He watched as her eyes narrowed as much as they could, considering how much Botox was shot into her face. Liam sneered when she tried to disarm him with a fulminating glare. Fuck her. She was over-stepping and could shoot angry looks at him all she wanted.
“Excuse me for doing my job, Liam, but since I’m responsible for keeping track of the money, it would make sense that when a division is blowing through cash like a Monopoly banker, I’d get involved.”
Exasperated because she wouldn’t back down when he’d made it clear who the person in charge was around here, Liam slapped the report he was reading onto his desk and sat back in his chair, leveling her with a look that suggested she was skating on thin ice.
“Five minutes, Kim. Five minutes and then you find something else to bitch about.”
“Fine,” she snapped.
Slamming a folder down, she flipped it open in front of him and gestured wildly while she went off like a crazy person.
“That’s a printout of the vacation requests for your little fashion magazine.”
Liam ground his teeth together at her subtle dig, remembering how Rhiann had reacted to a similar statement. Passion was hardly little and dismissing it as a knock-off rag was a mistake. Sure, he’d brought it under the BPG umbrella for ulterior motives, but he’d been doing some research. They already blew Glamour out of the water and, with the right support, could challenge Vogue in another year or so.
He had no idea what the big deal was about requests for days off, and unless one of his extended family of employees was planning to hook up with a terrorist cell while on vacation, he didn’t see how any of this concerned him.
“Four minutes.”
“Look at all these requests,” she grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”
“Has the time been earned?” he questioned smoothly.
“Well, yes—but that’s not the problem.”
He arched an eyebrow. What in the hell crawled up her skirt?
Watching impassively as she started pacing, Liam wondered why she was so bent out of shape at the exact same instant that he knew without a shadow of a doubt what—or rather whom—had brought all this on.
Rhiann.
“There’s a critical photo shoot on the books for New Year’s Eve. Something that required a tsunami of red tape and paperwork to set up. Seems to me that someone needs to keep an eye on the ball as the prep takes place. Take control of the permits, manage the models, deal with the city.”
“And your point would be . . . ?”
The question acted like a red flag in front of a snorting, angry bull.
“The communications director,” she spat out as though the title was a vulgar term, “has asked for time off at a most inconvenient, and frankly, unprofessional time.”
Without moving more than a muscle, Liam glanced down at the printout and scanned the document until he found Rhiann’s name. Everyone had off for the holiday, but she’d put in for a couple of extra days in the week before Christmas. Like everyone else, though, she’d be back at work on the twenty-seventh . . . plenty of time to manage the New Year’s Eve shoot.
Liam stiffened slightly and scowled. He didn’t see what the big fucking deal was, but he was picking up on Kim’s snowballing animosity toward Rhiann that made him pause and think. He knew straightaway that she’d asked for those days because of Brynn’s upcoming wedding, but there was no way he was going to share that personal nugget with anyone.
Looking up, he found Kim still ranting as she paced.
“It’s unprofessional, I tell you. She’s in charge of the whole thing. Who does she think she is taking off at a critical time?”
A very definite warning bell sounded in his head. His finance director had it out for Rhiann.
“Mrs. Walsh,” he emphasized for good measure. “Give the employees their time and stop interfering in the day-to-day management issues. I’m sure Miss Wilde knows what she’s doing. Back off.”
Hmm. Maybe not the right tone or tactic to take with her, he thought when she shot daggers at him with her eyes.
Hastily snatching the folder off his desk, she glared at him one final time and headed for the door where she stopped, turned, and barked, “This is a huge mistake, Liam.”
“It’s mine to make, though—isn’t it?”
Rhiann’s phone vibrated where it sat on a pile of magazines at her desk. She watched it for a second as it lit up and noted that Liam’s name appeared on the screen, indicating an incoming text message.
Rhiann. I’m madly in love and can’t live without you. Please marry me so we can make babies together.
Yeah. Like that was ever going to happen. Snatching the phone, she tapped on the screen and opened Liam’s message.
Hi. Hope your day is going well. I gave my driver a few days off so it’ll be me doing the driving tomorrow. Seven in the A.M. sound good to you?
Aw, jeez. Really? Rhiann shook her head and bit back a groan.
Hi back at you and thanks—my day has been swell. Glad the driver gets a break from your scowly face but I’m not thrilled you have to drive. What will you do while I’m with my family?
He answered immediately—almost as if he’d anticipated her response.
No problem, milaya. Will drop you in Rittenhouse Square at the pre-determined location. Booked a last-minute suite at the Ritz-Carlton so no need to worry about me. Best room service in town.
He had all the answers. Of course, he did. Another question came through almost immediately.
When is Brynn’s wedding?
Why in the hell does he want to know that, she wondered. A big part of her wanted him to be her escort for the Christmas nuptials, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Not yet and maybe never.
Beginning of Christmas week. Hope it snows like crazy. Will make for a beautiful visual.
She wasn’t kidding about the snow. Her over-the-top romantic vision for Brynn and Jax’s Christmas wedding was a winter wonderland masterpiece. A mountain of white crystalline snow glistening beneath swaths of tiny twinkle lights would be a breathtaking backdrop to the red, green, and white color palette she was using.
Am sure that your sister will be the beauty. She’ll be a gorgeous bride. Catch you in the morning-EARLY. If you need anything before then, let me know.
Okay—so seriously. What was that all about? The unusual question seemed like more than idle curiosity.
Shrugging the conversation away, she went back to finish a long series of emails about the New Year’s Eve shoot. Getting all the necessary permits from the city required kissing the feet of twenty different municipal and state departments who were, as far as she could tell, run by a bunch of dumbasses.
She’d thought of everything—twice—and was tenaciously going back and forth over the details, making sure she’d covered every base, when two sharp raps pounded out on her open door. Looking up, Rhi’s heart sank when she found the eyes of the she-beast staring her down. Was this woman ever going to leave her alone?
“A word, Miss Wilde?” Kim asked with a hideously fake smile stuck on her face.
“Of course, Mrs. Walsh. Please. Come in and have a seat.” Rhiann quickly stood, and as graciously as she could, waved to indicate the seating. “What can I do for you?”
A black hole of dense cold invaded Rhiann’s office, and she wasn’t just being a fanciful twit thinking that. How in the hell could she describe this woman to give a sense of just how icy and uncomfortable it felt to be in her presence?
For starters, that cool blonde thing was total bullshit, meant to suck a person in and give a false sense of fragile femininity. What a joke! This lady was a crop-wielding Dominatrix through and through—a thought that did not sit well with her.
Unwanted visions of Kim in full Domme mode with Liam on the receiving end almost made Rhiann shudder. No way would her king of the beasts put up with that sort of shit. Even as an innocent, love-addled nineteen-year-old, she’d felt his power and authority.
In that lig
ht, it seemed highly unlikely that his questionable association with this woman was anything more than a business relationship. Or so she hoped.
Studying her intently in the same way that Rhiann was being subjected to a piercing scrutiny—she noted that beneath the perfectly placed wispy bangs, Kim’s damn forehead looked tight enough to ice skate on. There wasn’t a single line or wrinkle anywhere on her face though she knew the lady to be in her mid-forties. Bet she had a plastic surgeon on speed dial, she thought caustically. I hope tune-ups for that artificial face cost her a damn fortune.
Apparently, however, all the fillers and Botox hadn’t completely frozen her face because Rhiann saw the other woman wrinkle her nose as if the odor of a skunk was wafting in the air. Ahhh, so that’s how we’re gonna play this, hmm?
“Burning off the Red Bull or actually working late?” came the malicious purr.
What. A. Bitch.
“Little of both,” Rhi answered snidely. The dismissive comment earned her a brief, telltale lip curl that bordered on a snarl and warned her that she just might be in over her head. This lady might actually be an in-the-flesh succubus. Which made her dangerous.
All pretense of friendliness simply vanished in the blink of an eye with the arctic blast becoming unbearable.
“Let me get right to the point, Miss Wilde. This campaign, the one shooting in Times Square—is costing the company a considerable amount of money . . .”
“Which I assure you was in our budget, Mrs. Walsh.”
Eyes too blue not to be lenses, flashed menacingly. The frigid glare matched the temperature in the room.
“Be that as it may, BPG was not part of this decision and though you may think that this magazine has carte blanche to spend money like a stripper after a bachelor party, I assure you—it does not.”
Good grief. If this crazy bitch purses her lips any tighter, she could crack nuts with them. Oh, my god! Crack nuts with her lips. Fuuuuck, that was funny. Do not laugh. Do NOT laugh.
The ice queen crossed her skinny legs and narrowed her eyes. Moving in for the kill, Rhi thought. Well . . . let’s have it then.
“Since you think taking a little vacation right before a major campaign that is susceptible by its very nature to everything ranging from bad weather to the vagaries of politics, I have to question your judgment.”
Rhi started to speak until the icicle masquerading as a woman across from her raised her hand to cut her off.
“This isn’t a discussion, Miss Wilde.”
Rhiann’s eyes widened in shock. Oh, no she didn’t!
“Effective immediately, I’m assigning a liaison from BPG to assist you in bringing this project in—on time and within budget.”
A burning tightness gripped Rhi’s chest. The bitch had made the word assist sound like NSA surveillance.
“Does Mr. Ashforth know about this?” Rhiann wheezed as the implications of this thunderbolt hit home. The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Shit. This was why she didn’t play poker.
The nut cracking ice queen stood and glared down her perfectly sculpted nose at Rhiann, who was frozen with disbelief.
“I don’t know what you’re up to—but you won’t win, little girl.”
Everything became a blur after that and she may or may not have told Kim Walsh to go fuck herself; she wasn’t actually sure if she spoke the words aloud. She certainly thought them.
Frosty’s main bitch tossed one more on her way out the door.
“I eat wannabes like you for breakfast. If you have a shred of sense, you will not fuck with me.”
Shit. Where’s the Pepcid?
LIAM PULLED UP OUTSIDE RHIANN’S apartment in the village, flipped on the blinkers, and quickly texted her so she’d know he’d arrived.
Since he was driving and it was just the two of them, he’d foregone the big sedan and decided to use one of his personal cars instead. After a half hour of deliberation, he settled on a BMW he’d bought for no other reason than because he found it comfortable.
Flipping the visor down, he opened the lighted mirror and did a quick visual. Nothing in his teeth? Check. Hair perfectly styled? Check. Tie straightened? Check. Maybe he should have shaved. Shit.
Returning the visor to its place, he bounced in his seat like an anxious kid on Christmas morning.
“Bollocks!” he bellowed as a way to release some tension. A technique Liam relied on when he got nervous. And who had introduced him to the unique British slang? Professor Wilde. Jeez. He hadn’t thought about that in a long time. It was a great example of the very reason why he’d wanted to assist the man—he even swore with class, and at the time, those were things Liam needed to learn.
Be down in 5, she texted.
Okay. So, she was actually going to come down and get in his car. Holy Shit! Two hours of uninterrupted Rhiann time. He carefully reviewed the catalog of recent events and topics for safe discussion he had at the ready and bounced some more in his seat unable to believe this stroke of amazing timing and good luck the universe had handed him.
Don’t fucking blow this, Ashforth.
It took her more like fifteen minutes to come flying like the whirlwind he knew her to be—out of the door of the building and across the tiny courtyard. She was lugging a tremendous shopping bag and had a harried expression as she scurried toward him.
As soon as Liam spied her navigating the door, he’d leaped from the car and waved.
“Need help?” he yelled.
“No. Thanks, though. I’ve got it,” she answered. “Oh. Um . . . where’s the Town Car?” she asked, eyeing the BMW as if it had horns.
“Too much car for a simple roundtrip to Philly,” he told her. “This will be more comfortable. Here, you can stash the bag in the backseat,” he said, opening the door with a flourish.
“Ugh,” she grunted with a mock grimace, hefting the heavy bag into the car.
Liam smiled at her lighthearted ‘tude. “What do you have in there? Rocks?”
Rhi stepped back while he swung the door shut and grinned. “I’ve got two sisters and an overflowing closet. You do the math.” She chuckled.
“Nice.” He nodded.
“Hell, half that stuff still has tags. Perks of the job.”
He was delighted that she was in such a good mood and wasn’t growling at him. Clearing his throat to stave off more nerves, Liam wrapped a hand around her upper arm and surprised them both by leaning in for a swift hello kiss.
Once they were settled and safely strapped in, he searched the satellite stations till he found one that could play softly in the background, smiled at her, and said, “Next stop . . . Rittenhouse Square.”
Oh, my dear sweet Lord. Two whole hours alone in this swish car with the impeccably dressed man sitting next to her who was deftly navigating them out of the city.
Wait a minute. Impeccably dressed? Swinging her eyes at Liam, Rhiann really looked at him this time and just shook her head. It was Thanksgiving and while Nana had insisted on a ridiculous dress-up, sit-down feast—if she’d been going home to just her parents, they’d be rolling around in jeans or maybe even sweat pants.
But this guy! He was in his usual attire. Same shit—different day. Three-piece suit—the vest thing was sexy as hell, she’d decided—crisp, white shirt and a tie that probably cost more than her entire outfit.
“Do you always wear a tie?” she asked innocently.
“Uh . . . yeah. Pretty much. Why?” he anxiously questioned. “You don’t like my clothes?”
Rhi had to chuckle. What wasn’t to like?
“Oh, god, no! I think you have fantastic taste. For a man. And a man who doesn’t know diddly squat about the fashion biz,” she teased.
Shrugging, she self-consciously pushed her skirt down across her knees and not wanting to hurt his feelings, tried to play down the comment.
“I just meant that it’s a day off. Perfect opportunity to go casual. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear anything that didn’t scream bu
sinessman.”
He looked over at her and she saw his eyes drop into her lap where her hands twisted nervously.
“Well, you don’t look all that casual at the moment,” he drawled. “Nice dress, by the way. What color is that?”
Rhi glanced down at the outfit that was one of her all-time favorites. A Gucci design with short sleeves, a soft ruffled collar, and a black velvet bow detail that made it classy as hell.
“Black cherry. I love that description, don’t you?”
“What? That a burgundy dress is labeled black cherry?”
They both laughed at the truth in his comment.
“Like I said,” he teased gently, “beautiful—but a far cry from casual.”
He was right. But the reason why she was dressed up had little to do with personal preference and everything to do with her grandmother.
“A Bryanna Charles special,” she mumbled with an exaggerated eye roll.
The way Liam chuckled told her he remembered the flamboyant matriarch of the Baron-Wilde clan. She was hard to forget—after all, not every family comes with an honest-to-god Broadway legend. Nana had always meddled in the lives of her and her sisters—causing one kerfuffle after another.
“I’m guessing by your tone that she’s still up to her antics.”
“Yes, well. . . . Nana’s been behaving badly lately. Pulled a diva move and tossed a grenade into Brynn’s life then waltzed away smirking. Today’s family get-together is her way of making amends and welcoming Jax into our circle of crazy. In a way,” she giggled, “Nan’s interference probably helped Brynn and Jax along, so she’s not totally in the time-out chair.”
“Is it crass to ask how far along the mom-to-be is? I remember you said there’s a baby on the way, too.”
“Fuck crass,” she hooted. “Feel free to zoom straight for WTF! We all did. I mean, Brynn’s the serious, straight-laced goody-goody of the three of us. It’s epic that she’s the one rocking a pregnant belly in a wedding dress!”
Overcome with the giggles at just how funny the situation really was, she struggled momentarily with her smart little jacket. Once she dragged it off, Rhi tossed it into the backseat. There, that was better.
Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) Page 10