by Hannah Ford
But something held her in place. She took the napkin from the tray and used it to soak up as much of the coffee as she could. Very quickly, the napkin was soaked through and there was still liquid on the table.
“Shall we begin, Mister Sharpe?” one of the younger men at the table asked.
“Our time’s limited,” one of the older men agreed, “so we really should start the meeting already.”
Ivy felt her face flush as she realized she’d not only spilled coffee on the owner of the company, but she’d also disrupted the important meeting he was in, adding insult to injury.
“We have plenty of time,” Cullen replied. He gave her yet another smile, which should have made her feel better, but instead served only to increase her mounting anxiety.
“That said, nothing keeps us from starting the meeting,” the older fellow pushed back.
Cullen fixed the man with a firm stare. “We start when I say we start, Jim. Unless things have changed around here in the last five minutes and I wasn’t aware of it.”
“No, nothing’s changed,” the old man said softly.
The room got even quieter, if such a thing was possible.
Her heart was pounding and she felt faint, but she’d done all she could to clean up. Her gaze kept straying to the dark stain on Cullen Sharpe’s pants.
Hot coffee splashed all over his leg and he hadn’t even batted an eyelash. That kind of self-control was strange.
Almost inhuman.
Most people would’ve screamed in pain and probably run out of the room to strip their pants off.
The liquid had been scalding hot.
Whatever the reason, he seemed completely fine and not at all perturbed. Which made no sense, considering how important it was to make everything perfect for him in the first place.
Ivy grabbed the tray and bowed her head. “I’m so, so sorry,” she whispered, as she prepared to leave.
Cullen gave her another enigmatic smile. “I was thinking about your name,” he said. “I suppose you must grow on people,” he continued, crinkling his eyes, showing he was teasing her gently with his play on words.
“With first impressions like this, I suppose I must,” she muttered, and then hurried out, praying she didn’t fall headlong across the floor and make an even bigger fool of herself.
Once she got out of the conference room, she shut the door and pressed her back against it, closing her eyes momentarily.
The hallway was empty.
She was holding the tray and coffee and had nowhere to put it, and her badge wouldn’t let her back into the super secret pantry without Emma Marks.
But the last thing she wanted to do was tell the cranky, judgmental supervisor that she’d spilled coffee all over the head of the company and needed to bring the tray back to the pantry already.
Still, Emma would likely find out from Cullen Sharpe what had happened and Ivy would be unceremoniously let go, one way or the other.
It’s over.
Might as well pack my things and leave now.
She sighed. A sensation of deep regret, of having missed out on something important, washed over her.
“What are you doing?” the harsh voice said with venom.
Ivy turned and saw that Emma Marks had just come around the corner and was staring at her with suspicion.
“I—I need to put the tray back.”
Emma made a face and looked down at the tray. “Why? What happened? Why is everything wet? What did you do now?”
“Some coffee spilled. He told me to bring the tray with me when I left.”
Emma’s expression hardened. “You spilled coffee? Are you totally inept?”
“It was an accident.”
“Come on, then.” Emma shook her head and quickly began walking. “I don’t know what Mister Sharpe was thinking when he asked you to do that job. Anyone could see you don’t have what it takes.”
Ivy wanted to tell her off. She wanted to say that bringing the boss coffee wasn’t exactly a difficult task and anybody could do it.
Except I couldn’t, she reminded herself.
I’m not even qualified to bring Cullen Sharpe a cup of coffee and I proved it today.
She’d only been back at her cubicle for another hour or so when the desk phone began ringing again.
Terrified, she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the receiver at first. It might be Cullen again. What was he going to say? Would he tell her that she would be docked pay because of the damage to his expensive pants?
Just pick up the damn phone, Ivy. He’s only a man. Now answer the phone and talk to him like he’s a normal person.
Of course, he wasn’t just anybody. And her hesitation cost her dearly, because when she picked up the phone, whoever had been calling hung up.
Ivy waited for the phone to ring once more, but it never did.
A few minutes later, Emma Marks came into view and headed for her desk. It was obvious that whatever news the blond woman was bearing, was not good.
Ivy sighed, slung her purse over her shoulder and prepared to hand off her badge. Just from the dour look on Emma’s face, Ivy already knew she was being let go.
“Come on,” Emma said. “Get up.”
She stood, feeling a little sick to her stomach, but also a little relieved. It had been a hard, not very fun day, and it would be good to put this place and this experience behind her.
Even though she would wonder about Cullen Sharpe and that strange smile he’d given her, and perhaps a part of her would regret not getting to see more of him. Something about the man was captivating, and it wasn’t just his incredible looks and his wealth.
As she was leaving, she saw Lucas sitting in a cubicle about four rows off, and he looked up at them with a quizzical expression.
“You’re going? They cut you?” he asked, seemingly almost comically worried.
She started to nod, but Emma Marks spoke loudly. “No, she’s not being cut. But you will be if you don’t mind your own business and get back to work.”
The tall blond started walking as Ivy wondered what was happening if she wasn’t being let go.
“I thought I was being fired,” Ivy said.
Emma laughed bitterly. “I don’t get it. All you do is sit there looking ditzy, and you get rewarded. Just when I think life can’t get any more unfair, I’m proven wrong again.”
“Rewarded? What do you mean?” Ivy asked.
“Mister Sharpe asked to have you brought to his office. He wants to see you. Again.” Emma’s voice dripped with jealousy and resentment.
“He’s probably firing me personally.”
“If only that were the case,” Emma retorted. “Then the universe would actually make sense again.”
They walked to a bank of elevators and got inside. Emma held her badge to a sensor and then pressed the button for the eleventh floor.
Ivy tried to imagine what could be the reason for Cullen Sharpe’s request that she come to his office. It couldn’t be anything good, that much was certain.
The elevator ride was completely silent, as the blond supervisor stood next to Ivy and fumed. Emma’s bad energy radiated outward like a toxic cloud.
Why does she despise me so much? What did I ever do to her?
That was beside the point now, however. Emma Marks was small potatoes.
The doors pinged and opened into a white hallway that was carpeted and wide. It had a different feel from the lower floors.
Emma didn’t step out of the elevator. “Off you go,” she said. “Have fun.”
Ivy stepped out and then turned to look at her supervisor. “Where do I go now?”
The blond woman just gave her a sarcastic wave. “Buh bye!” she said, as the doors swished closed.
Bitch. Total bitch.
Ivy was angry, sick of being treated like crap for no reason at all. She turned away from the elevator and examined her surroundings. The hallway stretched out in both directions and then branched off into unknown territory
.
She decided to just pick a direction and go with it. Eventually, she’d come across someone and ask that person where to go.
Walking briskly, she tried to breathe and keep calm.
You don’t know what he wants. It could be something silly.
Maybe he’s going to tell you to pay his dry cleaning bill.
That thought made her smile a little. As she got to the end of the hallway, she came to a closed door with one of those sensor pads.
Great. I don’t have security clearance.
Still, she took her own badge and held it up to the sensor, which stayed red.
“Fuck,” she swore under her breath.
Was Emma Marks just screwing with her—playing some kind of prank?
She was about to turn around and go back to the elevators when a voice spoke out of an intercom near the door. The sound was so sudden that she jumped in response.
“When the light turns green, you can come inside,” the crackling voice said through the intercom.
That voice was familiar, despite the distortion from the intercom’s speaker.
It’s him. It’s Cullen.
Her heart instantly began galloping like a panicked horse let loose within her chest.
A second later the red light turned green and there was the familiar click that signaled the door unlocking. She grabbed the cool handle and pulled the door open.
She blinked instinctively as she entered an office so large that it defied description.
The place was big enough to live in, and perhaps he did live there.
Plush wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor. Large couches were placed in various locations, along with leather chairs, and a floor-to-ceiling fish tank with colorful fish swimming around coral reef chunks was set against the far wall.
Tall glass windows stretched along the perimeter of the office, giving whoever was in the room a view overlooking the Charles River and the bridge spanning Boston and Cambridge.
Against that backdrop, atop a slightly elevated platform, sat Cullen Sharpe behind his massive black desk. The desk was of the same onyx, reflective material that the conference table had been made of.
The CEO was studying the enormous dual computer monitors that sat on his desk. His gaze was intent and focused, and she felt a bit of relief that he wasn’t yet watching her.
“Ivy Spellman,” he announced, still watching his monitors.
“Uh…you wanted to see me?” she said, and her voice sounded so slight and frail that she cleared her throat.
“I did,” he replied, finally turning his head to glance at her. “Come closer.” He gave one brisk wave with his left hand.
She walked forward until she reached a pair of black leather chairs. “Should I sit?”
“If you like,” he said, his lips curving into the slightest hint of a smile.
Those lips. So pink, so soft. So unlike his cold, steely eyes.
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked, immediately regretting the question.
“That’s what we’re here to discuss,” he said, his voice and expression betraying nothing.
“Oh,” she replied numbly. Her belly felt leaden and her mouth was parched.
Cullen sat back in his chair and watched her. “We need to address what happened earlier when you brought me my morning coffee.”
She dropped her gaze, embarrassed, as she felt her cheeks flush. “I’m so sorry about that. I was trying so hard not to spill the coffee that it happened, of course. Self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“Ivy, look at me,” he said, his voice taking on a hard quality.
She instantly did as he said, looking at him and seeing that he was displeased. He rose from his chair, his suit still just as unwrinkled and impeccable as it had been earlier. He walked around the desk and towards her.
Ivy felt her breath catch in her chest as he approached.
As if sensing her fear, he stopped a few feet away and looked down at her. “Do you know why you actually spilled that coffee?” he said.
“I just told you,” she said. “It was a mistake—“
Cullen held up a hand. “No,” he said. “There are no mistakes.”
She felt herself rebel against this notion. “I didn’t want to spill coffee on you, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I’m not implying anything,” he said.
This is why he brought me here, she realized. He wants to yell at me for spilling coffee on him, to harangue me and make me feel like a fool.
The realization both frightened and angered her.
I don’t have to put up with this, she told herself. And I won’t much longer.
“I’ve already apologized,” she said. “What else can I do?”
“Apologies don’t interest me. They’re meaningless.” He stepped down off the platform and then walked to within a few feet of her and sat down in the matching leather chair.
His knee was practically touching her knee as he swiveled to face her. Up close, he was even more shockingly good-looking than she’d previously realized. His skin was smooth, slightly tanned, and flawless. His eyes were like two blue sparkling diamonds, flat and cold and gorgeous.
She could smell his cologne, and under that, his musky masculine scent that sent her quivering internally.
He made her deeply uneasy, afraid…but he also made her feel something else, something indefinable.
What was it?
What was the word that summed it up?
Desire.
She realized this as she inhaled his scent and noticed his perfectly manicured fingernails, his long fingers. But his hands weren’t wimpy, despite the obvious fact that he took good care of his fingernails. To the contrary, everything about Cullen Sharpe looked strong and invulnerable. His body was fit, muscular, filling out his suit as if he’d been created to wear expensive clothing rather than the other way around.
“If you don’t want an apology, then what do you want?” she asked, surprised at her own forwardness.
For the first time, his expression changed. That slight little grin disappeared and his nostrils flared. “I want to teach you,” he replied.
“Teach me what?”
“Discipline.” His hand snaked to his suit coat and unbuttoned the top button, loosening the coat slightly.
Discipline.
The instant he said the word, Ivy felt her nipples stiffen in response, and she was worried that perhaps Cullen even knew it. He was sitting so close, and the light in the room was bright against her white blouse.
She wanted to look down and check, wishing for a sweater to cover herself.
It was humiliating to get turned on this way, and for him to possibly know that her nipples were hard made it a million times worse.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. “I don’t think I understand what you mean.”
“Would you like to know more?”
“I guess.”
“You guess?” He made a face of disgust and stood up, as if needing to distance himself from her now. “You shouldn’t have to guess. It’s a simple question, Ivy.”
“Yes, I want to know more. I just have no idea what we’re talking about.” Her voice had taken on a whining, frustrated tone.
Cullen stared down at her, his cheekbones high, his expression seemingly chiseled in stone. “You’re going to learn how to please me. And once you do that, the things you refer to as mistakes will stop happening.”
She shifted in her seat, her brow creasing. “Everyone makes mistakes, though,” she insisted.
“I don’t.” His lips twitched. “And perhaps you don’t need to either.”
“But why? Why do you want to teach me…whatever it is you’re going to teach me?” She threw her hands in the air, befuddled. “I’m just a temp.”
He turned his back to her and walked toward the window overlooking the city. Against the backdrop, he looked like an image from a slick magazine—Vogue, perhaps, or The New Yorker.
If only I had a camera, this would make a great picture.
“I have an eye for talent,” Cullen said, after a long silence. He turned back towards her. “When I started this business, they thought I was insane. I hired people that the business world assumed were the wrong choices. Everyone on Wall Street insisted I would fail within the first year.”
“But you didn’t fail,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. His eyes connected with hers and for the first time, she thought she saw something behind the cool diamond hardness of his gaze.
What was it? What did she sense behind his eyes? Someone vulnerable, someone who actually had real human emotions like her?
As quickly as the feeling arose, it passed, like the moon being obscured by clouds. His eyes were just cold and watchful once more.
Ivy folded her hands in her lap and licked her lips. “So what happens now?”
“What happens now is that we start our work together,” Cullen said, his voice becoming more formal. “How does that sound?”
“Okay, I guess—“ she caught the words too late.
His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. “You guess,” he said. He shook his head and sighed. “Let’s go back to this morning when you brought me my coffee. Why did you spill it?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s a lie, Ivy. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” she said, her voice petulant.
“You don’t think you’re lying, but that’s only because you lie to yourself.” He crossed his arms and watched her. “Now tell me why you spilled the coffee.”
She felt sweat breaking out on her forehead and beneath her arms. The cool room was becoming hotter now, as if someone was turning up the thermostat. “I got nervous. I was so focused on doing everything just right…”
She thought about how catching sight of his smile that morning had distracted her—the sight of his perfect lips up close had caused her to fumble the tray enough to allow the cup to fall on its side. But she couldn’t admit that to him.
“I got distracted,” she said, keeping her answer vague. “I was so in my head that I lost track of what I was doing.”
Cullen nodded as if approving of her answer. “Do you know why you were so nervous in the first place?”