Crush Me

by Black, Stasia

  That thought’s enough to sour any sizzle I might feel at his attention.

  I take the seat across from him, drop my heavy purse, keeping the laptop case balancing on my knees. “Shall I begin with the opportunity Gentry Technologies is proposing?” I slide out the laptop. “I have all the specs here and the proposed collaborative schema—”

  Jackson rolls his eyes and waves a hand. “Do we have to dive into work right off the bat? I’d much rather talk about you, Calliope Cruise.”

  I’m struck dumb for a moment. Shit. That’s not good. Maybe the red lipstick was a bad idea after all. I need to get the focus onto the product and off of me.

  I smile demurely. “The best way to get to know me is to see me work, Mr. Vale. Now, why don’t I start by showing you our project proposal? Where can I hook up my laptop to a projector?” I look around the office. “Or we could go to a conference room if you’d prefer?”

  Jackson just sits back in his throne-like chair and crosses a leg at the ankle in a relaxed posture. “Our systems are being updated.” He gestures toward a chair in the corner that’s also leather, but has wheels. “Besides, there’s no need for such formalities when it’s just the two of us. Your laptop looks like it has a large screen. Just grab that chair and come sit beside me.”

  “Oh.” My eyes shoot between the chair he’s nodded to and then back to him. Is he lying about the projectors? Really, the whole company is updating their systems the day I happen to be visiting?

  I turn and coolly walk to the chair so he can’t see my inner freak out on my face. This isn’t going at all how I expected. I was going to be calm and collected, dispassionately explaining my slides, preferably in a large conference room setting. Not cozying up beside him in this luxurious office. My eyes flick around all the dark wood, the landscape oil paintings on the walls, the luxurious carpeting and—oh shit!

  Shit, shit, shit!

  I never switched to my heels.

  Here I am in my power suit… and my ratty old faded red Toms. Because nothing says classy like kitschy canvas shoes that have a hole near the big toe. Fuck. Christ. If Jackson didn’t notice before, surely he’s going to notice now that I’ll be sitting beside him for the next half hour.

  I grab the chair quickly and get behind it as fast as I can. Maybe it’s hiding my feet? God let it be hiding my feet! I can feel the heat in my cheeks.

  Stop freaking out, Cal, maybe he’s not even looking at you. I glance up at Jackson.

  He’s looking right at me.

  Shit. Did he see my feet? I can’t tell.

  I shove the chair over the small space between the corner of the office and his desk. “So as I was saying, Gentry Tech is doing really advanced, um…,” shit, brain fart, brain fart, “really advanced things,” I finish lamely. I sit down in the chair and hide my feet under the desk even though it makes me sit at an odd angle.

  Okay. Time to recover. I try to clear my head. Remember the talking points. Right. Talking points. “Like the government contracts I was talking about.” I nod. Yes. Government contracts. Right.

  Jackson makes a disgusted face. “Gentry’s always been obsessed with getting Defense contract money. It’s one of the things we disagreed about early on.”

  I nod as I open my laptop lid. I’m familiar with the difference in their philosophies. My job is to show him that the gap between them isn’t as wide as he thinks. “While you were always more interested in going commercial.”

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  I bring up my initial slides. Good. Getting into the work I’ve prepared is calming me down and centering me. Yes. I can do this. This is what I’ve prepped for. I take a deep breath as I bring up an ad for CubeThink’s latest top-of-the-line commercial drone on the market. It’s for serious enthusiasts and runs in the three-thousand dollar range.

  “Now, take your newest model you released at the beginning of this year.” I list off the specifications. “Ten pounds, has a rechargeable electric battery life of thirty minutes—impressive, by the way,” I interject, and he gives an acquiescing nod. “It goes at speeds of up to forty miles per hour and takes HD quality film that streams directly to your mobile device.”

  I look up at Jackson. “All of this is impressive and makes you a competitor in your market.” He nods, but he’s starting to look impatient.

  “If you’re going to sit here all morning and tell me what my company’s already accomplishing, Miss Cruise—”

  “But,” I cut him off, narrowing my eyes at his intrusion, “all that makes you only competitive. The DJI Phantom currently holds the international market share in commercial UAVs. What’s going to push you ahead in the upcoming decade of drone wars?”

  I click through the next few slides, feeling my confidence building. “I’ll skip the history lesson. I’m sure you’re as familiar with military drones as you are with commercial. You know the RQ-16 T-Hawk was used for almost a decade in Iraq and Afghanistan.” I don’t bother posing it as a question.

  “Naturally.”

  I click past the slides detailing the specs for the gas-powered scouting drone that soldiers carried in backpacks and then sent ahead for reconnaissance to check an area before entering.

  I look up at Jackson before I click to the next slide. His dark eyes seem to miss nothing as he watches me. It almost trips me up, but I push through. It’s far easier if I keep my eyes on my laptop. Why does his body have to take up so much space? “Gentry Tech is building the next generation of small recon drones.”

  The specs for Gentry’s new design come on screen. “As you can see,” I start, “this model is sleeker, much lighter, and is battery instead of gas powered. We hope in our collaboration with CubeThink to change that to electric battery or even solar charged. If you’ll look here—”

  Jackson reaches over and grabs the laptop, brow furrowed in interest as he zooms in on several parts of the design.

  He’s even closer now and it’s impossible not to…well, inhale him. Pine. He smells like pine and man and for a second I imagine him sitting in that big leather chair of his out in a forest cabin somewhere, just having come in from chopping wood.

  “Interesting,” he says under his breath and I startle back to the moment. “He decided not to go for a coaxial motor design.” Then he huffs through his nose. “And just how does he expect to get the quick lift he needs without the multiple motors?”

  He’s still got the laptop in hand and I bite my lip. I can’t exactly snatch it back, but at the same time, I can’t afford to lose control of this meeting now. “If you’ll just click through one slide over, you’ll see the modular design for a single centralized motor. This way there’s less chance for engine failure on one of the limbs that could take down the whole copter.”

  He does and it’s a close up of the internal motor. I start to describe the unique aspects of what Gentry’s done, just as I studied, but Jackson’s already clicking through several slides ahead.

  “Wait, you just skipped—” I start to say, my voice strangled, but he only waves his hand at me like he’s brushing away a fly. His focus is entirely engaged in the laptop. He clicks through slide after slide of the specs for Gentry’s design and then he comes to the end of the presentation and looks up to me, exasperated.

  “Where’s the rest of it?” He looks back down at the computer, double-clicking on the presentation and going through it at lightning speed as if this time, he’ll find a different conclusion.

  “That’s all there is.”

  “What? But where’s the code?” He looks up at me like I’ve just said something ludicrous. Again his eyes make me pause. They’re such a dark blue. I’ve never seen anything like that color before. Not to mention the way he looks at me—with such a direct intensity. “Or at least some pseudo-code that tells me the direction his programming is going to take?”

  I swallow and look away from the disturbing force of his gaze. I thought it was strange that Gentry didn’t send any code too, but I give h
im one of the answers Gentry provided when I asked him the same question.

  “Aren’t you most interested in the hardware side?” I sidestep. “That’s what you’re getting out of the bargain, isn’t it? The contacts with the best parts-makers in Japan and around the world? That’s what he’s showing you here.” I point to the screen.

  But Jackson starts shaking his head before I’m even done speaking. “That has nothing to do with what he’s proposing we collaborate on. That’s just the bait. All that tells me is that he’s desperate to get me on board for this project.”

  Shit, I’m losing him. I try again with Gentry’s second explanation. “This is just the first discussion to start laying our cards on the table to begin the process. Gentry Tech is showing you ours and letting you see what we’re working on ahead of anybody else. It’s a show of good faith.”

  Jackson scoffs like that’s the biggest steaming pile he’s ever heard and sets my laptop none-too-gently down on his desk. “A show of good faith?” He laughs and puts one elbow on the arm of his chair, then leans his chin on it and watches me with narrowed eyes.

  “What good is hardware without the software to run it, Miss Cruise?”

  I can’t help the slight slouch of my shoulders in spite of my determination not to show any sign of weakness. “It’s like a human body without a brain. Useless.”

  His eyebrows rise. “Exactly. So you see now what Bryce has offered me in this so-called show of good faith. Nothing. A beautiful car with nothing under the hood. The future of drone technology is how intelligent they are.”

  I perk up. This is in my talking points. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? “But he’s discussed that in meetings with our product development team. That’s what this new project is all about—developing a drone that’s intuitive and can map terrain to find shelter, avoid projectiles and other objects in the air. Didn’t you see? There was even a slide about it.” I start to open the laptop, but he puts his hand on top of mine to stop me and I look up to find he’s leaned close. So close I’m inhaling his scent even more deeply. Pine. Woodsy. God, he smells really good. And his hand is warm. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine us both there in the cabin.

  “I’m not interested in his claims. Bryce could always talk a good game.” His face is only inches from mine. “Follow-through, however, was always more my strong suit,” his voice is low, so low I’d swear I can feel the rumble of it up through my chair and straight to my—

  “Oh,” I pull away to put more distance. “I’m sure Mr. Gentry wouldn’t make claims he couldn’t deliver on.”

  Jackson’s eyes narrow and the edges of his mouth dip down. “You have so much faith in him after working with him for what, a month?”

  I feel my face flush. Damn my easy blushing cheeks. “I didn’t say that. I just meant that anyone of his reputation couldn’t just waltz around making false business promises. I mean, he won a Department of Defense contract to build this drone. Besides,” I say, a bit confused now, “I know you two don’t…” how to put this diplomatically? “see eye to eye, but you’ve worked together. Surely, you admit he’s a genius when it comes to software development.”

  Jackson says nothing, he’s still just staring at me.

  “And that’s how you see him? Are you attracted to that kind of arrogant, genius, as you put it?”

  I balk. “It doesn’t matter how I see him. His intelligence can’t be denied.”

  “What if it matters to me? How you see him.”

  His gray eyes are staring me down. He’s so focused on me it’s like he’s looking past any façade I thought I was putting up today—past my attempted professionalism, past my pretend cool and straight into me.

  Which is not what this meeting is supposed to be about at all.

  I breathe out, praying with my last bit of patience that I don’t sound as frustrated or confused as I am. “In the end, it doesn’t matter what either of us feels about Gentry.” My neck feels hot as I look back up at Jackson. “All that matters is that he’s a man who can get the job done. Haven’t you ever wanted to be part of something that matters?” I’m leaning forward on my chair and slightly into Jackson’s space, but I don’t care.

  “If Gentry delivers on what he’s promising, he’s building the next generation of reconnaissance drones that are going to protect our soldiers. It means saving the lives of scouts. This new, much lighter and quieter drone will be able to recon areas for a longer range and provide even more assurance so that soldiers aren’t walking into traps.”

  His face which was curious and ever so slightly predatory a moment before goes hard. “And are you so naïve to think that’s all they’ll be used for? That if Gentry perfects this technology, it won’t be used to seek out and kill insurgents?”

  I shake my head. It was the first thought that popped into my head, too, when I heard the word drone. But surely out of anyone, Jackson should understand. “You know these aren’t the big, fast-flying long-range drones that drop bombs. This is the kind that’s used for close surveillance. To check for civilians and give a better picture of what’s happening on the ground instead of relying on satellite imagery. It can be used to check for civilians so that the kinds of artillery drones you’re talking about don’t take out innocents as collateral damage.”

  I’m talking so vehemently my arms are involved. Shit. That only happens when I get passionate about a topic. I try to ramp it down a few levels. I take a quick breath and then finish. “Even if I don’t respect Gentry as a person, it’s a vision I can still find inspiring. Tell me, Mr. Vale,” my eyes flick up and lock onto his, “can you say that your commercial products have saved any lives this year?”

  I’m prepared for another pithy comeback or for the sparring to continue, but there’s only silence. Again, Jackson just watches me. Like he’s taking my measure. It’s hard not to squirm under the microscope of his gaze. Did my little speech move him? Or is sweat smearing my makeup and he can’t believe what a hack Gentry sent to represent his company? I lock my jaw and stiffen my spine.

  Finally, when the staring goes on for at least another ninety seconds—I know because I started counting—I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

  Not that it seems to affect him. He just continues to stare for a few moments longer before finally speaking. “Accompany me as my plus one to the Red Cross Gala on Friday night.”

  It’s more a statement than a question. And a what-the-fuck of a non-sequitur. We were just talking war and drones and saving lives, and now he’s inviting me to a party?

  Not just that, but the way he phrased it, it sounded like he assumes I’m going to go. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous? What if I’m busy?”

  “You’re not.”

  Well that definitely pisses me off. He apparently sees it on my face.

  “You’re not the only one who did their homework before this meeting, Miss Cruise,” he cuts me off before I can go on the warpath. “Obviously I met your son when I accidently ran into you in the park the other day, so I know you have a child. A simple Facebook search told me you were single. You really should update your privacy settings on there, by the way.

  “So, a single mother,” he shrugs, “maybe you do already have plans lined up for your Friday night,” he squints at me. “But with your new—and if I know Gentry,” his face darkens, “—very stressful job, I’m betting the last thing you want after a week of putting up with that asshole is to go out and put up with other assholes on the whole dating scene. No,” he shakes his head, still eyeing me. “I’m betting you’re more of a wine and bubble bath on a Friday night kind of woman. Maybe a good book?”

  I glare at him. All right. It’s disturbing how well he’s guessed my Friday-night routine. Seriously. The books are only sometimes, though. And once I’m out of the bath, it’s more classic movies, like Gone with the Wind or anything with Jimmy Stewart, Spencer Tracey, or Katharine Hepburn.

  I give him a little acidic sweetness with my smile. “Wrong on all counts. This
Friday I have an evening full of plans to deep condition my hair and paint my toenails.”

  He’s never once looked away from my eyes in the last nerve-wracking five minutes. He doesn’t now either as he does the half smile thing that’s charming as hell. “I consider care of one’s feet and footwear to be essential to the presentation of one’s person. Though I must say, I appreciate quirk as well as quality.” He holds out a hand and pulls me to my feet before I even realize what he’s doing. His eyes are still on mine as he says, “I was quite beguiled by your own choice in footwear today.”

  I feel my eyes widen but I can’t think of even a stumbling excuse. It’s not like pulling out one of my pretty pumps at this point and saying, “No, wait, I was supposed to be wearing these sexy things!” is going to help my embarrassed blush. And damn him, he’s managed to get the upper hand on me, right here at the end of the meeting. That’s not supposed to be how this goes. He slips my laptop back into its case—shit, did he see the pumps at the top of my purse right beside the laptop case?—and his hand drops to the small of my back.

  He walks me to the door and I’m moving with him. Wait, this can’t be the end of the meeting. We didn’t even come to terms—I have no idea where the proposal stands or if he even—

  “My driver will be around to pick you up at 6 pm for the gala,” Jackson says smoothly when I’m at the threshold of his office. “And I hope it’s not too presumptuous, but I have a personal shopper who I haven’t used nearly enough this year. She works on commission, you understand. She’ll drop by on Thursday with several dress options as well as shoes.” There’s a definite twinkle in the bastard’s eye as he says this. And wait. What? A dress? Shoes? I never even agreed to go to the damn gala!

  “Mr. Vale—” I start, but he smiles at me. Not those odd half smiles he’s been teasing with all morning either. No, this is a genuine full-teeth affair. And he has such white teeth. And that damn dimple. A dimple. In what world is that fair?