No stockings. The skin on her calves was bare. Golden, even-toned, fine-grained. It looked like it would be beautifully smooth to the touch.
The ultraprofessional, understated vibe just highlighted her sensual beauty. He could catch an elusive hint of faint, sweet perfume as she took her seat across the aisle. He wanted to lean closer, take a deeper whiff.
He didn’t do it. He wasn’t a goddamned animal. Get a grip.
The plane took off, and when they’d reached cruising altitude, the attendant came out to offer them coffee and tea. Sophie gazed out the window at the dawn-tinted pink clouds as she sipped her coffee, lost in her own thoughts. Serenely ignoring him.
This would be the perfect time to start a conversation and start learning more about her, but Vann was stuck in a strange paralysis. It felt all too similar to adolescent shyness. Ridiculous, for a grown man. After a long, silent interval, the flight attendant came out to offer them some breakfast, which Sophie declined.
That gave him an opening, which he gratefully seized upon.
“Now would be the time to fuel up,” he suggested. “When we touch down, we’ll hit the ground running. There won’t be any opportunity later.”
Her smile was wry. “Thanks, but my stomach isn’t awake at this hour,” she said. “It wouldn’t know what to do with food.”
“You changed your hair,” he blurted, instantly regretting it. Too personal.
“From the braid, you mean?” She brushed back the loose locks that dangled around her jaw, looking self-conscious. “The braid needs to be periodically refreshed during the course of the day, or it gets frowsy. An updo is lower maintenance. If it holds. Fingers crossed.”
“It looks great,” he said. “So does the braid, of course.”
“It’s my go-to,” she admitted. “I finish my morning kung fu class before work, and it’s the quickest style if I need to hustle to get to the office.”
“Kung fu?” he asked. “Every morning?”
“Oh, yes. It’s my happy place. A kung fu teacher came to my high school once to give us a self-defense workshop, and I fell in love with it. It keeps me chill.”
“Agreed,” he said.
“You practice it, too?”
“Not specifically. I studied a very mixed bag of martial arts. I leaned from my dad. He was a marine sergeant, and a combat veteran, and he borrowed from every discipline, from boxing to jujitsu. He even saw American football as a martial arts discipline. Good training in learning to run toward pain and conflict, not away. So I did football, too.”
She gave him a quick, assessing glance. “I can see why your high school would have wanted you on their football team.”
“I guess,” he muttered, wishing he hadn’t started a line of conversation that focused on his body. He was far too conscious of both hers and his own right now.
“Lucky you, to learn to fight from your own dad,” she said.
He grunted. “Nice isn’t the word I’d choose. My father was a hard man. I got my ass kicked on a regular basis. But I learned.”
The piercing look she gave him felt like she was peering inside his head with a high-powered flashlight. God forbid she thought he was asking her to feel sorry for him.
“How about you?” he asked, just to change the subject. “I bet your father was glad you learned kung fu.”
Her eyebrow tilted up. “Why would you think that?”
“The world is full of sleazeball predators and ass-grabbing idiots. If I had a daughter, I’d want her trained to sucker punch and crotch-kick at a moment’s notice.”
She nodded agreement. “Me, too. But my dad was never in the picture.”
He winced inside. Damn. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. “My mother, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think of the kung fu. It’s not that she disapproved. She just wasn’t the warrior type. Her idea of heaven was a hot bath, a silk shirt and a glass of cold Prosecco.”
“They don’t cancel each other out,” he said. “A person can have both.”
“Who has the time? My life doesn’t allow for hot baths. Lightning-fast showers are the order of the day.”
“Me, too,” he said. “When I was in the service, we only had a couple of minutes in the water. You learn to make them count.”
Damn. From bodies to baths and showers, which was even worse. Time for a radical subject pivot. “Have you met Malcolm and Hendrick yet?”
“I’ve seen them in passing, but I’ve never been introduced. What are they like?”
Vann chose his words carefully. “Hendrick will never acknowledge your existence except to lean closer with his good ear to hear you better. But if you’re female, he won’t look you in the eye.”
“Which ear is his good ear?”
“The left one. Hendrick is extremely shy around women. Any woman who isn’t his wife, that is. He worships his wife, Bev. So don’t take it personally.”
She nodded. “Understood. How about Malcolm?”
“Malcolm is tougher. He’s moody, and quick to criticize. He thinks that you should just toughen up and learn to take it.”
“Take what?”
He shrugged. “Whatever needs to be taken. So don’t expect to be pampered. In fact, don’t even expect common courtesy. You won’t get it.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Understood. I don’t need to be pampered.”
“Then you’ll be fine. With Malcolm, you’re guilty until proven innocent. He’ll just assume that you’re an incompetent idiot who is actively trying to waste his time and money. Until you prove to him that you’re not.”
“Wow,” she said. “That’s good to know in advance. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“That said, I genuinely do respect the guy. He has incredible talent. Vision, drive, energy. We get along.”
“So you passed his test evidently,” she said.
He shrugged. “I must have.”
She got that flashlight-shining-into-the-dark look in her eyes again. “Of course you did,” she said. “You spent your childhood training for exactly that, right? Getting your ass kicked. Learning to run toward pain, instead of away. It doesn’t scare you.”
He couldn’t think of a response to that, but fortunately, just then, the attendant came through for their coffee cups and told them to prepare for landing.
He shut down his laptop, appalled at himself. What a mess he’d made of that conversation. The idea had been to gain her trust, get her to open up. And without ever meaning to, he’d revealed more about himself than he had learned about her.
And now he had those images in his head. Sophie, hot and sweaty from her kung fu class, stripping off her practice gear and stepping into the shower. Steaming water spraying down on her perfect skin. Suds sliding over her strong, sexy curves.
The harder he tried not to see it, the more detailed the image became.
Soon he had to cross his leg and lay his suit coat over his lap.
Four
Sophie sat next to Vann in the limo as it crawled through rush-hour traffic, trying to breathe deeply. Now she was all wound up with anxiety. She had no doubts about her ability to do the job, but damn, she hadn’t counted on being hazed by a bad-tempered old tycoon while she was doing it.
And in front of Vann, too. He just stirred her up.
She’d worked hard on her professional demeanor. Steely control and calm competence were the vibe she always went for. And Vann Acosta just decimated it.
She was spellbound by his dark eyes that never flinched away. Her own directness and focus didn’t intimidate him at all.
It felt as if they were communicating for real. On a deeper level.
Please. Stop. She had a crush on the man. She was projecting her own feverish fantasies onto him, that was all. Snap out of it already.
She was here to
do a spectacular job, earn Malcolm Maddox’s good opinion and get a viable DNA sample while she was at it. But the last part might be tough, with Vann Acosta watching her every move. It would be awkward if he saw her slipping Malcolm’s salad fork into her purse.
She also had to find the time to monitor the traps she’d set for the IP thief at Maddox Hill. Depending on what kind of intellectual property made the corporate spy rise to the bait, she’d be able to interpolate if it was an inside job, or an outside entity.
She’d discovered the data breach within weeks of starting the job, but she was so new here, with no idea who she could trust. Until she had more definitive data, she’d decided to stay quiet about her investigation. Her best-case scenario was to be able to offer the thief up to Malcolm Maddox on a silver platter, kind of like a hostess gift. To set the tone, before she delivered her bombshell about being his biological daughter.
She wanted to make it crystal clear that she had skills and talents and resources of her own to offer. She was not here to mooch.
Vann was speaking into the phone in a soothing tone. “I know, but the traffic is crazy, and we can’t control that. Tell him to calm down...Fine, don’t tell him...I know, I know...Yeah, you bet. See you there.”
He put his phone in his pocket, looking resigned. “Charles will let us out at the North Tower of Magnolia Plaza and take our bags on to the hotel for us,” he said. “We’re already late, and Malcolm is having a tantrum.”
“Oh, dear,” she murmured. “A bad beginning.”
“You’ll make up for it by being awesome,” he told her.
She laughed. “Aw! You sound awfully confident about that.”
“I am,” he replied.
“How so?” she demanded. “You’ve never seen me in action.”
“I’m a good judge of character,” he said. “You’re tough and calm, and you don’t get rattled. Malcolm likes that. He’ll be eating out of your hand by Friday.”
“We’ll see,” she said. “Let’s hope.”
“This is us,” Vann said as the limo pulled up to the curb.
Vann held the car door open for her. He led them through the lobby, and then down a long breezeway across the plaza under an enormous glass dome, all the way to the second tower.
“Is this building one of Maddox Hill’s designs?” she asked.
“Yes. It was finished last year. Zhang Wei, the man we’re meeting, is the owner.” Vann pushed the door open and beckoned her inside, waving at a security guard who waved back with a smile. “They want us to design another property in Nairobi, similar to the Triple Towers in Canberra that we did two years ago. That’s what we’re negotiating today.”
“Yes, all that was in the briefing paper,” she said. “I read it last night.”
“Malcolm and Hendrick and Drew are upstairs with Zhang Wei’s team, waiting for us.”
“Drew Maddox is here?” She was surprised. “Isn’t he getting married this weekend?”
“Sunday. After this meeting, he heads to Paradise Point, and the party begins.”
“I’ve heard about Paradise Point,” Sophie said. “That’s the new resort on the coast, right? I hope I get a chance to see it sometime.”
“Yes, it’s a beautiful property,” Vann said. “That’s one of Drew’s first lead architect projects. He made a big splash with it. Got a lot of attention.”
The elevator doors hummed open. A woman with curly gray hair and round gold-rimmed glasses hurried toward them, her eyebrows in an anxious knot. “Thank God!”
“Sylvia, this is Sophie Valente, our interpreter,” Vann said. “Sophie, this is Sylvia Gregory, Malcolm’s executive assistant.”
Sylvia shook Sophie’s hand and then grabbed it, pulling Sophie along after her.
“Come on now, both of you!” she said. “He’s just beside himself. Hurry!”
“He’ll live, Sylvia,” Vann said wryly.
“Easy for you to say,” Sylvia fussed. “I wish you two had gotten here in time to have some coffee or tea or a pastry from the breakfast buffet, but it’s too late now. We just can’t keep him waiting any longer. Come on now, pick up the pace, both of you!”
Sophie glanced at her watch. Not even 8:20 yet. The guy was hard-core.
Sylvia pointed at two doors as she hustled them down the corridor. “See those two offices? Take note of the numbers—2406 and 2408. The Zhang Wei Group has made them available to Mr. Maddox and Mr. Hill for the duration. If you’re ever called upon to interpret for a private meeting, you’ll meet in one of those offices.”
Sylvia ushered them into a large conference room with an elegant, minimalist design and a wall of windows. The hum of conversation and clink of china stopped as they entered. On one side of the table was a group of Chinese men. The man seated in the center was very old. Those ranged around him were younger.
There was staff from the Maddox Hill legal department there, as well, but Sophie focused on the three men in the center. She saw Drew Maddox and Hendrick Hill, Malcolm’s cofounder. Tall and bald and bony, he gave them a tight-lipped frown.
Then Malcolm Maddox stood up and turned to them.
She’d seen Malcolm in passing, and she’d seen photographs of him online. But this was the first time she’d seen him up close and in the flesh. She finally got why her mother had fallen so hard all those years ago. He was seamed and grizzled now, but still good-looking, with a shock of white hair and deep-set, intense gray eyes. Bold eyebrows, chiseled cheekbones. He would have been tall, if the arthritis hadn’t bent him over, and he was trim and wiry for a man with his health problems.
Her mother had fallen for him so hard she’d never recovered. She’d been on a team of interior designers on a project in New York thirty years ago. A luminously pretty, naive twenty-six-year-old with a mane of blond curls and head full of romantic notions.
Malcolm had been over forty. He’d been lead architect on the Phelps Pavilion. Charismatic, seductive, brilliant, charming. Intense.
They’d had a brief, hot affair, and then he’d left, returning to the West Coast.
When Vicky Valente found that she was pregnant, she’d gone to look for him. His wife, Helen, had opened the door when Sophie’s mom knocked on it. She’d left without ever making contact with Malcolm. Mortified. Heartbroken.
Malcolm glowered at them, clutching his cane with a hand gnarled from arthritis. “So,” he growled. “Finally deigned to make an appearance, eh? Mr. Zhang, I believe you met Vann Acosta at our last meeting, correct?”
“Yes, we did meet,” Vann said, nodding in Zhang Wei’s direction. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, sir.”
“You should be,” Malcolm barked. “I don’t have time to waste. Neither do Mr. Zhang and his team.”
Sophie set her purse down and promptly situated her chair behind and between Hendrick’s and Malcolm’s chairs. “Whenever you’re ready, sir.” Her voice was calm.
Hendrick’s eyes slid over her and skittered away, but Malcolm’s eyes bored into her with unfriendly intensity for a moment.
The meeting got under way with some formal speechifying about mutual friendship and regard and Mr. Zhang’s best wishes for prosperity for all in their shared undertaking, etc., etc. Sophie interpreted whenever Zhang or one of the others paused for breath, in a clear, carrying voice. After a certain point, Malcolm’s patience began to fray. She could tell from how he clicked the top of his ballpoint pen, a rapid tappety-tap-tap.
Funny. She did that herself when she was nervous. In fact, she’d stopped using ballpoint pens because of that particular nervous habit. She couldn’t seem to stop doing it.
Mr. Zhang’s speech finally wound up with a flowery expression of best wishes on behalf of the entire Zhang Wei Group for Drew Maddox’s upcoming nuptials, and best wishes for the future and wonderful prospects for the happy young couple.
Drew resp
onded with grace, echoing the older man’s formal language as he thanked Zhang Wei for his kindness. Finally that part was over, and they got down to business.
It was fortunate that her mind was occupied so completely with translating while she was just inches away from her biological father. Close enough to smell his aftershave, to compare the shape of his ears and his fingernails with her own. His hands were bent by arthritis, so their original shape was impossible to determine, but he had the same broad, square fingernails that she had. The same high cheekbones. Drew had them, too, as well as Malcolm’s coloring.
Her intense focus altered her perception of time. She was surprised when they finally broke for lunch. Sylvia approached her as they exited the conference room. “You do know that you’ll be interpreting for Mr. Hill and Mr. Maddox during lunch, as well?” she asked, her eyes daring Sophie to say no.
“Of course,” Sophie said. “Whenever I’m needed.”
“You’ll want to arrive before Malcolm and Hendrick get there. I’ll show you where to go. Right this way, please.”
Sylvia led her onto the elevator and up to the restaurant on the penthouse floor.
When the rest of the party came into the private dining room, Sophie took her place behind Malcolm and Hendrick and interpreted their conversation with Zhang Wei as they ate lunch. She must have done it competently enough, because no one complained, but very little of what they said penetrated her conscious mind. Her stomach had woken up, and the fettucine ai limone and stuffed lobster smelled freaking divine.
No pampering. Belinda had warned her to stuff her purse with protein bars. Vann had advised her to grab breakfast. But she’d been all a-flutter to meet Malcolm up close. And in a tizzy from gawking at Vann Acosta’s ridiculous hotness. It was her own damn fault.
As if there’d been so much as a single free moment to gnaw a protein bar today, anyhow.
Lunch dragged on. Dessert, then coffee and still more talk. Global international trade, geo-politics, pictures of Zhang Wei’s twin great-grandsons, which had to be admired and chatted about. Still more coffee.
Corner Office Secrets Page 3