He coughed pointedly.
I surreptitiously ran a hand through my tousled hair. His eyes flickered over me, and he frowned. Had I forgotten to iron my shirt that morning? Or maybe my “surreptitiously” needed more work.
“Cooper, isn’t it? You’re working on the Sherringham accounts, I believe.”
He must have known damn well I was. What had I messed up now? “Yeah. I mean, yes, Mr Armstrong. I’m on the billing.”
“You’re on the investment portfolio.”
I blinked hard. “Um…no. That’s not me. That’s one of the other guys, Colin Walsh—”
“That wasn’t a query, Mr Cooper. It was a statement. You’ll prepare the copy reports and bring them to the client meeting on Friday.”
“I don’t think so,” I said without thinking.
It was as if the air sucked out of the cubicle. “Excuse me?”