Bigshot Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance
Page 15
“Fine,” Luke says again. “But Trent? I’m not doing another collection like this. It’s bullshit.”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Bye Luke.”
I hang up the phone just in time to see Hannah emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel.
I lunge towards her and scoop her up, carrying her, fireman style, back to my bed. It’s all I need to take my mind off my worries about the future of the company.
At least for now.
36
lovemail
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: A question
Would it make me look like less of a man to say I miss you already?
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: An answer
Maybe a little. ;)
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: A justification
Then I must not be much of a man because I miss you like crazy. Your voice, your smell, your laugh.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: A clarification
My ass, my tits, my mouth?
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: An admission
Those too, obviously.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: An eyeroll
Obviously.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: Another question
What are you doing on Thursday night?
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: Another answer
Eating a pint of ice cream and watching HGTV with my sister. I mean, assuming it’s like most Thursday nights.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: A follow-up
How would you like to go to the Loft & Barn launch party with me?
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: An answer that’s really a question
Really? Are we ready for that?
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: An admission
I’m ready. Are you?
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: A concern
I think so. I’m worried about Charlene though.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: An assurance
Oh, she won’t be there. This is just the company execs and the industry folks. Absolutely no middle-managers.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: An acceptance
Okay. Sounds like fun. *Deep breath* Pretty sure I don’t have anything to wear to something this fancy though.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: An offer
I think I can help you with that.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: A raised eyebrow
You have a dress I can borrow?
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: A silly girl
No, but I have a credit card you can use. Tomorrow. After work.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: A firm no
I can’t let you do that.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: A protestation
Why not? You know I can afford it. And besides, I want to spoil you. I like seeing you happy and you deserve to be able to wear something special.
From: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
To: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
Subject: A reluctant yes
Okay. Twist my arm. But only because I really don’t have anything else to wear.
But remind me to check my ass for horseshoes, because I honestly have no idea how I got so lucky as to end up finding someone like you.
From: misterbigshot@lovemail.com
To: sweetvixen@lovemail.com
Subject: An offer
I would be more than happy to assist you with this ass inspection. Though I’m pretty sure we won’t find any horseshoes.
You’re not lucky, Hannah — just amazing.
37
Hannah
I never understood that expression about floating on cloud nine. That is, until I met Trent. Now I seem to understand exactly what it means.
We had spent the most amazing night together at his penthouse — nothing but talking, laughing, eating take-out food, and oh yeah, fucking like bunnies.
It was perfect — or almost perfect. I could tell he was distracted by something — every once in a while I’d catch him checking his phone. He said it was just work stuff so I didn’t ask too many questions. I know from the incident out at Luke’s the other day that everything isn’t perfect in the world of Loft & Barn.
I blink a few times and realize I’ve been staring at my computer monitor for so long that it’s gone into sleep mode and is now black. I wiggle my mouse to wake it back up and then look around to make sure no one else has noticed that I’ve been sitting here doing absolutely nothing.
I haven’t been able to concentrate all day. All I want to do is daydream about the man up on thirty — or maybe just pop up there to visit him. If it wasn’t for my deathly fear of getting caught by Charlene, I would probably do just that. It’s torture knowing he’s so close and that I can’t have him.
I shake my head, thinking how crazy it is that things have progressed this way. Who would have thought that night that I first saw him at L’amour — the night I’d run out in a panic — that we would be here now?
The sound of Charlene clapping her hands draws me out of my daydream.
“Gather around, people.” She looks particularly excited today and Sloane and I exchange a look as we pull our chairs over.
“I have excellent news,” Charlene says. “We finally have the rest of the photos in. All the key pieces that Luke Whittaker has been hard at work on.”
“Finally.” Jim folds his arms. “I suppose this means more weekend work.”
Charlene glares at him. “It means we work until the catalog is done. If you can’t finish it during regular work hours, then yes, that means more weekend work.”
“Then maybe we should get started instead of sitting in this meeting.”
Charlene almost says something but then she plasters on a smile. “Of course. Why don’t you all go back to your desks, take a look at the photos, and then we can talk about whether you have any questions or specific concerns. You can find the photos and the full product list in our shared drive.”
We all drag our chairs back to our desks. I click open the folder right away, excited to see all Luke’s beautiful pieces from the other day. Instead, I see …
“Is this a joke?” Jim asks, clicking through the photos. “This stuff looks like something you’d buy at Walm—”
Charlene cuts him off. “This is the collection,” she snaps. “I personally think it’s brilliant. It’s simple, it’s modern, it’s …
“It’s plywood.”
I don’t disagree with Jim. I don’t see the wishbone chairs, the raw edge coffee table, the beautiful farmhouse table with the iron legs … instead it’s spindly little stools, a boring desk, and a table that I could probably build myself if I bo
ught a big enough piece of wood.
“I’m sorry,” Charlene says to Jim. “I didn’t realize you had a degree in interior design.”
“I don’t. But I’ve seen ten fall collections and none of them have ever looked like this. I knew there was something going on here; if Luke’s phoning it in, it’s worse than I thought.”
I bite my lip and think back to what I overheard when we were out at his workshop the other day. Trent had definitely seemed concerned about mass-producing Luke’s original pieces. He’d wanted him to do something simpler — and it looks like he had won that argument.
But to what end?
I shake my head. It’s not my business how Trent and Luke run their company. As long as I still have a job, I’m happy.
After work I meet Trent at the coffee shop down the street, the one Sloane and I normally go to. I don’t dare meet up with him at the office — I’ve been scared straight on that idea.
We climb into the SUV and he has his driver take us out to Mag Mile. He’s still insisting on buying me a dress and even though I feel a little weird about it, I figure there’s no harm in trying a few things on. If I find one I really like, I’ll just buy it for myself.
But as soon as we step into the first store, I know there’s no way that I’m going to be buying anything in here. Just breathing the air costs more than I spend on a month’s rent — or at least it does judging by how the snooty shop girls look at me.
I relax a little when Trent puts a protective arm around my waist, but then he starts pulling things down off the rack for me. Everything is so fancy — elegant, dramatic dresses with plunging necklines or open backs. Sometimes both.
“Hmm, I’m not sure any of these are right,” I say noncommittally, trying to swallow my nerves.
“You don’t like them?” he asks, surprised.
“I like them,” I say. “I just don’t think I could ever wear something like this.”
“Why not?”
I look at him as if he’s stupid. “Have you met me? I’m sundresses and cardigans. Not … whatever material this is.” I finger one of the dresses he’s holding. “Oh, God, that feels nice.” The fabric is slinky and soft and I can’t stop petting it.
“Yes,” he says, smiling. “And it’ll feel even nicer on, I promise. Now humor me and try some of these on.”
He hands the dresses off to a shop girl who’s been hovering near us and then drags me back to the changing rooms.
Once I’m inside with the door closed, I take one of the dresses down and examine it. There’s no way I could ever wear something like this. I already know that. But maybe if Trent sees me in it, he’ll realize that I’m right.
I strip off my sundress hastily and grab the dress he picked out for me. It’s a shimmering gold, the color of a burnished crown and something I’m sure I’ve never worn in my life. There’s no way I can wear a bra with it so I take that off too. I pull the dress on over my head and reach around awkwardly for the zipper. I hop around for a minute or two before I have to admit it’s not happening.
“How’s it going in there?” Trent’s voice comes from outside the dressing room. There’s a bit of a chuckle in his voice and I realize he probably heard me jumping around. A flush colors my cheeks.
“I don’t think it’s really me,” I say without opening the door.
“Let me see,” he says.
“…No.”
“No?” He chuckles again. “Hannah, just open the door.”
“Fine.” I turn the lock and open the door. “I can’t get the zipper up,” I mutter. I suddenly feel very foolish, standing here in a dress that looks terrible on me, with a man who deserves a date who can actually pull this kind of thing off.
“I can help you,” he says. He comes and stands behind me and I feel him slowly pull the zipper up. His fingers graze against my bare back as he does, and it sends a shiver of lust straight down my spine. Dear God, now I have to worry about leaving a damp spot on a dress that costs more than I make in a month.
He pulls my hair back and then turns me so that I’m facing the mirror.
“How can you tell me you think this doesn’t look good?”
I look into the mirror with surprise. Now that the dress is actually zippered it doesn’t look as bad. It needs to be hemmed, but otherwise it hugs my hips and makes my torso look long and elegant. The color makes my complexion look fresh and rosy.
Not to mention it makes my tits look fantastic.
I purse my lips, trying not to smile. “It’s okay, I guess.”
Trent chuckles. He’s still standing behind me and he catches my eye in the mirror. “I think it’s a bit better than okay.”
He kisses the back of my neck, making me shiver, and I return back to my reflection. I have to shake my head because it’s so strange to see myself in something like this, and especially with this handsome man behind me.
“I don’t get it,” I tell him. “This is the first dress I tried on. How did you know it would look good on me?”
He lets his fingers slide down my arms and then glide back up my hips. He turns me around so that I’m facing him.
“Maybe because you don’t see yourself the way I see you.”
He leans in to kiss me then and even though I kiss him back, I’m so overcome with emotion that I have to blink back tears.
That emotion quickly turns to something else, though, when Trent lets his hands dip lower, cupping my ass and pulling my body into his. I lean into him, deepening our kiss, and I’m just gliding my hand up under his shirt when the shop girl raps on the door to the dressing room.
“How’s the dress working out? Is there anything else we can get you?”
I glance up at Trent, my eyes wide, and hold a finger to my lips. “I’m fine. The dress is good. Thank you.”
“You can put it on my card,” Trent calls out. My eyes widen even further.
There’s a pause from outside, and then, “Certainly, sir.”
I dissolve into giggles as soon as she’s gone. “You’re bad,” I tell him.
“Am I?” He says, nuzzling at my neck. “Or am I very, very good?”
“Get out. I have to change.”
“Fine.”
After he’s gone, I peel off the dress and put my regular clothes back on. They seem so frumpy in comparison now, even though this is one of my favorite outfits. Or at least it was. I finger the silky gold fabric of the dress one more time before bringing it out of the dressing room.
Despite my protestations, Trent insists on paying for the dress.
“Consider it a thank-you for attending this dreadful event with me.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, once we’re out of the store and I’m carrying the shopping bag with my dress neatly wrapped up inside. “But I’m sure this event can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, no, it’s really quite terrible,” he cheerfully assures me.
“Great. Thanks for not telling me that before I agreed to go.”
He wraps his arm playfully around my shoulder. “Oops. Guess you’re stuck now.”
“So what do you normally do at these events?”
“Schmooze, mostly. We put a bunch of the signature pieces from the new collection on display, and then a bunch of industry and media types wander around and tell us how great it is. That’s the hope, anyway.” He looks slightly pale at this.
“I saw the pictures from the new collection,” I say tentatively. “It’s very different than what Luke was showing us the other day.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing! Just that it’s different.”
Trent runs his hand through his hair and blows out a burst of air. “Yeah, it is. People need to evolve, you know. You can’t just do the same thing year after year. We have to be able to compete with the big boxes.”
“But are those really the businesses you want to align yourself with? What Luke does … it’s really fantastic.” I think again of the farmhouse table he’d shown us.
<
br /> Trent stops walking and turns to glare at me. “When you have an MBA, then you can give me advice on how to run a business.”
As soon as the words are out of his mouth he stops. “I’m sorry. That was horrible. I do value your opinion. It’s just … there are a lot of complicating factors in this and I just don’t really want to get into it right now.”
“I get it,” I say. And I do. But that doesn’t stop the twinge of unease I feel in my chest as we walk, and the sour feeling I get when I toss my brand new dress into my closet that night.
38
Trent
I look around the room and don’t see her anywhere. I glance down at my watch. Okay. It’s only a little after six, so she’s not really that late yet.
Still, I should have insisted on picking her up. She better not be taking the train.
I make my way around the room, greeting people and smiling politely at a few others who look familiar but whose names I can’t place. I see all the same people at these things every year but for the most I can’t be bothered to remember their names or who they are. I hate these kinds of events. I envy Luke for skipping this one.
The event is being held in an old candy factory that’s been converted into one of those modern open lofts. Every year we try to find an innovative space to hold the launch in and this year the team hit it out of the park.
The only problem is it’s making the collection look like shit.
I already know the buzz isn’t good. Usually I get people coming up to me at these things, fawning all over Luke’s designs and telling me what a genius he is. This time they’re avoiding me like the plague, and every time I look around the room it seems like I see people exchanging whispers. No one looks impressed.