Mischievousness surged through her. “Plus, I do a fashion show and model all the underwear personally. It works especially well when the managers are men.”
His eyebrows rose. “Really?”
“No!” She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Gene. If we’re going to work together, you’re going to have to let that sense of humor loose. It’s difficult to take life seriously when you spend your days discussing things like whether the fabric of a bra is going to be too scratchy on the nipples.”
He looked at his shoes for a long moment. Callie bit back a laugh. She really shouldn’t tease him.
“If it’s any help,” she said, “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long without any sexual innuendo.”
He raised his gaze to hers. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said. But his eyes warmed with amusement.
She sat back in her chair. “Just so you know, although I don’t like it when people make fun of my job or treat women as sexual objects, I do have a sense of humor, and you’re allowed to have one too.”
“That’s good to know.”
“Would you like to work here?”
“It’s a dream come true.” He gave an impish smile that warmed her right through. At last.
“In that case, you’re hired, Mr. Bond—and I hope you’re prepared for endless 007 jokes.”
“I’m sure I’ve heard them all.”
“I’ll do my best to come up with some new ones. In return, you may ask me a question. Anything you like, and I promise to answer it truthfully.” Now she’d given him free rein, she waited for him to enquire about her cup size, or what style of panties she preferred.
He surveyed her for a long moment. Then he picked up her empty cup. “What’s Callie short for?”
“Oh.” She sucked her bottom lip. Talking with this man was like being blindfolded and then turned around and around, leaving her disoriented and reeling. “Um, Calinda. It means summer.”
“So your name’s Summer Summer?”
“I prefer to think of it as Sunny Summer.”
He picked up the saucer containing a few leftover biscuit crumbs. “It suits you.” He lifted his eyes to meet hers. Once again, they held enough heat to suggest he was thinking something sexy.
The ability to think of a witty retort deserted her, and all she could come up with was, “Thank you.”
“And thank you for hiring me. I’m sure we’ll work well together.”
Something in his expression made her think of the two of them naked, in bed. Working together beneath the sheets. Her cheeks heated, and she was certain he noted that before he turned and left the room, his lips curving in a slight smile.
Chapter Four
The rest of Gene’s day passed swiftly. Neve went through the rest of the diligent Becky’s notes with him, most of which seemed to imply that although Callie was a wonderful saleswoman who had no trouble putting people at their ease, she couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery. Becky made it quite clear that he couldn’t expect Callie to do anything unless he wrote it on a Post-It Note and stuck it to her phone or her laptop screen, and even then, if it was an important task, it was best he did it himself.
Neve gave him a rundown of the running of the business, in between pestering him with questions about his real job.
“So what do you know about the guy who’s made the death threats?” she asked in a hushed voice when she knew Callie was on a long call. “Phoebe said he was someone she put away a few years ago.”
“Yeah. He’s a nasty piece of work—a rich gangster who thought he was untouchable. Like Al Capone, they got him on taxes, and she put together a watertight case he couldn’t wriggle out of. He got ten years and was out in six. Two days after he was released, he shot his lawyer and then vanished. A week later, Phoebe got the first death threat. He’s a nutcase, hell bent on revenge against all those who had a hand in his incarceration, intent on making them suffer.”
“You think they’ll be able to catch him?”
“Oh, they’ll get him eventually. This time, though, they’ll be able to put him away for murder. He’s not some top-level mastermind—he’s just a rich bully, and money can only get you so far. He’s threatened some pretty important people. We’re working with the Special Tactics Group—what used to be the Anti-Terrorist Squad—and they’ll track him down. But until they do, we have to protect those he’s threatened. Like I said, he didn’t threaten Callie directly, but she was mentioned in the letter, so we’re not taking any chances.”
“Do you think he’s hiding in the bushes with a rifle, or do you think he’s hired a hitman?”
“I think he’s probably high on drugs and alcohol somewhere worrying about picking up the soap in the shower when he’s back in prison. I doubt he’ll ever carry out the threats. But we’ll take them seriously, of course, until he’s caught.”
Neve seemed happy with that, and continued briefing him on deliveries and stock takes.
“What do you do when you’re not filling in here?” he asked when she’d finished.
“I’m in charge of marketing and promotion. I design our catalogues and promotional material. I’ve been scouting out suitable shops for Callie to approach to stock our brand. And I run lingerie parties.” Her eyes gleamed.
“Parties?”
“Yeah. It’s turned into quite a thing. We’re having one next weekend, Saturday the thirteenth. Rowan’s twin sister’s having a baby shower.”
“The one whose wedding you all went to dressed as the four seasons?”
“Yeah. She’s hired us for the evening. She’s the focus, of course, but she knows getting all her friends together is a great opportunity for us to tout our wares.”
“So you bring a selection of lingerie to these parties?”
“Yeah. And other… bits and bobs.”
He realized she was talking about sex toys. “Hmm, I see.”
Neve’s eyes widened. “Of course you’ll have to come to keep an eye on Callie. You can be a waiter! We always need someone to serve the drinks.”
“I’m not sure being the only man at a baby shower-come-lingerie party is my idea of a good night out. I’ll be eaten alive.”
“Only if you’re very lucky.”
They both laughed.
“There’s too much fun going on out here,” Callie announced, walking out of her office.
“Sorry, miss,” Neve said. “Won’t happen again.” She leaned toward Gene and spoke in a mock whisper. “Watch out—she can be very strict when the mood takes her.”
Gene knew she hadn’t meant that to be as suggestive as it sounded, but it was difficult to stop his mind from straying to sex when Callie stood in front of him. He had no intention of carrying out his daydreams, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let his mind wander when the mood took him. It did so now, tempting him with thoughts of her giving instructions in the bedroom. Maybe she liked tying her partners up—or being tied up. Either way sounded fun.
There were worse things than dating the CEO of a lingerie firm, he was certain. He could imagine Callie Summer modelling her range of underwear for him. He wasn’t sure what would be his favorite of those he’d spotted in the catalogue—the virginal white bra and panties, the saucy red teddy, or the sexy black lace set with sheer black thigh highs. She’d look pretty damn good in any of those.
He blinked. Callie’s cheeks had turned red. He’d been staring too long and, judging by the blush, she’d read something of what he was thinking in his eyes. Luckily, Neve was chattering on about something and hadn’t noticed.
He raised an eyebrow.
Callie blinked rapidly and lowered her gaze. He hid a smile. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He wasn’t being obvious enough that she could be sure he liked her. That was good. He was happy to keep her in the dark for a while.
In the dark. Chained to a bed. Totally at his mercy.
Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at himself, he tidied the items on the desk into a neat pile and followed Neve’
s suit as she got to her feet.
“Five o’clock,” Neve said. “I’m done.”
Gene looked at Callie. “When do you finish?”
“I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”
He sat back at the desk. “No worries.”
“You can go,” she said. “I don’t expect my PA to stay on after five.”
“I go when you go.”
“Well I don’t.” Neve picked up her bag and headed off. “See ya.”
“Saturday the thirteenth?” Callie called after her.
Neve stopped and turned. “Are you going to make it?”
“Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Next week, we’ll do the South Island, stop in Wellington for Willow’s baby shower, then carry on to the North Island the following week.”
“Cool. I’ll see you then.” Neve disappeared.
“Neve’s invited me, by the way,” Gene told Callie, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. “To the party.”
She perched on the edge of his desk. “Really?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face—she wasn’t sure that Neve hadn’t been cheeky enough to do that.
“I understand some interesting things are for sale.”
“Mmm,” she said, surprisingly cool. “Neve has connections with a Wellington-based company, and they supply a range of examples for her parties. Plus, she gets freebie gift packs that come in handy. It would be a nice pre-birthday treat for you.” Her eyes gleamed—she’d remembered his birthday was on Valentine’s Day.
She’d called his bluff, and he couldn’t stop his lips curving up. She had bright blue eyes the color of a summer sky—surprise, surprise—and they lit with amusement now. This woman fascinated him. She blushed when she thought he might be thinking about sex with her, but she ran a lingerie company, and she was obviously quite open where bedroom matters were concerned.
“Sounds like fun,” he said, smiling.
She chuckled. “They are. Experimentation with lingerie and… other items can be about availability. Women are often too afraid to go into sex shops and even lingerie shops because they’re easily embarrassed. The idea of parties like the one next week is that they can go into a bathroom or bedroom on their own to try on the lingerie, and maybe purchase something fun they wouldn’t ordinarily have the courage to if they were on their own. If your best friend’s treating herself to a vibrator, you don’t feel like such a floozy having a look yourself. Unless you’re Rowan, who blushes scarlet at the mere mention of anything to do with sex.”
Loving her open manner, he studied the way her blonde hair slid over her shoulder like melted butter poured from a jug. “You enjoy enabling women, don’t you?”
“I do. It makes me feel good.”
“Do you consider yourself a feminist?”
She studied him, her expression curious. “Depends what you mean by that. It’s come to mean someone who thinks women are better than men, and who seeks to punish them for having a penis. In its true sense, it means someone who believes in equality for women. Culturally, economically, politically, socially… So yes. I consider myself a feminist in that way.” Her eyes appraised him. “What was her name?”
“Whose name?”
“Your ex. The one who didn’t like men.”
He’d never felt like this before—as if he were made of glass and all his thoughts were visible whirling around in his head. Over the past few years, he’d erected a barrier around himself that very few were allowed to see behind, and it was bizarre to find it suddenly transparent.
Should he answer her? He decided to sidestep. “What makes you think I had an ex who didn’t like men?”
She considered the question seriously. “Something in your eyes. Wariness, hurt. I make up stories about people in my head—it’s a habit.”
“So what would my story be?”
She sucked her bottom lip for a moment. “Her strength and independence attracted you in the first place. You appreciate the difficulties that women can have gaining equality, and you were proud to have a girlfriend who stood up for her sex, maybe even campaigned for women’s rights. But over time, you came to resent the way she made you feel privileged, as if you should constantly apologize for being male. That’s because… you come from a poor background. You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve achieved, and you’ve been given nothing, so you didn’t appreciate being made to feel that you’d gotten to the top because you’re a man. What once attracted you to her began to annoy you, and that made you feel bad because you believe in equality yourself, and yet you felt resentful that she’d gotten where she was by being a woman. It shouldn’t matter. It should be irrelevant. That’s true equality—everyone being on the same playing field and being judged by their talents, not their gender, color, or religion. She’s the one who broke it off, but you were relieved when it happened.”
He stared at her. It was so close to the truth that it gave him the shivers. But he wasn’t about to admit that to her. “So how did you come up with this piece of fiction?” he asked, linking his fingers and trying to appear relaxed, even though his heart banged away against his ribs.
She laughed. “Just like your coin trick, it’s not magic. You’re working as a PA—clearly you believe in equality. You’re respectful to women. But when someone asks a question, it can be as revealing as the answer to it. Your query about whether I consider myself a feminist and the wariness in your eyes told me you were worried I’d say yes, which means you’d met someone who’d made you uneasy about feminism. It could have been a sister, but the fact that you’re a good-looking, decent guy who’s still single at thirty-one suggests it was an ex.”
“And the poor background?”
“That was a guess, but resentment toward her makes more sense if that was the case.”
“And the fact that the ex broke up with me?”
Callie tipped her head to the side. “You seem sad, but not angry. Maybe in time, you would have left her, but she obviously sensed what was coming and took the leap first, and ultimately you were relieved she did. Although…” Her expression softened. “The sadness is deep. You used to smile a lot, but you don’t so much now. Something happened to you that made you look at life differently. You have more scars inside than outside. Was that your ex? I think maybe not. It was something—or someone—else.”
Her blue eyes held him captive. Neve had been right—there was something exceptional about this woman. He’d never met anyone like her. Her insightfulness stunned him, and made him uneasy in equal measure. He relied on his barriers and his aloofness—they were an exoskeleton that kept him standing upright, and if she took them away, he was sure he’d collapse to the ground in a heap.
Callie smiled, obviously aware he wasn’t going to reply. “Maybe I should write detective stories.”
“Maybe you should.”
Chuckling, she looked down, turning his notepad toward her. He always wrote in shorthand, and the page was covered with neat lines and loops. She ran her finger across the lines. “It’s so strange—it’s like another language, like Arabic or Japanese, with all these symbols. What system is it?”
“Teeline.”
“I think Becky uses Pitman.”
“Pitman is one of the oldest systems. In the US, they tend to use Gregg. New Zealand journalists are taught Teeline, though, and it’s the recommended system for the National Council for the Training of Journalists, which is why I use it.”
“Write my name for me.”
He picked up a pen and did so, a small ‘c’ with a long ‘l’ and a little line for the ‘ee’ sound at the end. Then a tiny circle for the ‘s’, followed by a long arc for the ‘mer’ sound. “Callie Summer,” he said.
She ran her finger across it. “Nice.”
While she studied it, his gaze caressed her face, then moved down her neck to the top of her blouse. All the buttons were done up and there was no sign of her bra, but even so, the triangle of pale skin revealed by the V at the
top sent his heart racing again.
“I’ll finish my calls,” she said, getting up. “Then we can go home.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gave him a wry look and disappeared into her office.
Gene watched her go, conscious that his lips were curving in a smile. Men find her fascinating, Neve had said, and he could understand why now. She was warm, funny, clever, and sexy, and in any other circumstances, he might have considered asking her out.
But that wasn’t appropriate here. He dropped his gaze to his notepad. Picking up his pen, in shorthand he wrote, Stay focused. Neve was right—he couldn’t afford to become embroiled with Callie. His job was to protect the CEO of the Four Seasons, and he had to concentrate on that and push all other thoughts to the back of his mind.
Chapter Five
Gene spent half an hour typing up the notes he’d taken from Neve during the day. By five thirty, Callie had finished her phone calls and announced she was going home.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” Gene said. He stood and slipped on his jacket.
She locked her office door. “That’s not necessary.”
“I know. But I’m a gentleman.” He put the computer to sleep and made sure the desk was tidy, then slid his notepad into his pocket. “Come on.”
“By the way,” she said as they walked down the stairs, “you don’t have to wear a suit to work every day. We don’t get a lot of visitors, and as you know, we’re all about comfort. And of course we’ll be travelling next week.”
“Thanks,” he said, although he would continue to wear the suit so he wouldn’t look odd in his bulletproof waistcoat.
Bridget had just closed the shop and was in the process of tallying up. “Great day,” she said as they entered the back door of the shop. “Having that Valentine’s Day promotion in the window has brought loads of guys in.”
“Excellent!” Callie beamed.
“That’s Neve for you,” Bridget said. “She has all the best ideas.”
“Yes, but you put the display together, Birdie.” Callie gestured at the window. “It’s amazing.”
[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer Page 4