Windswept by Ann Macela Page B

door to the wing, he heard music. Sounds like Beethoven’s Ninth, he thought. The normally open door to the secretarial office was closed also. When he opened it, he ran right into a wall of sound. The symphony had reached the section with the “Ode to Joy.” “Freude!” the baritone sang.
    Barefoot and wearing cut-off jeans and a University of Minnesota T-shirt, Barrett Browning was sitting on the floor surrounded by letters radiating out in all directions over a carpet of white paper. One hand in a white glove seemed to be conducting the symphony, which poured out of an iPod. The other, also gloved, held a piece of light-blue paper covered with spidery handwriting. Barrett studied the item briefly, rose to her knees, stretched far out over one string of papers, held herself up with her conducting hand, and laid the page between two others.
    Lust gave Davis a low blow. She stretched like a cat, every muscle taut, then recoiled and relaxed. He ran his eyes over her long wonderful legs and curvy little butt . . . and reined himself in with an effort. This wasn’t the time or place. He took a step into the room.
    Barrett must have seen the movement out of the corner of her eye because she jumped. She turned and hit a button on the iPod. The music stopped abruptly. “Oh! Mr. Jamison! I didn’t hear you come in. It’s good to see you. How are you? How was the trip?” She stood up, another cat-like move, and smiled in welcome.
    “It’s good to be back home. The trip was boring. What is all this?” He waved at the papers strewn over the floor.
    “Sometimes the floor method of organization is the only way to get the job done. This way I can see the contents of an entire box and easily put them in chronological or alphabetical order. Besides, leaning over the conference room table was killing my back. Gonzales thoroughly vacuumed the carpet, and we laid down the butcher paper to protect the documents. This box appears to be all business correspondence. Let me clear a path so you can get to your office.” She knelt and started picking up stacks.
    “Don’t bother. I can go this way.” Davis moved around behind the desk. “Do you always play music so loudly?”
    “Depends on the music and what I’m doing. This type of work is tedious, and music helps get it done. Don’t worry. I have earbuds, so you’ll not be bothered.”
    It wasn’t the music bothering him. He shifted his briefcase and said, “No problem,” as he walked into his office.
    At three, Davis heard Barrett thank Gonzales. He stood up from the desk and came into the outer office just in time to see Gonzales deliver a glass of milk and a large brownie on a plate. The floor was clear and Barrett was at the computer with a stack of correspondence next to her. She carefully moved the papers away from the food.
    “What’s this?” he inquired.
    “Mrs. Gonzales decided I needed fattening up and when she discovered I liked chocolate, well, you see the results. Want a piece?” Barrett held up the plate for inspection.
    “Sure. Eva’s brownies are delicious.”
    “I’ll be happy to bring you one of your own, sir,” Gonzales interjected.
    “No, I think I’ll just have a bite of this one.” Davis took the piece Barrett offered after she broke the brownie in two. “Thank you, Gonzales.” The houseman left.
    “How’s the food been?” Davis asked as he watched Barrett take a bite of her piece. He did the same with his.
    She chewed, swallowed, and took a sip of milk before answering. “Very good.” She rolled her eyes. “Too good. I’m not used to eating so much. I’ve almost convinced Mrs. Gonzales to serve me what I consider to be a normal portion--about half the amount she was fixing. I’ve been using your pool to work it off. I hope it was all right.”
    He nodded while he finished the brownie. “Fine. Can I have some of your milk?”
    She took two more sips and handed him the glass. “Take the rest.”
    He drank the remainder of the