by Claire Adams
"That's easy for you to say." I tried to pry my reports out of his arms, but Stan held them hostage. "I wouldn't worry either if I had the entire Eastman fortune to back me up."
"Just say the word, and it's yours," Stan said.
I swatted his shoulder. "Stop. I have to get to this meeting. What kind of mentor keeps his prodigy from the most important meeting of her year?"
Stan gave a melodramatic sigh. "And here I thought my party was going to be the most important meeting of your year."
My insides froze. "What party? Why?"
Stanislas Eastman lived in one of the most iconic and coveted mansions in Mill Valley. His parties were legendary, partly because he only threw one once in a blue moon, and always for a reason. The last party had been to celebrate his surviving a heart attack. They always had a grim theme to contrast with the sparkling opulence.
"Don't worry about that now. Just take your invitation, otherwise you'll never get past the gates," Stan said. He nodded to his suit coat pocket.
I frowned at him, knowing he was up to no good. As soon as I reached into his pocket and felt the heavy, embossed card stock, Stan laughed and sprang away as if I'd tickled him. I snatched the black envelope out of his pocket and held out my hands for my reports. He handed them over, gave me an irresistible wink, and headed off to the elevators.
"Good luck," he called over his shoulder.
I felt lucky, as if Stan's charmed life was rubbing off on me, until I reached the corner. I had to remember that a few important details separated my chances from Stan's. First off, he was raised with silver spoons, the best schools, and a path to success paved just for him. That, and he was a male executive in what was still a man's world.
Maybe the party was for me with its gothic black invitations and ominous flare. GroGreen had cost too much to produce, and I was being fired. I was sure of it. I started to race along the hallway.
Of course, it was Stan's sense of humor I was dealing with. The funeral-style invitation could contain hearty congratulations for all I knew. Maybe I had cause to celebrate, and my mentor wanted to toast my success.
I slowed down when I saw James Berger leaning in the door of the conference room. He was trading jokes and barbs with someone inside, and his loud laughter echoed down the hall. I could hear others chuckling as well, though I didn't know how they found him funny. James' suits were always too shiny, his style too flashy, and his stories too over-the-top. He spent money like he hated it and it showed through his desperate attempts to seem worldly as well as wealthy.
Wealthy was a word for Stanislas Eastman. It implied an air of elegance and charm. James Berger was just rich. His name was synonymous with glitzy parties and ridiculous wastes of money.
Whatever teasing exchange he'd started, James ended with a gesture that combined the thumbs up and the middle finger. As soon as he stepped beyond the door, I saw his expression drop. He looked tired and unhappy.
"All right, Tasha, see for yourself. Money might not buy happiness," I whispered to myself.
The thought stopped me. For the past few years, ever since I had joined Hyperion, I had judged my success by my bank account. By that standard, James Berger had wild success. It took seeing his change of face to realize that real success had to come from something else.
James passed me in the hall, his expression brightening to a lascivious smile. "Hey there. New around here?"
I bit my lip hard and ignored him. The biggest meeting of my career was just steps away, and I wasn't going to let another junior executive get in my way. I marched past him and into the conference room doorway.
There I froze again. I was so unaccustomed to being late that the full room surprised me. Then surprise turned to dismay. The only open seat was next to Rainer Maxwell. He looked up and his electric-blue eyes locked on to mine. I felt a zing of excitement but told myself it was only the big news about to be revealed. If only I could sit next to anyone else, I might actually enjoy hearing how the product launch went.
I scanned the room again, but it was standing room only.
"Tasha, over here." Rainer stood up and gestured to the open seat.
The whole team glanced up, and I had no choice. My department managers and team members made a path as I scooted around the long conference table towards Rainer. He smiled, and I felt another bloom of heat. I swore I told Amy to turn down the conference room thermostat before the meeting starting. That many people packed into one room made everyone hot.
Warm, I meant warm. Not hot. Rainer Maxwell was not hot. At least not to me.
I took a deep breath and tried to stop my babbling thoughts. This was my meeting, and it already looked like I answered to Rainer. I had to make sure to get the upper hand.
"Here. Looks like this seat is for you," Rainer said. He pulled out the office chair and held out his hand.
I pulled back my stack of reports and set them down on the long table myself. Dozens of curious eyes watched us. I couldn't believe it. Rainer was using chivalry to take control of the meeting. He looked like the leader, and I was just some girl sitting at his side.
I ground my teeth. "Thanks," I managed to say in a civil tone.
I sat down and exhaled a sharp sigh to ward off his warm and inviting scent of spice and leather. My cheeks felt hot but rushing down the hallways was responsible for that. The hard flex of his arm muscles against the soft, tailored wool of his suit coat drew my eyes, and I had to pretend to pluck an invisible speck of lint off my sleeve. His brown hair was so dark that it caught the shine of the conference room lights. Rainer wore it slicked back with some glossy product, and, for a moment, I imagined what his wavy hair would be like if it let loose.
"Nice to see you again, Ms. Nichols," Rainer said.
"What? Oh, yes. Thanks, Raymond."
I held my breath. Rainer had me so tongue-tied that I called him the wrong name! Then Stan's wicked voice whispered in my head, and I relaxed. My slip-up had the perfect effect. All around us, my team members assumed that I had no idea who Rainer Maxwell was. They turned back to the thick packets on the conference room table and resumed their normal conversations. He was no big deal if I didn't know him.
Rainer's best bet was to pretend he hadn't heard me call him the wrong name. Suddenly, he had to check the messages on his phone. I grabbed a packet from the middle of the conference table and got comfortable. Too bad the dense reports and vague tables swam in and out of my focus.
He had strong hands. Not the manicured hands of a white collar worker, but the wide, square palms and long fingers of someone capable. The dusting of dark hair only heightened the masculine power. I wondered what those hands would feel like wrapped around my waist.
"Water?" Rainer asked. He poured me a tall glass with his phone propped on his shoulder.
I cleared my throat again. "Thanks."
His bright, blue eyes caught mine and I saw his expression narrow. I hadn't used the wrong name again, and now he was wondering if I knew his real name or not. I should have invited Stan to the meeting; he would have loved it.
I sipped the water and forced myself to flip a few more pages. The real outcome was buried somewhere in all the figures, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Just like I couldn't understand why the accidental brush of Rainer's thigh made my pulse gallop.
"By the way, my name is Rainer," he said.
"Is it? What did I say?" I feigned innocence.
The man to Rainer's left snickered and elbowed him. "I've never known a woman to get your name wrong. Must be losing it."
"Please," Rainer said. "We just haven’t had a chance to get properly acquainted."
I didn't let the side comments derail me. "Have we met before?" I asked Rainer.
The little lines appeared at the corners of his mouth. He knew what I was doing, but there was no easy way out for him. "I think we've bumped into each other a few times," he said.
"Must not have been that memorable, eh, Rainer?" another guy down the table chimed in.
/>
I checked the clock and prayed to God the CFO would start the meeting on time. If I had to sit there and pretend their juvenile locker room talk didn't bother me, I was going to lose it.
"Don't feel bad, man," the guy next to Rainer said. "No one below the top floor has ever attracted her attention."
Rainer arched an eyebrow and glanced me over again. "A woman with expensive taste is a lot of work."
The pre-meeting buzz was loud enough that I could pretend I didn't hear them. I seethed inside but kept my face blank and my eyes on the financial report in front of me.
"Sounds like a challenge," the far guy said.
Rainer's eager assistant leaned over his shoulder. "Plan A, sir?" he asked.
Rainer waved him away. "I don't need a plan."
"So, you'll attempt it?" The guy next to him rubbed his hands together. "Oh, man, wait until everyone hears you're going to melt the ice queen."
I conjured up the image of Queen Elizabeth I. She knew the only way to lead was to stay above gossip, so she branded herself the Virgin Queen. It wasn't quite the same as my situation, but it kept me from attacking the childish men around Rainer.
Rainer himself tried to wave them off. "You know you're talking about your boss, right?"
"But she's not your boss, and that's the whole point."
"I've got better things to do. You realize we're at work, don't you?" Rainer asked.
"You work here?" I asked him before I could stop myself. "I thought maybe you were a spokesperson the PR department hired."
The young men stifled their laughter, but it came out in childish snorts.
Rainer glowered at them and then turned to me. He reached out and patted my hand. His eyebrows raised when he felt my nervous jolt. "I think we last ran into each other upstairs," he said.
No one else knew about the penthouse office or that I sneaked up there when I needed a lift. The smile on Rainer's lips told me he was ready to elaborate if I didn't stop him. "Oh, that's right. At the Vista Cafe. What was your name again?"
His eyes narrowed, but he answered in an easy, relaxed voice. "Rainer Maxwell, junior executive for the public relations department. I handled your press for you this morning."
I didn't like that he was already painting himself as a useful member of my team. "Great. I'm glad the script I approved worked out for you."
Rainer leaned back in his chair. "I added a few bits that I think went over very well," he said. "Not that your script wasn't good, it just wasn't exactly the image Hyperion was hoping for. I'm glad I was able to help out."
"This morning," I said. I couldn't hide my distaste any longer. "If you know your way around the project reports, you would see that this product has taken well over a year to perfect. We took extra time with the beta-testing to ensure a product that users enjoyed. Everyone here worked very, very hard. So, thanks for jumping in at the last minute, changing a few words around, and really contributing to GroGreen."
His colleagues were snickering again, and Rainer's expression had gone stiff. He clearly did not appreciate my tirade any more than I liked his presence at my meeting. Luckily, as soon as he opened his mouth to retort, the chief financial officer of Hyperion strode through the door and called the meeting to order.
Chapter Four
Rainer
It was exhilarating to be in that jam-packed meeting. With the chief financial officer standing at the head of the long conference table, I had flashbacks to college. It felt just like the time my English literature class had to switch rooms due to a stink bomb going off in the lecture hall. The conversation rippled and flowed so much faster with everyone tight together.
I should have gone to more classes, I thought.
Then I remembered why I had skipped so often. Tasha uncrossed her legs, then crossed them again, and a stab of lust hit me hard in the gut. It fit my playboy image, being so easily distracted by a great pair of legs.
Frankie, the obnoxious social media star sitting directly to my left, noticed my gaze and elbowed me again. "Pretty hot for an ice queen," he whispered.
I told him to shut his trap, but that only made his grin wider. Word was already traveling around the office via social media that a challenge had been issued. It was ridiculous and juvenile to make bets about women and romantic entanglements, but I had always participated before, and there was no reason to change. My image was working, it had gotten me this far, and I didn't want to lose it now.
As if I could help myself. Tasha's long leg bounced back and forth just on the edge of my vision. She dressed conservatively, but just the hint of her black high heels had my blood on fire. It was very easy to imagine pursuing Tasha, trailing my fingers up those long, silky legs. I glanced over and she gave me a puckered smile. All I wanted to do was soften those rosy lips with a long, deep kiss.
I had to look away before I started sweating. I glanced over Frankie's shoulder and saw the notes he was sending out. In his telling, Frankie was the bold challenger who had found someone who might be impossible, even for me. It was flattering, in a way, but I was embarrassed. All around us, the team members were studying their thick packets, really understanding the reports and charts, and all I was good for was a side bet and a little entertainment.
"Shut it down, Frankie," I said.
"Too late, man; it's already out there," Frankie said. "I'll let you know what the betting's like later."
"Later when I kick your ass?" I growled.
Frankie leaned back, unsure how serious I was, then he shook his head. "You almost had me there. I bet you're on this project just to get a little closer. Not that I can blame you."
I leaned forward so he could not ogle Tasha. "Concentrate on your work. No wonder you still work downstairs."
"All right, all right. I get it. There's a time and a place. We'll talk more at Benny's Dive Bar later." Frankie flipped through his packet and found the page we were all reviewing.
I focused on the page and tried to concentrate on what the CFO was saying. It seemed ridiculous to me that all the reports and charts had nothing to do with the initial sales. Everyone was in the meeting to hear how much money their app had made Hyperion.
Then again, as I looked around, I saw most people were engaged in the little details. They were taking notes, consulting with each other, and listening with rapt attention. It occurred to me that Tasha's team cared more about their work than about the bottom line. I sat back and observed them as if they were an alien species.
Tasha was leaning forward, marking copious notes in the margins of the packet, and cross-referencing things in her own high stack of reports. As she shuffled through papers, she interjected, and never once did the CFO object to her additions. He nodded, agreed with her, asked her to elaborate for the rest of us, and shared the spotlight with her shining intelligence.
"So, you can see on page 37 that the extra time spent on beta-testing actually saved us when it came to bug checks and additional programming. We stayed focused, asked specific questions of our beta-testers, and took the time to consider all their input before we finished production. The wait saved us the extra work of undoing bad code and creating features that did not serve the customer," Tasha said.
"Yes, exactly. Had Ms. Nichols not been able to convince us, the product launch would have been pushed back at least a month," the CFO said.
It was a turn-on how focused Tasha was in the meeting. She missed the subtle compliments from our boss and dug deeper into her reports. Her copper-colored hair was tied back with a plain black ribbon and delicate wisps curled along her neck. I found myself studying the creamy skin there instead of poring over the next page of tables and charts.
Even Frankie was listening, his lascivious bets forgotten as he heard Tasha's tie-in with online discussion groups and techno-speculation. She had a grasp on every angle of the project, and her team members appreciated how well she understood what they contributed.
I sent Frankie a quick text: Is the Ice Queen a good boss?
/> He ignored it until they moved on to the next page and started talking print media. Then he smiled and texted back: The best. Hot and a hard ass, just the way I like 'em.
I fought the urge to punch him and texted: Then why bet against her?
Frankie laughed out loud and texted: My money's on her all the way. Not only will she break your heart, but she'll be your boss before you know it.
I elbowed him sharply and was rewarded with Frankie's pained grunt.
Tasha glanced over with a flash of annoyance and then went back to her work. I leaned back again and continued to admire her as the meeting dragged on. Tasha was ready with an answer to every question the CFO asked. It was clear that something great had happened with GroGreen, but no one wanted to jump ahead to the good news. They wanted to take the time to study what they did, analyze what worked, and plan to implement it on future projects.
"We need a more coherent strategy for the worldwide release with fail-safes in place in case the server blinks out," the CFO pointed out.
Tasha responded with a five-point plan for how they would fix the problem in the future, streamline the worldwide release, and time everything to fit the foreign markets.
It felt good just sitting next to someone so talented. Tasha Nichols was clearly at the top of her game and only getting better. She had the respect of her team members, nods of approval from the top executives, and an organized air that made it feel like she could take over the world. She'd already tried to brush me off multiple times, but the longer the meeting went, the surer I was that the smart move would be to hitch my wagon to her star. Tasha Nichols was really on her way up.
I was deep into strategizing my next move when a bright blonde caught my eye from across the table. She smiled, but her eyes were icy, and she turned away sharply. I thought her name might have been Maureen, but it could have been Margaret. Definitely something with an 'M.' It took a minute, but I remembered a steamy little interlude we'd had a while back. In a supply closet, on a stack of copier paper, just before New Year’s. Now that it was spring, I could see why she was giving me cold looks.