Doing her research on him, going through every article written about him, then sifting through the answers on her profiling form, she thought she had him totally nailed: a man with big business ambition who needed to show a human side. She was expecting someone a bit cold, super smart and calculating. Someone who understood that he needed to showcase a softer side if he wanted to grow his brand. But he wasn't just cold. His heart must have been surgically removed at birth and substituted with a cryogenic ice replacement.
And then...those eyes.
Trying to shake off the feeling of his eyes on her, Sass stormed down the stairs of the Anderson Building and loaded her garment bags into the back of a taxi. Only then she realized she'd left the jacket behind. “Shit.” It wasn't just any jacket. It retailed for more than a month's rent, and she needed to get it back to her supplier. Sass looked up at the towering skyscraper, and her heart sank. No way did she want to go back up there and beg for him to reach into the depths of his couch and get it for her. No. She'd call the secretary and have her dig it out and put it at the front desk for her to collect later. Yes. That'd be fine.
Decided, she gave the taxi directions home and when she got there dumped everything in her dressing room and headed right back out again after sending a quick email off to Kirk Anderson’s assistant about the jacket.
Walking the streets of New York, she instantly felt better. There was every kind of person outside on the summer day. Men in suits sure, but there were young women in brightly colored floral dresses, kids in overalls, and her favorite, old women having coffee in brilliant hued, multi-layered outfits. She watched a group as one of them held up a purchase, a fluffy fake fur tiger jacket and the other cackled with glee. That's what she wanted to be when she grew older: irreverent, fun, full. She wanted to slide into old age, having had a full life and not caring what people thought or what they said. She wanted to be the antithesis of her mother.
Continuing walking, she found herself at the doors to MoMA and, once inside, breathed out a huge sigh of relief as she was engulfed in the air-conditioned swirl of the art museum. This was her happy place.
Screw it. Having a bad start with one client didn't mean she couldn't make it. All it meant was that she had a bad meeting with one client. Sass sat down in the center of the textile exhibition space and let the images fill her up. Sitting quietly like this, just looking, letting the color of the various fabrics settle into her skin, Sass felt her shoulders unhunch, and her jaw relax.
She'd been sixteen when her mom had ended up in the hospital and Sass had been left to fend for herself. Lost and alone, Sass had almost given up. Everything. But then she’d got the diagnosis that she wasn’t bipolar and had put herself back together. It had taken two years. When she’d sat down in front of a sewing machine in an art-therapy class when she was eighteen, it had felt like she fit. Like she had always been there. And that's what she wanted to do for her clients now. She wanted to give them clothes that made them feel like she had when she started putting pieces of different colored fabrics together. Wanted them to look in the mirror and see themselves fully revealed. She knew she could do it. She just needed to keep at it.
Drunk on color and her hopes and dreams, she barely registered her phone ringing. It was only when one of the museum staff cleared their throats noisily that she realized what the noise was and pulled her phone from her pocket.
“Wedding emergency.”
“Wait, what?” Sass pulled the phone away from her ear a moment to check the caller. She didn't recognize the strangled voice on the other end of the phone. It was Cara.
“The dogs got into my bedroom. Where my dress was. And, Oh-My-God, you have to help.”
“I'm on my way.”
4.
There it was. After the short service for Joe and Cara's wedding, Kirk spotted his name on the table plan at the reception venue. A table plan that could have done with someone with a much more critical eye looking it over. He could see where names had been stuck and then moved, some of the pieces of paper with names on them curled at the edges. A little more rigor, a little more math and the plan in front of him could have been almost beautiful. He squinted at the table layout again and mentally shifted the names into alphabetical order, then shifted them according to length. In his mind’s eye, a chart of clean, clear lines appeared, the letters adding up to be numerically even, the chart suddenly becoming a pure math moment. Better.
He'd had a shitty morning. Plans for the software release and press conference were in full swing, but he’d been agonizing over his speech. His Senior VP of Marketing had simpered into his office with “a few suggestions” to “brighten and lighten it,” and it had pissed him off more than it should have. She was nervous, he'd realized, but he didn’t have time for nerves. “I know this is important. This is my company. Remember? And I know I need to come across as approachable. This is the first time we’ve had a serious chance at hitting the Forbes list, so the press need to shout about our brand from the rooftops. But I’m not going to be bright and light for the sake of it. This needs to be substantial as well as easily digestible.”
“Of course,” his head of marketing had said. “It's just that...”
“Just what?”
“There's another event on that night.”
“Of course there is. This is New York. But we've sent out the teaser. People are waiting for this announcement. They know they're going to get to use the software at the event. No one wants to miss it.”
“Absolutely, it's just that Richmond Wealth—”
That got him. “What about Richmond Wealth?”
“I saw a release that said they're about to announce a new software product the same night.”
Kirk's hands clenched. “She should never have gotten in the door here.” Daniella Richmond had worked in his Investment Wealth subsidiary three years ago. But disgruntled at not making it to the top fast enough, she'd started out on her own and tried every chance she could to take a swipe at Anderson's.
“She's a talented developer with an eye for wealth management. I should know, I was part of the team who helped hire her.”
“Well, then I should fire you for lacking the vision on how it would turn out.”
The head of marketing balked, and Kirk forced himself to calm down. “No one is getting fired. Daniella Richmond is old news. And she’d better stay that way. We’re too close to not make it onto the Forbes list this year.”
She nodded, firmly. “Yes. Just have a look at the revisions on the speech, you’ll work out how best to deliver it. I heard you had a stylist in, good move.”
“Excuse me.” Another wedding guest nudged Kirk to get a look at the table plan, and Kirk was jerked out of his memory, but the feeling of frustration stayed with him, and he realized he'd clenched his hands into fists again.
The wedding reception venue was already full of people, and the place was incredible, wide open views of the setting sun over New York City. It was a film-worthy vista and one he hadn't expected at the top of Joe's new building: Able's Department store.
Despite the view, he couldn't get his head out of the morning’s meetings. Second guessing himself about a public appearance wasn’t something he ever did. But the news that Richmond Wealth might have an offering that would rival his…it had got under his skin. Probably just like it was supposed to.
“Kirk, thanks for coming man, I know you've got a big week ahead.” Joe Diaz, the groom, slapped him on the back.
Kirk pushed out a smile, then found that looking into Joe's face, he didn't have to force it. The man was beaming, and it was infectious. “Congratulations. She seems like a lovely lady. Going to be interesting dinner table conversations with your mother in law, though.” Cara’s mother owner a massive pharmaceutical company, one that had beaten out Joe’s company on a takeover bid close to his friend’s heart. It would be interesting to see how they worked it.
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Tell me about it. From arch rivals to tentative
co-operation. I'm going to have to get used to not using her face as a dart board in my office.”
Kirk laughed, and Joe slapped him on the back again. “Speeches are about to start. Grab a drink.”
Kirk recited a list of high prime numbers in his head to focus himself. Thinking about Richmond Wealth was a waste of energy. If it was a real issue, Mike Brand, one of his CEOs, would have told him about it.
As he headed to the dining area, Kirk overheard two women sitting at his table in conversation: Cara's mother and another woman with her back to him.
“It was no trouble. But I don't think her boys are getting out of the doghouse anytime soon.”
“Well, she looks lovely. Better than she did in the original dress. You're a genius. I would have tried to talk her out of turquoise, but she looks simply stunning.”
“Thanks. It was a lovely service.”
He recognized the voice. Of course she was here. He checked the table number. And of course she was sitting at his table. Today was just getting better and better
Gritting his teeth, he took the final few steps and took hold of the back of his seat just as Cara's mother stood, patted Ms Hunt on the shoulder, and walked away.
Sarah Hunt was in a strapless pink top, and as she swiveled in her chair, he saw her wide-legged white pants. Her arms were bare. Of course she has tattoos. His upper lip curled just a fraction. His mother had always said only cheap or foolish girls allowed themselves to get inked up. Maybe she was right. Sarah Hunt was about as foolish as they came if she thought he wasn't going to tell anyone who would listen what a poor service she offered.
Pulling out the chair, he waited for her to look up, then gave her the coldest smile he could muster.
“Oh my god.” Her face paled.
“My thoughts almost exactly.”
Sarah looked around as if trying to find somewhere to hide, but in the wide-open terrace of the top floor, there were no feasible possibilities unless she decided to duck under the table for the entire reception. Instead, she grabbed a full glass of champagne and drained it.
He sat down and reached for his own glass. He wasn't a fan of bubbly wine, but beggars couldn't be choosers in this situation. “How long is this reception?” he asked the man beside him.
“I heard there were going to be at least ten speeches.”
“Oh god,” Sarah muttered next to him.
This could not be happening. Sitting beside her the same sensation came over him as had crept up his spine in his office. Her scent wrapped itself around him, and he was taken back the moment he touched her arm. His body didn’t care what his head thought, his blood was already on its full-speed-path around his body, trying its very best to distract him. When her hand held up the wine glass she’d refilled from the bottle in the center of the table, he watched her long fingers curl around the glass stem and wanted them curled around him instead. This is not happening.
“Do you plan on drinking the wedding dry?”
She answered by draining her glass again and, reaching for the bottle in the middle of the table, refilled her glass. “Let's see, shall we?”
The first speech was the best man's. A smart guy, one Kirk vaguely knew from networking lunches. It was well written and had a couple of funny enough jokes, but it wasn't exactly a laugh a minute. It made Kirk think about his own speech and judge the two against each other. His didn't seem that bad in comparison.
Sarah yawned audibly part way through.
“Really?” he hissed.
“You haven't laughed at any of his jokes either.”
Now it was his turn to reach for the wine bottle, and he sloshed a generous amount into his glass.
During the entree, she nudged his elbow and made him drop his fork. Then when the mains arrived, she spilled a large dollop of gravy on the tablecloth and his jacket sleeve.
“You did that on purpose,” he said, mopping at the growing brown stain on his grey suit.
“If I'd done it on purpose you would have known about it, trust me,” she said and then put a large helping of mashed potato in her mouth. As she curled her tongue around her fork to get the last vestiges of the super creamy mash off, he couldn't take her eyes off her. The soft pink tip of her tongue darted at the fork. Then she let it linger on her lip before it disappeared. It should have repulsed him, but all he could think of was capturing that lip in his. She caught him staring. “What? Do I have gravy on my face?”
“You should do, the way you've been slurping at it. I'm surprised you haven't started licking the plate.” He said it as cover. To hide that he’d been watching her and letting his imagination take his rational mind hostage.
She rolled her eyes at him. “Man, who put a carrot up your butt this morning? I thought you were rude on Monday, but today…” She hissed out air through her teeth. “Today you've reached a whole new level of cold, Mr Anderson.”
“I'm not sure of your definition there, Ms Hunt. If by cold you mean able to enjoy my food without making it into a performance art event, then sure, I'm cold.”
She laughed, completely ignoring his attempt at disdain. “Maybe I’m missing a trick. I’m sure there’s a market for gravy performance art out there.”
“Maybe you should. Or you could focus on what you’re supposed to be doing? Thinking about listening to your clients’ needs and providing them with the service they're paying for?”
“Bringing them more boring suits to fill their already boring wardrobes? No thanks.”
“Of course not. How is your bottom line looking in this new business of yours?” She bristled, and he kicked himself. Saying that wasn’t fair. New businesses
always took time to settle in and find their place. There were plenty of people out there willing to part with good money to have someone tell them what to put in their wardrobes. He was about to take it back when she spat out, “It's going to be just fine, thanks.”
“I’m sure.” He said it gently, meaning it to be a type of apology, but of course she didn’t take it that way. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes shone, and he couldn’t help himself, he wanted to bait her to keep the fervor there. To keep her attention focused on him. When she was angry, man, she was like some kind of wildcat ready to pounce. Part of him wanted that. Wanted her to pounce on him. And he wanted to wind his hands in her ridiculous hair and stoke her emotional fire with a kiss.
“I am sure. And if you paid as much attention to your staff and customers as your bottom line, you wouldn't need to hire people like me to try and give you a little personality when you so desperately needed it.”
“I do not lack personality.”
“Uh huh.”
When he thought he was literally going to combust from having to sit next to her a moment longer, the bride's mother stood to give the penultimate speech.
Sass continued to drink heavily through dessert, and when she put a strawberry in her mouth, just the way he'd pictured her doing when he first met her, Kirk had to stuff his hands in his pockets, to stop himself reaching for the tiny bead of juice that lingered at the side of her lips.
What are you doing? His body was out of control. Out of control and clearly insane. She was not only rude and disrespectful, but she was nothing like the sort of woman he liked. He only dated tall, composed women who understood his lifestyle. Women who knew when to shut the heck up and how to have a conversation without letting their emotions take them completely hostage. Sarah Hunt clearly didn't give a crap about decorum, was shorter than his tiny Aunt Deidre back home and she was about as composed as a stray cat put through a clothes dryer.
“Finally, I want to give special thanks to Sass Hunt.”
Kirk's attention snapped away from his strawberry lust haze and over to the mother of the bride, standing at the top table.
“I know my daughter loves her dogs, hell I've been in the dog house more than they have.” The crowd chuckled politely. “But I'm the first to admit they have brought her plenty of joy. Not so much yesterday, though.�
� Again, appreciative titters and Kirk looked around blankly as the woman sitting next to Sarah gave her hand a pat and a big smile.
The bride buried her face in her hands, and Joe put a protective arm around her, but Kirk noticed the small glint of pleasure that shone in his eyes. The guy clearly wasn't that much of a fan of the dogs either.
“But I think you'll all agree that thanks to Sass, my daughter looks amazing despite her dogs’ best efforts. Possibly more amazing than if she'd worn what she was planning. I'd like you to raise your glasses and toast to the savior of the hour, Sass Hunt. She's just started out on her own too. I hope you brought plenty of business cards with you, Sass.”
Kirk looked at Sass, who was doing her best to look sober and charming, and damn it if it was working. How did she do that? Turn from hellcat to helpful in seconds.
Cara's mother finished talking, and in the lull before the final speech, a few people headed straight to Sass and bugged her for business cards. She ran out after a few minutes and ended up writing her number on a pile of napkins.
Mistake. No forward planning.
When there was a pause in the attention, Kirk couldn't help himself. “I have to give you credit. Convincing someone like Anna Brooks that you provide anything other than a frivolous service is something to be proud of.”
Sarah looked at him and laughed. Laughed!
“I don't see what’s so funny. I meant that as a compliment.”
“Of course you don't. That's what's so funny. You should see your face right now. It's perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“You almost seem human. Honestly, if you could keep that face on and loosen your tie a bit, you would almost look approachable. That's the expression you need for your big press conference. If you really want your brand to stand out as something that people care about, you must stand for something more than making money. Be a human rather than a walking calculator, and people will see you stand for something they want a part of. Although no one is going to tell you that to your face.”
Love Stuck (Big City Billionaires #2) Page 3
