by Sandra Kitt
He aimed and let the ball go.
It hit the collapsible rim, and his stomach gripped as it rolled around then fell in. The ball rolled toward his feet and he retrieved it.
Neesie Claiborne was beautiful with a capital B. And that dress had been incomparable to anything he’d seen.
But could he ask her out knowing she was disappointed because he had rejected her idea? Why not? From everyone he’d talked to before offering her the job he’d heard she was a professional. Besides, her idea hadn’t been bad, but it wasn’t what Waymon Stadler wanted.
The phoned blinked and Craig grabbed it.
“Craig, Waymon Stadler here.”
Hearing the president of the company’s voice, Craig unconsciously straightened. “Waymon. What can I do for you?”
“My grandfather informed me you and he have a meeting scheduled for today regarding the fund-raiser. How are things going?”
“Going well, Waymon. In fact I’m expecting the new coordinator any moment.”
“You’re not letting my senile grandfather get his hands on this, are you?”
Craig gritted his teeth as dread punched him in the stomach. “I’ve got things under control.”
“Because you know, Craig, as soon as April first arrives, my grandfather will retire and Stadler’s will be all mine.”
“Yeah. I know.” Unable to inject any levity into his tone, he remained silent.
“I’ve got plans to take the company public, but the investors have to see how stable we are. Understand my meaning?”
“Loud and clear.” He disliked this man, he realized. They’d spent years together in business school and, once upon a time, Craig considered Waymon a friend. Not anymore. Nothing stood in the way of Waymon’s descent into sleaziness.
The man’s usually strong voice was weak and faint. Craig hated judging any person, but Waymon was a dog, and he deserved every ounce of pain he was in because of his inability to keep his pants zipped.
But no matter what Craig’s personal feelings were, Waymon was still the president.
“You’re a good man, Craig. San Diego is yours if this goes off and I know it will. See ya, buddy.” Waymon sniffed and coughed into the phone.
Wincing, Craig drew back. “I’ll keep you posted.” He dropped the phone unceremoniously into the cradle.
The sponge ball gave under his fingertips, reminding him of Neesie. He needed a distraction and she was a lively one.
Women he’d met lately were either sweating at the gym, or too perfect to want to be bothered with. But Neesie didn’t fall into either of those categories. She had to work out to maintain that fantastic figure, but she also had a natural energy he couldn’t stop thinking about last night as he lay in bed alone.
He’d imagined her laugh, her kiss, her hands running along his body and her cry of pleasure when he took her to the pinnacle. His manhood hardened.
Why not ask her out? All the decisions regarding the fund-raiser were made. A vision of her in her silver dress slid into his mind. He gripped the sponge ball, then let it sail.
Swish. The ball rolled back toward him and he had his answer.
* * *
Neesie left the company historian’s office on the third floor and proceeded up the elevator to the fifth. The offices Stadler occupied were lush in masculine deep greens and grays, but were nice enough for any woman to enjoy. She stopped in the ladies’ room and checked her makeup before heading to Craig’s office.
“Go right in,” Janice, his secretary, said. “He’s expecting you.”
Neesie turned the knob, pushed the door and slammed right into Craig’s chest.
“Umph.” He expelled a surprised breath of air when they collided. His arms snagged her from falling backward, but neither could stop the downward thrust of motion as they fell, Neesie landing on top of him. A jarring rip filled the silence, then a thunder rushed toward them.
“Are you all right, Ms. Claiborne, Craig?” Janice asked.
“Yes. Help me get up, please.”
Neesie felt a tug on her skirt, but more obviously she became aware of a large object pressed against her stomach. She looked into Craig’s startled eyes and wished she could die. For them both.
Janice would soon know what was on his mind, too. With Janice’s help, Neesie separated from Craig, and he maneuvered his long legs around her until he was standing.
He assisted her up and she and Janice both noticed the bulge in the front of his pants. He had the decency to grab some papers from his desk to shield himself.
Neesie’s gaze ricocheted to Janice whose normal tanning-bed-brown coloring was now crimson-red.
“If you’re both all right, I’ll leave.” Janice walked to the door and stood with her back to them, her hand on the knob. “Ms. Claiborne, your stockings are ripped. I keep a new pair at my desk, and if you choose they will be on my chair. I’m going to take my break now. I’ll be back in exactly fifteen minutes.” The door closed soundly behind her.
Neesie dropped her fist to her hip. “No, she doesn’t think something is going to happen in here.” Brushing at herself, Neesie avoided Craig’s gaze and concentrated on straightening her clothes.
Her stockings were nearly torn in two. She tugged at the threads in a futile attempt to decrease the size of the hole then let it go. She would have to replace them.
“Are you hurt?” Dropping the papers onto his desk, Craig came toward her and rested his hand on her arm. Urging her around, he looked her over from head to foot. “Sorry about your stockings. I didn’t mean to crash into you like that.”
Neesie shook her head and wished the air-conditioning would click on. It didn’t matter that it was winter outside. She was hot.
“What were you doing?” she whispered, staring at him dubiously.
“Besides pretending to be a wannabe Michael Jordan? I was thinking about you and me.”
Her heartbeat quickened and a swell of erotic power filled her. He’d had a strong reaction and she wasn’t even in the room.
His eyes were the color of potting soil and she loved looking at him and having her stare returned. Few people held eye contact, but Craig did it well.
“I take it you’re single?”
He suppressed a smile. “As the day I was born.”
“So what exactly were you thinking about, Mr. Fake MJ? Getting with me for a date, or doing something to me, Craig?”
His gaze slid over her and everywhere his eyes touched, she burned.
“Would it matter?” he tossed at her in that cool, barely compassionate way she was somehow attracted to. Perhaps because she sensed more lay beneath the surface.
“It would.”
Resisting the urge to answer the tingle on her mouth with his lips, Neesie backed away.
“Getting with you on a date.”
His answer pleased her.
She nodded. “I could see that.”
“For starters.”
Her eyebrows shot up and a smile parted her lips, but she stopped it. So he was attracted to her. She’d thought so last night after she’d gotten past feeling sorry for herself after he’d vetoed her idea.
She liked this place that Craig’s words had transported her to and she wondered what it would be like to start something with him.
They were so different, though. He might like her now, but want to change her later. Or worse want her to change to suit him.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to get shy on me.”
“I’m never shy.” She caught his gaze again.
“Then what’s the deal?”
“You. You’re conservative. I don’t think you can handle me.”
“Is that right?” His head snapped up and his lips curved into a sexy grin. “You think you’re all that?”
Neesie let a giggle escape. “I try to be. Seriously, I think I’m too outspoken and unpredictable for your taste.”
“Why do you think you know me so well?”
Neesie took in the tie, the Ar
mani slacks, the cuffed shirt.
“Men like you and women like me are like oil and water. We just don’t mix.”
“I’m attracted to you. That’s what matters.”
A knock at the door halted her comment. “Yes,” he ordered without taking his gaze off her.
“Mr. Stadler will see you now.”
Despite having offered objections to his obvious interest, physical and otherwise, business was at hand. Neesie liked the way he moved when he shifted back into business mode.
His eyes blinked once and his cool professional demeanor was back firmly in place.
The only indication of his personal feelings was the soft hush of his voice. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Later when?” Her own voice had taken on a husky quality.
His eyes narrowed and through the slits he studied her.
“Later tonight. Eight o’clock. Your place.”
Disappointment slammed into her chest. “I’ve got plans.”
Tonight’s meeting with clients from Jamaica was a must-attend affair. She’d courted their import-export business for months and had finally won the contract to host four meetings at a local hotel. A part of her was torn, but she knew she had to go.
Suddenly she was glad she had a previous engagement. She needed some time to sort out her emotions.
He moved closer, his hands lightly stroking her arms. “I want to see you, Neesie. If not tonight, then another night. What do you want?”
His hand grasped hers and held on. She mentally shuffled her calendar to give herself a free night early next week. “Next Wednesday. My place, eight o’clock.”
His near imperceptible nod ended the conversation. “Go change your stockings. I’ll wait for you here.”
Neesie glanced down past his waist where his pants had once bulged, and she swallowed. Her gaze returned to his. “You’re the boss.”
* * *
Stadler greeted Neesie with an eager, firm handshake and she took her seat opposite him. They chatted pleasantly while Craig sat to the right, barely in her line of sight. He’d dropped one leg over the other and watched her with intense eyes she could feel on her body.
As she began the presentation, Neesie could feel her natural rhythm kick in and although she wasn’t excited, she knew what she’d presented had been flawless.
So why wasn’t Stadler lapping it up? He’d slumped in his chair, his hand bracing his cheek as he listened. She glanced at Craig for support and only caught the reflexive up and down motion of his eyebrows. He didn’t know what the problem was either.
“Do you have any questions, Mr. Stadler?” she asked.
“Is it me or was that the most boring report you’ve ever heard?” Stunned silence filled the room. “Ms. Claiborne, didn’t you glean anything from our initial meeting? I would have thought you could have come up with something better. More exciting. I was looking for something special.” His voice dropped off, tinged with disappointment. The older man clenched his fist and rose from his chair.
Neesie heard a ring of fear in her ears and she rose, too. She held up her hand to stop Craig from talking and closed the distance to the older man.
“Yes, sir. I learned so much from talking to you. This is just one idea.” She swallowed. “I saved the best for last.”
Renewed interest sparkled in his eyes. “Don’t waste my time. Tell me.”
She looked at Craig and caught his warning glance. But she didn’t work for Craig. She worked for Donald Stadler. Craig was just the money man. And if she wanted this account she had to please the right person.
After one final look at Craig, she began. “The theme is the Roaring Twenties. The year, 1929. Prohibition was in full effect, the stock market had crashed and people had no money. But you, Donald.” Using his first name to anchor him in the past, she plunged ahead. “You were eighteen and had an idea for a chocolate bar. Ten years before, you’d arrived in New York from Switzerland with your grandmother’s recipe for chocolate candy in one hand, and five dollars in the other.”
He nodded vigorously. “With those two things you knew you had the recipe for success. It all began in Harlem...”
Stadler sat forward, and Neesie knew she had him.
Twenty minutes later she was sure she’d made the best presentation of her life.
Stadler looked at her, his eyes bleary with age, his hands wrinkled from time, but his smile full of youth.
“I thought I ruled the world then.” His voice had grown wistfully soft. “I did rule the world. The chocolate world.” The old man rose, taking his time as he meandered through his memories, chuckling, finally sucking air through his teeth.
“I like it, young lady.” He turned, pointing at her. “Matter of fact, I love it. Let’s get started. Time’s-a-wasting. Whatever you need, you talk to Craig.”
Victory swelled through her, but hollowness soon overshadowed her joy. She caught Craig’s closed expression, and felt his anger and disapproval.
Guilty feelings tugged at the bond between them and she didn’t know why. She had to do her job. And she was under the impression that’s why he’d hired her.
Neesie murmured at the appropriate times as Donald Stadler chatted on about his life. Yet Craig dominated her attention. Anger darkened his features, pulling his eyebrows together on his forehead.
One of his large hands was fisted, as the other cupped the knuckles.
She didn’t pursue Craig after he excused himself from the meeting. He needed time and so did she.
Bumping her palm on the steering wheel as she drove toward her house, anger replaced the insecure feelings. She had done her job and made both presentations. Mr. Stadler chose the one he liked best.
Craig didn’t own Stadler’s.
So what was his problem?
Chapter 7
Craig rested his hands on the icy wooden railing outside his condo and waited for the cold evening wind to defuse his fiery mood.
How had he gotten stuck between his job and Neesie Claiborne?
Waymon had been pissed to hear the fund-raiser was going to be a reminiscent review of the 1920’s. Proving his grandfather incompetent would be difficult if he and the board of directors were enjoying themselves at a Stadler function.
Tufts of frosty smoke drifted from his lips as he exhaled sharply.
Even if Donald remained in charge, two facts remained. Craig’s promotion was on the line because of Neesie’s presentation. And his future rested in Waymon’s vindictive hands.
Craig reached to the patio table and drew the ice-cold glass of Hennessey to his lips and sipped. It burned going down, fighting with the acid and frustration in his stomach of having to wear too many hats and please too many people.
He walked inside the apartment, sat down before the dying fire in the fireplace and lifted his feet to the table, crossing them at the ankle. Now what was he going to do?
* * *
Turning away from the frost-covered glass that reflected the cold morning air, Neesie dialed her cell phone and made her fifteenth call of the day.
“Craig, Neesie Claiborne. We need to talk.”
“Talk.”
She sighed. A moody black man was not a pretty sight.
“How was your weekend?”
“Fine. What have you got?”
The cryptic answer grated her nerves causing them to snap. “What’s your deal? I presented both proposals to Mr. Stadler and he loved the one you didn’t.”
“I specifically told you what to present to him. If you couldn’t follow directions, you should have told me.” He pounced on her like a leopard on raw meat. “I can’t have a loose cannon working for me.”
“You keep threatening me as if you have a choice, Mr. DuPont.” Neesie threw up her hands, exasperated. “I haven’t heard from you in a week and when I do you’ve still got an attitude. You act like you’ve got something personally vested in Stadler’s decision to go with my suggestion. At the meeting, you stared me down like I had
stolen your favorite toy and run off with it. What’s really bothering you?”
Words pushed past his clenched teeth. “My promotion to the office in San Diego is riding on the coattails of this fund-raiser.”
Wind sufficiently knocked from her sails, Neesie kept quiet. Craig’s erratic breathing drifted through the phone as well as fragments of the bomb he’d just dropped.
“You’re leaving?”
Disappointment consumed the attraction that had been growing inside her. The overwhelming feeling pressed against the outer chambers of her heart, settling uncomfortably in her chest.
Something could have developed between them, although he’d have to get rid of the attitude and have faith in her.
San Diego was far away. “When are you leaving?”
“Nothing’s definite. Let’s keep our eye on the ball, here. Have you contacted the hotel?”
Sipping her cooling chamomile tea, Neesie focused on the notes she’d made, and sidestepped his question. Craig was leaving. She kept her voice level. “The mansion idea wasn’t bad.”
“What happened to the hotel?” he demanded. “I have a signed contract right here that says we’re renting the Medallion room for the evening of the fourteenth.”
“I talked to them yesterday. It seems as though plans fell apart when the booking agent found out Waymon was cheating on her with Nevana. She voided the contract on a technicality.”
Knowing what he had on the line made her feel worse as she delivered the bad news. It looked as if nothing would work out, but she wanted to make him understand things would be all right. She’d been working hard night and day, giving this account more attention than it deserved at this stage. She had other accounts to service.
Yet she wanted to please him. Now even more. All wasn’t lost and she had to make him see that.
“No hotel? Hold on, god—”
The phone landed with a bang on the desk and she assumed from the jarring noise in her ear he’d made a stab at the hold button, but didn’t quite hit it. The colorful words he unleashed were imaginative and well delivered and Neesie sipped her tea, waiting.