by Cecy Robson
I’ve wanted to call her and thank her again, but refrained. She’s worked hard to build her stellar reputation (yet one more thing I admire about her) and I want to respect her request for space. Not that this means I’m done pursuing her.
She texted late yesterday to tell me my vehicle had arrived. I was in the middle of a production meeting. My response was brief, informing her that a car service would take me to the dealership in the morning. I’d planned to call her, but the meeting’s conclusions had me working late, and instead of the service taking me to the dealership, I had it bring me to the office just before dawn, to prepare for a meeting with my nanotechnologists. I’ve only had time to text her that I’m busy and that I’ll be by around six this evening. She assured me she’d wait for me. My hope is once we’re finished with business, she’ll agree to have dinner with me.
“I have a good feeling about this, Evan,” Anne says, beaming. “A great feeling.”
I nod, but don’t respond, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand.
Anne straightens from where she’s stacking the presentation folders. Her hair is bleached so blond it’s white, cut short around her skull except for the top which is long enough to fall to one side. Today she’s in a dark purple suit and black shoes that match the large black frames of her glasses. She is a very intelligent woman, and supremely gifted when it comes to marketing and developing new sales strategies. I trust her and Clifton immensely, I only wish I could say that about more of my staff.
“I’ve barely slept,” she adds. “I’m so excited and really want this to go well today.”
“I do, too,” Clifton agrees. “But I’ll admit, we’re taking a risk by targeting hospitals that are community and charity oriented.”
“We have an ethical responsibility to take that risk,” I reply. “But both facilities need the technology to compete with hospitals in the surrounding areas. It’s the only way they can continue to run and care for their aging and economically challenged population.”
“It’s the right thing to do,” Anne says. “And a great product we’re offering. Adeptus will help thousands suffering from cancer and propel iCronos as a leader in nanorobotics.”
She’s right. Adeptus will potentially change the lives of millions world-wide.
Clifton scans the table, appearing to relive the last few week he and Anne have spent familiarizing themselves with the details surrounding Adeptus. Not an easy task with the amount of products in our nanorobotics line alone. “I hope we can pull this off,” he says.
“We will,” I assure him. “We’ll make it happen.”
Ashleigh stomps across the gold and white marble tile floor in her absurdly tall shoes. How she hasn’t pitched forwarded and landed on her face continues to astound me. Her gaze shifts between Anne and Clifton as if they’re beneath her, before fixing on my face. She doesn’t regard me with the superior manner as she does them, but I wouldn’t describe her demeanor as welcoming.
She drops a file in front of me with a note clipped to it. “You need to return Mr. Langley’s call.”
I frown. “Langley of Yodel?”
She nods curtly. “He’s interested in Hound Mechanicus and how soon it will be ready.”
“How does he know about Hound?” I ask, lowering my coffee.
She crosses her arms. “Mr. Sherman made him aware and offered—”
“Hound isn’t ready,” I say, cutting her off. “And Sherman is no longer in charge of this branch.”
My anger fires hers. “May I speak to you privately?” she asks, lifting her chin.
“No,” I respond. “If I’m hearing this, Anne and Clifton will hear it, too.”
She purses her lips with obvious distaste. Clifton is in his mid-thirties and almost completely bald. His suits appear outdated and need to be tailored to accommodate his gangly form, but they’re clean and neat. Five years ago, he left everything he knew in his small Wyoming town to work here. In those five years, he’s gone above and beyond without a pay increase or promotion. That changed when I took over. I respect him. Clearly, Ashleigh doesn’t share my sentiment.
“Mr. Sherman made an agreement with Mr. Langley,” she begins.
“In writing?” I ask, my temper building.
“I’m not sure,” she admits. “But Evan, we’re talking tens of millions in revenue,” she whispers urgently, as if I’m missing the point.
“Find out if there’s something in writing, and then let him know I’ll call him this afternoon at four o’clock.”
“Evan,” she interrupts. “He’ll expect a call sooner.”
I don’t dismiss her lack of respect, nor her tone. “I am not available until four. He is not privy to this technology. You will not tell him anything more than he needs to know.” My jaw hardens. “Call Leesa in contracts and find out if anything was put in writing. If it was, phone the head of our legal department and have her see me between appointments.”
Once more, I seemed to have angered our version of Norman Bates’ mother. “Anything else?” she asks, crossing her arms.
“Yes, send two dozen roses to Erin O’Brien at Ford Nation on Lincoln Avenue.”
I have everyone’s attention now.
“Roses?” Ashleigh repeats.
“Yes.” My request seems absurd even to me. I turn toward Anne as an uncomfortable heat crawls up my neck.
“Oh, do fire and ice,” she suggests, appearing to think I sought her advice. “Purple and silver tones if they have it. Women like that.”
“Purple, of course.” Ashleigh smirks, taking another look at Anne’s suit before returning to me. “What would you like on the card?”
Her grossly exaggerated enthusiasm grinds my patience. “Keep it simple. Just ‘thank you’ followed by my first name.”
“Anything else, sir?” she asks.
Ashleigh is walking a fine line with me. Initially she was courteous and respectful. The more I expressed how invaluable I found her, and the more supervisory responsibility I gave her, the more intolerable she’s become. If I didn’t need an experienced secretary, and had the time train one I could trust, I’d personally show her the door.
“No,” I respond.
“Fine.” Her response is more subdued and she quickly walks away, shutting the heavy door behind her.
“Have your staff ready the conference room,” I tell Clifton. “Make sure it’s equipped with everything we need for the meeting, including food and beverages.”
“You don’t want Ashleigh to do it?” Clifton asks.
I glance up and catch his grin. Like me, he’s had his fill of Ashleigh. I chuckle. “I think it’s best to limit her responsibilities.” In other words, I don’t want to see her for the rest of the morning or give her any more power. As it is she’ll probably spit venom into my lunch.
Anne lifts a stack of binders into her arms as I return to my desk. My cold coffee is in one hand and the diagnostic report is in the other. “Evan?” she asks.
I place my cup in front of me and lower myself into my chair. “Yes?”
“Who’s Erin O’Brien?”
I turn the page of the report, despite not having finished reading the previous. “A sales representative at Ford Nation,” I explain, flipping to the next page.
“Just a sales rep?”
I raise my head in time to see her exchanging glances with Clifton. “That’s right.”
“Then why is your face so red?”
The added surge of heat is response enough.
Clifton turns quickly away in a pathetic attempt to hide his grin. “We’ll have everything ready, Evan. See you in a few.”
Anne spares me by following, but it’s what I hear when she opens the door that causes me to glance up from my work.
“Is he expecting you?” Ashleigh asks. I don’t have to see her to know she’s irate.
I frown and leave my seat, wondering who she’s trying to intimidate this time. From the small opening where Anne is holding the door, I see Wren
lean forward and press her hand on Ashleigh’s desk. “Just tell him Wren O’Brien is here.”
CHAPTER 5
Wren
The blonde’s focus dips to my palm where it’s resting on her desk then back to my face, her lips pressing into a thin line. I’ll admit, I have a gift when it comes to pissing people off. But this broad had it in for me the minute she saw me. She pitches me with an even nastier scowl than the one she met me with, when I entered her glass bowl office and asked if Evan was available. I was friendly, polite, the whole nine yards. But I’m not feeling particularly friendly now. Now, I’m ready to go at it.
The guy who stepped out from Evan’s office shoots past me, appearing annoyed. From the open floor plan behind me, the voices of those working from their cubicles quiet. But their reaction isn’t because of anything I did. She’s the one being loud. My guess: this isn’t the first time she’s tried to scare someone off.
She tilts forward, the motion widening the neck of her black button-down blouse and exposing the lace from her bra. It’s not a blatant show of her goods, but it’s enough to give someone a peek of what’s lurking beneath. I’m thinking that “someone” is Evan, seeing she’s seconds from leaping across the desk and digging her fangs into my throat.
“I told you, he’s busy,” she snaps. “Unless you have an appointment, Mr. Jonah cannot be disturbed.”
“Erin? Erin O’Brien?”
I straighten slowly at the sound of my given name. Another blonde (this one actually capable of smiling) stands by the door clutching a stack of folders against the front of her dark purple suit. “That’s right,” I answer.
Her grin widens as she glances over her shoulder. “Evan, Erin’s here.”
She doesn’t quite finish before Evan appears beside her. “It’s Wren, actually,” he tells her, although his attention is fully on me.
He’s shocked to see me. I’m shocked this other woman seems to know who I am. But that doesn’t stop my smile or his. “Hi,” he says.
“Hey,” I reply. He’s wearing glasses. Black ones like Henry Cavill did when he played Clark Kent. But Henry has nothing on Evan. Damn. Evan is hotness in a suit.
I dig through my purse, trying to keep it classy, and pull out two key fobs. “I have something for you,” I say, shaking the keys at him.
He steps forward, frowning slightly. “You brought my Explorer here?”
“Just had it delivered to your garage.” I shrug and drop the keys in his hands. “I told you, I’d take care of you.”
The blonde, the nice one, hurries by. “I’ll see you in a few,” she tells him.
Evan nods, but doesn’t watch her leave. Uh-uh. His eyes are all on me. “Nice suit,” I call after her, giving me an excuse to stop grinning at him.
“Thank you,” she says, her toothy smile skipping from me to Evan.
“I meant to stop by the dealership later today,” he says.
His voice pulls my attention back to his face, not that I mind. “I know, but you seemed swamped and I wanted to save you the trouble.” I adjust the strap on my purse. “Don’t worry, I know a guy and had him tow it here.”
“I wasn’t worried,” he says. He motions to the office. “Would you like to come in?”
“Evan,” the woman with the stick up her ass interrupts. “You have a meeting.”
Evan strikes me as the laid-back type, one who doesn’t easily lose it or looks for any excuse to rip someone to shreds.
I don’t expect anger, but that’s exactly what I see. “I know what I have,” he bites back.
“You must be Ashleigh,” I say, smiling. Oh, and my new friend doesn’t like me calling her out one bit.
She tucks the strand that escapes her loose bun behind her ear, her scowl deepening. She opens her mouth to say something, but then quickly shuts it when she catches Evan’s smirk. I ignore her because it’s easy, and I know it will piss her off. “So are you going to show me your office, or would you rather let my imagination run wild?”
“As much as I think it would be entertaining to watch your imagination run wild, it would be my pleasure to show you my office,” he says walking forward. “This way.”
He’s not wearing his jacket and (bonus!) I get a nice long look at the way his tailored black pants hug the kind of ass cheeks that will barely move if spanked—not that I’ve thought about it, like I mentioned, I’m classy.
He holds the door open, allowing me through. I come to a halt when he shuts the door behind us. Holy shit. His office is bigger than my entire house, and I’m not exaggerating. Gold veined and white marble tile cover the spacious floor while modern dark wood furniture with gold accents are placed strategically, giving each area its own separate space.
Dark brown leather couches with matching seats make up what resembles a screening room where numerous flat-screens are mounted to a wall. To the right, an immense granite conference table with eighteen plush chairs waits in perfect view of both the flat-screens and floor to ceiling windows that give one hell of a view of the skyline.
This isn’t an office, this is a monstrosity of a room.
At the end there’s a desk, his desk, I assume. But I’ve never seen a desk this large or one surrounded by multiple computer screens appearing to branch out from inside the colossal stretch of wood.
I think he’s going to sit there, and motion me to sit at one of the four seats positioned in front of it, but he moves toward the leather couch.
I should sit in one of the chairs, but lower myself beside him before I can give it enough thought. I cross my legs and glance toward the opposite end of the room where his desk and chairs wait abandoned.
“Are we going to watch a movie or something?”
He laughs. It’s short, but keeps his smile in place. “I wish that was a luxury I could entertain.”
“No time for movies?’ He shakes his head. I point to the flat-screens. “Damn waste of time with these beauties.”
“They have their purpose,” he says. “Alfred, view progress.”
“Viewing progress,” the computer system repeats.
Each screen lights up with a different image. There are twenty-four, six across, four up. Some show high-tech labs, different points in the underground garage, and a couple of conference rooms where training and meetings are taking place. Still more show different levels of the building where rows and rows of cubicles are assembled like mini cities.
“Are these people aware Big Brother is watching?”
“In theory,” he says. “They sign an agreement recognizing this is a necessity to protect the advanced technologies we develop. But as the cameras aren’t in plain sight, it seems they tend to forget.”
Each picture is clear and detailed. I can’t even imagine the level of technology these cameras possess. “Alfred’s pretty damn handy.”
“He is, but he has his limits.” He motions to the bottom screen where a tall woman with all legs and very little skirt is bent over a cubicle, laughing and flirting with a man in a suit. Behind them, an older woman is going Mach 1 on a keyboard, speaking fast to what appears to be a courier. She stops typing long enough to hand him a pile of packages. “If he was everything I needed him to be, he’d let go of the employees I don’t need and elevate those who work hard.”
The screens switch over like dominos, showing completely different parts of the campus. I’ve driven past this building several times, but I never understood how massive it is until now.
“How often does Alfred give you the low-down?” I ask.
“Only when I want to see it. This is the one task I can leave to my security team, thankfully. Their cameras have access to all rooms, except this one.” He shifts back to the screens. “If I have a call requiring the presence of multiple team members or a particular device we’re working on with our London branch, the screens are very helpful.” He smiles. “Alfred, show room.”
“Showing room,” Alfred repeats.
I almost jolt when the screens morph into one gia
nt image of me and Evan on the couch. Evan turns to me in high-def. “If you ask me, this is the view I prefer.”
“I don’t,” I admit. “It looks like I could eat me.”
“I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says chuckling. “Alfred, sleep room.”
“Sleeping,” Alfred announces.
The screens shut off at once. I tug down the skirt of my deep red suit so it rests closer to my knees, trying to find my words. “Evan, what exactly do you do?”
“I’m CEO of iCronos,” he responds like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just show me enough tech to make the Death Star resemble a ping-pong ball sprinkled with glitter.
I blink back at him. “I should’ve sold you the Expedition.”
This time when he laughs, his chest shakes. “And I suppose I should have mentioned it during our time together.” His deep voice softens. “But you didn’t ask, and we had other business to discuss.”
“Like Ashleigh?” I offer. Hey, now that I’m here, I might as well let the bitchy cat out of the bag. Christ, I’m surprised said bitchy cat didn’t try to claw my eyes out.
His humor dissolves, replaced by a sweetness I’ve never quite seen in a man, and a whole lot of sizzle. “Ashleigh is the last person on my mind when I’m with you,” he murmurs.
Hmm. He had to go there. In that voice, too. But I can’t, even though I really want to. I glimpse in the direction of the closed door. “Maybe. Except looks like I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Right about what?”
I tilt my chin, wondering if he’s fishing for compliments. But then I realize he doesn’t get it and it’s up to me to show him into the hot, yet humble, light. “That Ashleigh wants to have her way with you in some desolate yet eerily erotic jungle.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Has anyone ever mentioned you have a tendency to exaggerate?”
“Never,” I say emphasizing the word and leaning forward. “I’m picturing parrots, lots and lots of parrots, circling you while she eases you down into a thick bed of palm leaves in her Tarzan and Jane fantasy. You don’t mind leather loincloths do you, Evan? You strike me as the leather loincloth type.” He throws back his head, laughing. “Or maybe something in fur, leopard, minx, zebra—okay, maybe not zebra. They’re a little too kinky if you ask me. Anyway, the toucans—”