks coloring. Then her eyes lit up. "Yosef, help me try something on."
Yosef was about Timothy's height, though his build was heavier, all solid muscle. Timothy's frame was lean but, stripped of a shirt, revealed powerful, sculpted muscle.
"I'm not built like Mr. Robinson," Yosef said, his gaze flicking toward Elizabeth, who was heading to the checkout. "Wait—let's ask Elizabeth. Her eye for this stuff is deadly accurate."