“I see.” More scribbling in her notebook. Kirk began to feel like he was under the microscope in a way he hadn’t been for years, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He changed his focus to watching her. The woman was slender, her long legs emphasized by the pants she wore that reached the ground, and her hands, when they weren’t writing, were animated with long, delicate fingers. But it was her face that sent the biggest shivers over his skin. Wide, bright eyes, porcelain skin, pretty didn’t begin to describe it. She was beautiful in a way that made you look twice at a magazine rack. Beautiful in a way that had his breath coming short and fast.
He shook his head slightly. She was appealing, sure. Was that why he felt so naked under her gaze?
“And the three words you’d use to describe yourself?” she asked, pulling him out of his thoughts.
“Mrs Horan filled the form out correctly.” Adding kind to the list of descriptions wasn’t going to help him find the perfect polo shirt rather than a shirt for this press conference.
Her lips pursed around her pen and he found himself unable to take his eyes off them. They were soft, pink, shiny, and the way the pen made them open like that…hold up, Anderson. Focus.
“A little bit more about the event you're attending.” She sat down in one of his guest chairs without being asked.
“You've signed a non-disclosure agreement?”
She nodded.
“It's a press conference. We're launching our new investment software package that is leagues ahead of what's out there. Been in development for the last two years. The user interface is fantastic. Idiot proof almost. It’s going to make the difference between us being big and being huge.”
“You’re not huge already?”
“In some segments. But I want us to be huge across the board. Anderson’s is going to be a household name, Ms Hunt. And apparently, it starts from the top down.”
She held up a hand. “You need to look funky. Great.”
“I wouldn't say funky.”
“Make you look powerful.” She looked at the form she had folded into her notebook. “And efficient, intelligent, and focused?”
“Exactly.”
“But different from how you look now,” she said with a glimmer of a smile.
“I think the word is, approachable.”
She paused and tipped her head to the side. “You say approachable. I say funky. Let’s just leave it at that and see where we get to, shall we?”
“Personally, I don’t know what’s wrong with a suit.”
She laughed. “You don’t need a suit to look like you own the room. Do you know what Bill Gates wears to meetings these days?”
“The last meeting I had with him, he wore a blue shirt and jeans.”
“And did he command a presence in the room?”
“He's Bill Gates.”
“Exactly. And are you not Kirk Anderson?”
He twitched an eyebrow. He could see why Joe liked her. She was smart. He'd give her that.
The woman stood and walked to the other side of his office. Her pants clung to her butt in a way that made his blood pump far too fast and far too hot for his liking. He never did this. Never ogled women. Especially not ones who worked for him.
She paused in front of a large blue painting. “Do you like this painting?”
“It was a good investment.” His art dealer had suggested he buy it, and the piece was already worth twice what Kirk had paid for it three years ago.
“That's not what I asked.”
“It forms part of the question. I like it because it is a good investment.”
Was that a small sigh of frustration? “Do you like what is in the painting?”
Kirk looked harder. It was a messy impressionist piece. But he did like the way the artist had picked out veins of what could have been water along its length and inserted gold foil to highlight them. Moreover, the woman standing in front of it made it seem alive. Her eyes darted over to the veins of water and she stretched out a hand as if she wanted to touch them.
“Yes. I suppose I do.”
“And what about this?” she picked up a precious Ming Vase from its stand.
“Don't drop that.”
She frowned. “I wasn't planning to.”
Rattled for no reason that he could pinpoint, his answer was snappier than it needed to be. “It's fine. The blue is a nice blue.”
Setting the vase down carefully, she made her way, slowly, to the corner of the room where another large painting, this time a portrait of a red horse, elongated out of proportion, stood starkly against the white wall. “And this?”
“It's a horse. Look, I'm a busy man. What has any of this got to do with my appearance at this event?”
“It has everything to do with it.’ The way she said everything, along with her husky voice, and the way she was standing there with her hip out and her hands on her hips like she was in charge, sent shivers down Kirk's spine. Shivers down his spine and his blood pumping toward his groin. Stop. It. His body never defied him like this. This was wrong. He did not get distracted by women like this. And certainly not by an entirely inappropriately dressed stylist who he was seeing as a favor to an old colleague.
“You live alone?”
His head jerked up. Not because of the question, but because it made him think about having her in his home. Her sitting on his kitchen bench helping herself to a strawberry from his fruit bowl. Her walking through his lounge taking off that ridiculous red leather jacket and throwing it on his sofa. Her stalking through the doorway to his bedroom…
“Mr Anderson?”
He shook his head. “Do you have something for me to wear or not?”
She smiled. “Do I make you nervous?”
Nervous was not the right word. She made him aware. Aware of how much room she took up in his office, aware that he was standing stiff and straight, aware that his blood was pumping faster than usual and was headed...down. “Not at all. I just fail to see how any of this is helping us reach the end goal faster.”
“Indulge me a moment longer. You do live alone, and you have a carefully curated range of meals your housekeeper prepares. You make an effort to eat at home most nights, even though you like the quiet solitude of your office and would be happy to eat at your desk.” She looked at him and bit her lip. For the second time, he found it almost impossible to tear his gaze away from her soft, pink, mouth until she started speaking again. “You like this painting because of the color. It's quiet but strong, and you enjoy the veins that run through it because they make you think about water, and you've always loved water. Water is powerful, a force of nature that's usually underestimated by most people.” She tipped her head to the side and Kirk had to stop his jaw from openly falling open.
“Did I say it reminded me of water?”
“It’s called Water over rocks,” she pointed to a small plaque at the bottom. “Lucky guess.”
His shoulders released. Okay, so she wasn’t some crazy mind-reader as well as having a stupid-making voice.
“My bet is you think of yourself like that. You were a bundle of raw talent and angry ambition. Like water, you were surging at what life was trying to offer you, pushing at it, trying to bust out and flow fast and furious down another channel. That's what saved you from the family firm or the crushing debt, or the cheating lover or whatever it was. And here you are.”
The pause lengthened, and for once Kirk was, truthfully, lost for words. Who was this woman and how had she gotten so deeply under his skin in less than half an hour?
“You think you're the best at what you do, but that's not enough. You want to be the best, period. And because you're a smart man, you know that being the best means being seen to be the best. Not with flashy clothes, but clothes that scream how confident you are, how approachable, how in control. You are the crest of the wave, Mr Anderson.”
He coughed. He had never been to a shrink, and likely never would. The feeling of having someone brush their fingers,
figuratively, over the hopes and dreams he held tight inside himself was not something he relished. “I think I’ve heard quite enough.”
That did it. Her face paled, and she realized, finally, who was in charge in this office. “With all that in mind,” she said quickly. “I have a few things for you to choose from.” She unzipped one of the garment bags on the sofa and pulled out two jackets.
Kirk found his voice very quickly. “Are you trying to be funny?”
Sarah looked at the jackets in her hands. One was a deep blue velvet blazer, the other a black leather jacket. Smart, sure, but not exactly corporate. In two steps, he had taken the leather jacket from her.
“You come in here with big speeches about who I am and what I want, and then you pull out something like this?”
“It's fresh, powerful and plenty luxurious. The younger members of your audience might even recognize the brand. It’s been all over Instagram this month.” She zipped the velvet back into its bag and pulled out a crisp white shirt that had something strange happening with the buttons. “Wear it with this, and you'll look like a man in control. More than that, you'll look like the man everyone in the audience wants to be.”
“I will look like a fool.”
He stood close, so close he could smell her scent. Something like lemon and cinnamon. She stood her ground and looked up at him, her dark eyes still holding some spark that wouldn't have been out of place in a blazing fire. “I took this meeting because Joe asked me to. What I needed was someone to provide me some real clothing options for an important product launch. Not someone to psychoanalyze me with skills they got off the back of a cereal packet.”
“I was only trying to—”
He held up a hand. “You were opening your mouth and letting whatever you wanted come out. That is not providing a useful service, Ms Hunt. That is taking liberties.”
Now her eyes flashed as if she was a cat about to pounce. “I try and get to the root of who my clients really are. That way, what they wear is like a second skin.”
“This,” he tossed the leather jacket onto the sofa where it slid down behind some cushions. “Is nothing like a second skin. This is dressing mutton as lamb and crossing your fingers.”
“You said you needed to be funky.”
“You said I needed to be funky. I said I needed to look powerful and in control of one of the biggest brands in the world.”
“And you would.”
“I would look like I was taking advice from a young woman who had no idea how to work with clients or take their needs into consideration.”
She took a step closer and now he didn't just smell her scent, it coated his senses and made him want to push a hand through her long, thick hair to find its source.
“I was only thinking about your needs.”
If she knew what being face to face with him was doing, she wouldn't be so quick to talk about his needs. “You talk a lot, Ms Hunt, but I don't think you've listened to a word I've said.”
“Oh, I've listened—” she stopped herself, but her face said she had plenty more to say.
“If you've listened you haven't heard anything I've said. You'd be better off behind the makeup counter at Macy's.”
Her mouth gaped. “That is...” she groped for words. “Perhaps you're right, and you don't need my help. You need someone much more specialized. Someone who will bend over for you and…” she shook her head. “I just can’t even...”
“Don't stop now. Tell me what you really think,” he said, watching her eyes widen. When she was angry, and he was pretty sure she was plenty angry, her pupils opened, and her nostrils flared, it was goddamn sexy as hell. Something clicked behind her eyes, and he saw her throw caution to the wind before she did it. He’d seen it in plenty of board meetings: the moment when competitors gave up and gave in to their feelings. It was a beginner’s mistake.
“Leaders, real leaders, know how to relax. And they know how to make people feel relaxed around them. If you get your team to respect and like you for how you treat them, they'll do anything for you.”
“My team respects me already, Ms Hunt. This isn’t about them.”
“I'm sure. But I bet they don't like you much.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. I'm not saying it to be callous, but if you really want to take your brand to the next level, then you have to quit being Mr. Cold Sharp Edges. And don't worry,” she said packing up her garment bags. “I'm already leaving.”
“I should think so.”
“Well.” She stood holding her bags of clothing. “Good luck with your big product launch.”
“Humph.”
She turned, but not before he saw her roll her eyes. It took him back to being at home with his folks. His mother was always rolling her eyes at him, and it drove him mad. Kirk reached out for Sarah’s arm to tell her to mind her manners and BAM, the contact just about sent him sideways. For a moment, everything stilled. The room was silent. The air didn't move. Their eyes were locked, and the angry spark was replaced by something else; was it fear? There was something raw in her gaze. Something open and real and true. Then the moment ended and her face flattened, her eyes flashing back into an angry dark hue.
“Did you need something else?” she spat out.
Yes, he needed something else. He needed to touch her again to see what it was that had made him feel like he'd swallowed a thousand volts. He needed to see that look in her eyes again and revel in its purity. He needed—he wanted—more time with her.
He dropped his hand. “No.” He swiveled on his heel and stalked to his desk. Picking up the phone he called through to his secretary. “You can show the legal team through now, Mrs Horan.”
3.
She stood there, feeling her face getting redder until two men in the worst suits she'd seen in a long while walked into the room. Oh. My. God. Kirk Anderson was going to blank her completely. While she still stood there. After he’d been the one to pull her back. Seriously?
“Are the top-level numbers correct?” he asked the men. “If we are going to accept a settlement I want to know that it’s worth our while to drop all ongoing liability avenues.”
He was ignoring her. Completely and utterly. Then one of the lawyers cleared his throat.
“You’re still here?” He didn’t even bother to raise his eyes to her, and the blush took over her skin as if she had the worst case of sunburn known to humanity. Hugging the garment bags to her chest, Sass turned and almost ran out of his office.
But once she was in the stairwell, she let herself slump against the cool concrete wall. Her first meeting with a client for her own business and it couldn't have gone worse. The way he looked at her, like he wanted to eat her, or at the very least bite her, it gave her all kinds of...she shuddered. It had unnerved her.
He'd looked handsome in his photograph, but that hadn't prepared her for the effect of meeting him in person. His eyes were incredible, cold, yes, but the color was a myriad of blues, deep enough to drown in. When he was shocked, when she'd talked about the painting, she'd seen a hint of the beauty that would lie in their depths if he let go. But of course, he didn't let go. That was what he'd told her, wasn't it? Perhaps that was why he held his tall, broad and hard body so firm and straight. A man who knew how to carry his height and not stoop apologetically was something very appealing, and she got the feeling Kirk Anderson didn't apologize for anything. Ever. Rather than be put off by his cold, clear confidence, she found herself wanting to stroke him so he softened. So he showed a little more of what was hidden in those blue eyes.
Instead, he'd clenched his jaw. Man, you could have sharpened a knife on that jaw, and her fingers had itched to touch it.
“But then you went and opened your big mouth.”
She hadn't meant to talk so much, but she'd been nervous, and she always talked more when she was nervous. Didn't help that he kept looking at her so weird either, so she just talked and talked to fill the silence.
/> And then...oh my god, when he'd grabbed her arm, she thought her skin was going to give up right then and fall off her body. His touch was more than electric. It was out of control. Blood heating, bone dissolving, eye watering, his touch had been all of that and made her want to take back everything she'd said and have him run his hands over her whole body. At that moment, she saw the bright blue color in his eyes as if it filled the room. She saw it and wanted to dive into it.
“You are a traitor,” she said to her body, looking at her arm and half expecting to see a red mark where his fingers had seared into her. There was nothing. She shook her head, feeling like an idiot for telling herself off out loud. Idiot, idiot, idiot. The words hissed in her brain. She'd stuffed up her very first opportunity. One that might have led to other opportunities. One that might have meant she could pay her rent and get started on the rest of her life being her own boss. And instead, she'd practically yelled at him. Idiot, idiot, idiot.
She blinked hard to stop the tears and fought hard with the urge to curl into a ball in the stairwell and rock. The window next to her was open a crack, and through it, she could see the streets of Manhattan ten stories below. Her heart started racing, she could taste the panic on her tongue, and her muscles screamed out to her to run. Run from everything. Run from everyone, including herself.
Clenching her fists, she took twelve deep breaths, counting each one as she did it. “Oh no, you don't Sass Hunt.” This was what happened when she was too hard on herself. The dark hand of depression was never that far away, but it got a whole lot closer when she doubted herself. Well, today she was not going to let it in. Her mother's struggle with bipolar disorder had permeated her entire childhood, and for the longest time, she'd feared she'd inherited the condition. “But I didn't.” She took one more deep breath and felt her heart slip back into its regular rhythm. Pulling up her sleeves, Sass looked at her tattoos and breathed through her mouth. They were symbols of darkness and the light. She'd chosen the light. She was going to keep choosing the light. “And Kirk Anderson is not going to make me feel bad.”
Love Stuck (Big City Billionaires #2) Page 2
