The ones I design.
There are others in the room, a couple of senior managers and designers, and I see them stiffen and turn away as not to incur her wrath. They all know that her vision for the company is the reason we’re in the red. But no one is willing to risk their necks to do anything about it. And because of that, we’re all probably going to be out of a job by the year’s end, if not sooner.
“In my office, now.” Cynthia’s voice is shrill and sends a shiver down my spine.
I’m in trouble. And I know why. She’s angry about the designs I sent her for the upcoming holiday season.
Slowly, I push my chair back and stand up, then follow behind her as she clicks and clacks down the long hallway toward her office.
She could have had her secretary call me instead of making a scene in front of my co-workers. But that’s not Cynthia’s style. She likes – no loves – to assert her power whenever she can. Especially with me. And humiliating me in front of my colleagues is the perfect way to do it.
When we’re in her office, she slams the door shut, then stalks across the room, sitting behind her large mahogany desk, with her fingers steepled as she glares at me.
“Sit down,” she demands, a small, wicked smile catching the corners of her lips.
Now, I’m afraid. No, I’m petrified. Because Cynthia is only happy when she’s doing one thing – making other people miserable.
Is she going to fire me? She’s been hinting at it for months. Always making empty threats.
I love this job, and it would gut me to lose it.
“Is there a problem?”
“I want to talk to you about the designs you submitted,” she says, still watching me with narrowed eyes. “You still seem to be confused about the company’s vision.”
I spent two weeks working day and night on the designs. But with a simple flick of her wrist she rejected each and every one of them.
The company should just change its name to Underwear For The Dead, because no one with a pulse would buy the new designs that Cynthia suggested.
I bite my tongue and try not to lash out at her, but it’s so damn hard. The woman is insufferable.
My parents, friends, everyone that knows me, says I should get a new job. They don’t understand why I stay. Some days I don’t understand myself. I’m going nowhere fast. I should quit. But every time I go to give my resignation, I can’t bring myself to do it.
This isn’t just a job. It’s my passion. I love designing. Love creating beautiful pieces and knowing that a small piece of fabric can change a woman’s mood, bring out a confidence in her that she didn’t even know she was lacking.
Every woman deserves to feel beautiful, and the fact that I can help that happen means everything to me.
I know what it’s like to be insecure about my body. I’ve struggled with my weight since I was thirteen. Never living up to the image my mother had for me.
Even now, at almost sixty, my mom is slim without even trying. Me, I splurge and eat a bowl of rocky road ice cream, and I gain five pounds the next day.
It’s only since I started designing lingerie that I started feeling comfortable in my skin, because I could create pieces that aren’t only comfortable for a full-figured woman, but also incredibly sexy.
“Alicia.” Cynthia’s sharp tone breaks through my thoughts. Arms crossed over her chest, she glares at me. “You’ve worked here for a couple of years–”
“It’s been four, actually.”
I didn’t think her expression could get any more disdainful, but it does.
“We need to be able to sell fashionable pieces. We’re not designing lingerie for brothels.”
Brothels? Is she serious? “I think if we surveyed–”
Again, she ignores me. “Our customers want class, style, not trampy pieces that are practically pornographic.”
I feel like stripping off and showing her that not everyone wants spandex panties that start at the waist and stop mid-leg. Neither do they want bras that start at the shoulders and end at the waist.
What century is she living in?
Hung around the room in frames are the certificates and awards from the fancy design school she attended. I’m tempted to prove one day that they’re all fake. She can’t be qualified, because she doesn’t have a clue about fashion. Or about what women want.
“Your time here is over, Ms. Parker.” The words come out cold, and emotionless.
“Excuse me?” I feel as if the air is being sucked out of the room, because I can hardly breathe.
The company that I felt was my lifeline to fashion is being taken away from me. I have no social life, no love life, and I gave it all to Love Lace and she wants to take it away from me because I don’t believe in spandex.
If that was the case then it should be called, Spandex Love. But, we’re not, because we’re supposed to be selling sexy, lace lingerie.
“Cynthia, please–”
There’s an abrupt knock on the door, which stops me from saying exactly what’s on my mind.
“Cynthia Briggs?” A man’s deep voice rolls through the room as the door opens.
I glance over my shoulder and freeze.
Oh. My. God.
Standing in the doorway is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t even begin to describe him.
Dressed in a fitted suit, with a sky blue tie that matches his pale eyes, the man is gorgeous. So gorgeous that for a second I forget that my boss literally just sacked me.
There’s something familiar about him. I shake my head thinking that I’ve seen him somewhere before. I know that I haven’t, at least nowhere other than my dreams.
For a long, intense second he holds my gaze. Dark. Intense. Smoldering. I swear the man is practically undressing me with those hypnotizing eyes. Normally I’d be offended, but with him I’m just freakishly turned on.
My heart begins to race, and my palms actually start sweating with the force of my reaction to him.
Then he clears his throat and looks away, all business.
“Ms. Briggs?” He asks, eyes darting to Cynthia.
She clears her throat and stutters, “Ye-yes.”
He’s even got her tongue tied, which is quite the feat. The woman never shuts up.
“I’m Killian Scott. You were told that I’d be coming in.”
She seems confused or maybe she’s anxious as she sways her head to the side, and for the first time since she’s started working here, I see a weak side to her. One that I didn’t know existed.
“I-I thought that you were coming tomorrow,” she manages, regaining some of her ice-queen composure.
“I decided to come in today,” he says unapologetically, and I have a feeling like things are about to get interesting, because never in the two years that Cynthia has worked here have I seen her squirm like she’s doing now.
His eyes fix on me once again, but he’s cooled the intensity of his gaze, and all that I see there now is curiosity. “And you are?”
“Just leaving.”
Cynthia hasn’t actually fired me, and if I can get out of here quickly, maybe she won’t have the chance, and I’ll be able to come up with some miracle plan of how to keep my job.
I start to walk out while he walks in, fully aware that his gaze never leaves me.
“Mr. Scott, what can I help you with?” Cynthia’s brittle words pull his focus away from me, and I’m left both disappointed and relieved.
Who is this man?
Someone powerful that’s for certain. And someone that clearly makes Cynthia nervous.
As I’m about to close the door behind me, I notice that Cynthia’s secretary isn’t at her desk. Leaving the door open a small crack I stay and listen.
Is it right? No. But then I need all the help I can get if I have any hope of keeping my job. Maybe this Killian Scott has something on Cynthia that I can use.
“I think you know why I’m here, Ms. Briggs.” H
is voice is that deep baritone that makes a girl’s panties melt right off her without a single touch. Pure, hot, sexy, velvet.
“I didn’t think you were coming in until tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t make a difference. I’ve seen the designs that you sent me. I’ve also taken in a detailed account of everything you’ve done over the past two years. This company isn’t going to make it if you keep repeating the same mistakes over and over again.”
Amen to that.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“For some reason I got two emails. The first one had designs that I thought were perfect for the company. Lacey and sexy, exactly what the Love Lace needs to start getting back into the black.”
Cynthia blurts out, “They were sent by mistake. I didn’t know my secretary sent them to you. The moment I found out, I sent you the right documents.”
“That’s the part that worries me. The fact that the designs, which were perfect, were sent by mistake and the spandex collection is your new proposal. It’s just not going to work. I’ve talked with management and they’ve agreed with my decision to let you go.”
“No. You can’t do that. I’m–”
“You were given a lifeline and I think it’s safe to say that you’ve blown it.”
“Do you know who you’re speaking to?” Her voice is two octaves higher than it normally is.
“A woman who needs to start looking for a new job.”
I hear Cynthia’s sharp intake of breath, then the click-clack of her heels coming towards the door.
Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, I quickly move away from the door and down the hall towards my work area, unable to stop the grin from spreading across my face.
With Cynthia gone, and my new boss a total hottie, maybe today is going to be okay after all.
* * *
Chapter 2
Killian
“I’m not fucking leaving here.” Cynthia slams the office door, causing one of the certificates on the wall to crash to the floor. The one that after a single day of investigation, I discovered wasn’t real. Like most of her credentials.
“If you don’t calm down, I’ll have to call security.”
When the lamp comes flying at my head, I make the quick decision to not make it an empty threat. I’ve been around enough women to know bat-shit crazy when I see it. Pulling out my cell, I make the call.
“Bastard,” she screams, sending a stapler zipping across the room.
A small warning about the woman’s unhinged mental status would have been nice before the owners sent me here to deal with her.
I usually love my job. And then there are days like today when I wonder why the hell I still do it. It’s not like I need the money. I made my first million at twenty-one, and my first billion ten years later.
I know business and I know money. Give me one and I’ll produce the other.
At thirty-five, I own my own jet, a yacht, and several estates across the globe, none of which I’ve made a home.
I hate being anywhere for more than a few months at a time. Never liked any place enough or been given a good reason to stay longer than that.
It’s why I enjoy what I do so much. The thrill of taking something that’s broken and fixing it. That’s what drives me. And once I work my magic, I move on.
Love Lace is a smaller company than I usually work with. But Bernard Turner is a friend of my father. And I’m doing this more as a favor for him and his wife than anything else.
Like most of the companies I work with, the root of the problem is poor management. The problem with Cynthia is that she’s not just bad management, she’s just not good for the company. She has shares in a company that produces spandex, and that’s been the reason for her pushing her God-awful designs.
“Ms. Briggs, if you don’t leave the office peacefully then I’ll have no choice but to expose your investments in Spandacare.”
Her face goes pale. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The woman is terrible liar.
“The company has been very gracious with your severance package, but I can just as easily make sure that all disappears.”
I’m usually not an ass, but she’s pushing my fucking buttons.
There’s a knock, then two security guards come into the office.
“Ms. Briggs,” I say, her name a warning on my lips. “This can go one way or another. Either you leave with these men peacefully, or they drag you out.”
Were at a standoff. Gazes locked. But I have no intention of losing this battle.
“Fine,” she hisses. “This company is pathetic anyways. I give it two months, maybe three, and it’ll be bankrupt. You’re doing me a favor.”
She walks out with her head held high, limping as she tries to balance herself on one shoe. The other one, thrown at my head in her anger, lies discarded in the corner of the room. She doesn’t even try to claim it.
When she’s gone, I drag my hands through my hair and take a seat in the large leather chair behind the desk, and glance around the office. The one that I’m supposed to be working in for a short time, trying to sort out the mess that Cynthia created.
I sigh as I think about the challenge that I’ve been given at Love Lace.
She’s right. The company is in trouble. Big trouble.
But I’ve always loved a challenge. And this one’s no different. Plus, there’s the red-haired beauty that was here when I first came in. The woman is one of Love Lace’s mysteries that I have every intention of unravelling.
I need to hold a meeting with the top managers. Not only so that I can introduce myself, but so that I can find out her name.
* * *
Chapter 3
Killian
I’m holding my first company meeting, and like every first time, my adrenaline is spiked. I should be used to these types of meetings. The ones where I have to tell the staff about the changes I’ll be making. The only difference this time is usually top management leave amicably. Especially when they get their severance package.
Everyone here must know what’s going on. Cynthia was shouting loud enough that rumors had to have already spread like wildfire.
And judging by the scared, doe-like eyes that meet me when I walk into the conference room, I know exactly what they’re thinking.
Who’s he going to fire next?
And in all fairness, it’s a good question. Because it’s what I do – weed out the unproductive. Get rid of what doesn’t work, and replace it with what does.
But it’s more than just that. It’s also my job to find the rare gems that haven’t fully maxed their potential.
That’s my favorite part of this job.
Not that shit that went down earlier today.
But there was no helping it. I just hope it doesn’t go against me when dealing with the staff members that are left. I learned early on that fear isn’t always the best motivator. Praise and rewards work much better in the end.
Then again, judging by the round of applause that took place as Cynthia hopped down the hall with one shoe, escorted by the security team, it’s clear she wasn’t liked or is going to be missed.
I clear my throat. “Good afternoon.”
Silence meets me.
Blank stares blink back.
They stare at me like wasted zombies.
Dull.
Drained.
No fire or passion.
I expect reactions like this from nerds who spend too much time behind the screen, who aren’t used to human interaction. The geek squad as I like to call them. The only time they’re used to communicating is if it involves sending a message via their phone or whatever electronic device they’ve decided is their lifeline.
I clear my throat and start again, “Good afternoon, my name is–”
Before I can finish my sentence, she walks in. The red-haired temptress. The woman who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about all day.
“
Sorry I’m late,” she says, trapped between the door and me.
I watch her every move. Soft. Feminine. Not fully aware of her beauty. And yet still confident, and incredibly sexy.
More than a dozen pair of eyes are on me, and the only thing on my mind is, what’s your name?
She’s wearing a tight black number that leaves nothing to the imagination, and yet still shouts class. It hugs her body in all the right places. And those curves. She’d put any of those Victoria Secret supermodels to shame.
In a world where skinny is the rage, she wears her curves with confidence.
Damn.
She’s probably the type that’s breaking hearts all over the office. Then again, judging by their vacant expressions, I find it hard to believe that any of them even have pulses.
“I didn’t catch your name earlier.”
“Alicia Parker,” she reaches out to shake my hand, and as soon as our palms connect, a flash of energy burns through me so hot that I swear I’m going to combust. But I don’t want to let go. I can’t help but hold her small hand in mine, stroking the soft skin with my thumb.
A small tremor races through her. I see it. Feel it. The attraction mutual.
My God, but I want this woman.
There’s a small rumbling in the room, a couple awkward coughs, and I let her hand go, noticing the red that’s creeped into her cheeks.
Shit. Nice move asshole.
She moves a strand to the side and I can’t help but notice the subtle tattoo on her neck – a butterfly. Interesting.
“And you’re our new boss?” she asks when I keep staring.
I’m blowing this.
“No.” I shove my hands in my slacks and take a deep breath before continuing and making sure to look anywhere but at her. “I’m here to help the company get back to what it was. After that, a permanent manager will be hired to take Ms. Briggs place.”
Again, no reaction from the rest of the room, just more blank stares.
The only reaction is from Alicia. A small, almost happy grunt.
“Is there something you’d like to share?” I ask.
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