So much for not having fusses at work. Gianna mused, gripping her handbag casually, the leather warm beneath her fingers.
Ignoring the taller woman—whom she could now see was definitely not her secretary—she turned to the petite fellow. "Are you my secretary?"
The petite fellow was startled. That was even an understatement. She jerked violently, the coffee in her left hand splashing over the rim and staining the floor.
She hadn't expected to be the center of attention, hadn't expected Gianna's casualness, and neither had the proclaimer of what was hers.
"Are you ignoring me?" the taller woman demanded, her voice rising, her face reddening by the second.
Gianna paid no attention to the talkative. She rather focused on the petite woman, who adjusted her glasses with trembling fingers and nodded. "Yes, I am, Miss Gianna. My name is Grace."
