by Angel Payne
“No, I’m sorry. She’s on another line. Would you like to hold, or can I direct your call?” I breathed deep, forcing decorum to my voice.
“Who the hell is this?” The siren screamed a block closer to my caller. It didn’t constitute an excuse to become a jackass.
“My name is Claire. To whom am I speaking?” Two can play this game, buddy.
“This is Killian Stone.”
Oh, hell.
That didn’t explain his closed door, though it justified the heartbeat sprint and the flipping stomach. Too bad it couldn’t excuse my attack of haughty and snotty, which he apparently found amusing. The snicker beneath his reply had been unmistakable.
“I—I—apologize, Mr. Stone.”
Another flash from last night blazed through my mind. The image of him, anger creasing his face as he said good-bye, telling me I could do what he said or go straight to O’Hare. God, how he’d enraged me. Then, damn him, aroused the hell out of me. But now I plunged into dread, remembering what the man could accomplish when he was pushed.
Thankfully, he preferred chuckling at the moment. “Apologize? For what? Answering the phone? But out of curiosity, where is the woman I pay to do that job?”
“Ummm…” My hand still shook like a teenager on the phone with the boy she liked from science class. “She’s still on another line. The phones were really busy this morning, so I suggested we help her with some strategies on how to handle the press. The bastards have been relentless. Hopefully they won’t bother Britta too much longer…”
I was rambling. Worse yet, I knew it. I wanted to crawl into a hole for at least a week of hiding. What was it about this man that made me act half my age? It was ridiculous. Unprofessional. It had to stop.
Britta had finished her own call. She stared at me with open alarm, clearly reading my gawk and sensing I had Killian on the line. “I can take that now,” she prompted.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled. “Sure.”
“What?” Killian asked.
“Done,” I blurted. “I mean—errr—Britta’s done. With her call, I mean. I’ll hold you now. I mean I’ll put you on hold. Then you can talk to her—”
“No.” One syllable. Solid steel. “Don’t.”
“Sorry?”
“I’d rather talk to you.” His pause was formidable. “About last night.”
“Not happening.” Pointedly, I amended, “Please. Okay?”
“Why?”
“Because now’s not the time. And here’s not the place.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not.”
“Are you always so bossy, Miss Montgomery?” His undercurrent of humor had returned. The traffic noise faded.
“Said the pot to the kettle?”
I swallowed hard and turned from Britta, not wanting the woman to hear the way I was talking—make that sparring—with her boss on the phone. Great. That put my vision in line with the door to his office. Like I needed any more reminders of the forbidden territory. The sanctum I should’ve never entered to begin with. No matter how magical those minutes had been…
“Listen, I need to get back to work.” I forced myself to say it. “I—uhhh—assume you’re out at meetings, Mr. Stone?”
He grunted. “Yes. Couldn’t be helped. Some stockholders need to have their hands held after the last few days. Fortunately, I haven’t been assaulted by any of your reporter friends.” A long moment went by. “But damn, if I were in their shoes, I’d pick pursuing you on the phone instead of me in the rain any day.”
“I’m sure you’re very interesting in the rain.”
He let another long moment pass. Thank God. I had a moment to recover from my horror. What the hell was I doing, snipping at him one minute and flirting the next, after I’d ordered myself off from both?
I was a huge damn mess. An awful, terrible tease. And confused. So freaking confused by what he did to me.
I listened to his longer breaths…enduring shivers down to my toes because of them. When he spoke again, the words were tight and intimate. “And I like the way you think I’m interesting.”
“You could be standing next to the president and I’d think you were interesting.”
I had not just said that.
“What if I were standing next to Melinda Gates?”
On the other hand, who cared what I just said? His bombshell, making me openly gasp, erased half the thoughts from my head. Few people knew about my fascination with Gates, who used her wealth for some of the most far-reaching humanitarian efforts in the world.
“How—how did you know—”
“You’re not the only one who likes to tap at icebergs, Miss Montgomery.”
His tone dipped into lower registers. He spoke of ice but searing smoke wove seductive tendrils through every nerve ending in my body. Killian Stone had Googled me.
I gulped before stammering, “I—I have to go. Will you be here later for the strategy meeting?”
“Yes. I’ll be in around four for the update from your team.”
“It’s not my team, Mr. Stone. Regardless, I’ll see you there.”
He responded at first with another thick pause. On the other side of it, every note of power and confidence had returned to his voice. “Miss Montgomery?”
“Yes?”
“I’d like to think you’ll be seeing more of me than that.”
Click.
I hung up the phone and put my face in my hands. And tried to calm my heart. And fought to string two thoughts together.
What the hell was going on with that man? What was he trying to do to me?
I didn’t have answers for either, but knew two things for certain. First, I needed to get my shit together. Technically, I was on the clock. His clock. Secondly, Killian—Mr. Stone—and I needed to get a few things cleared up or this was going to be the longest, hardest project of my career.
The rest of the morning and early afternoon dragged on. The conversation with Killian had dunked my thoughts into fog. I continued to assist Britta but couldn’t recount what went on around me.
At two, Andrea sent Chad to round me up. We would meet as a team before the Stone brothers and their “people” arrived. Andrea, Michael, and Margaux tossed around strategies about our counter-attack to Wooten’s slur campaign. The details were gory. Andrea ordered that the Wootens, along with their friends and staff, be gashed open and dissected from every angle. No ex-lover, bank record, immigration document, or medical file was off-limits.
I typed notes as fast as I could. Thank God, because I would have to review it all later back in my room. My senses were still a blur, all caused by my conversation with the model-gorgeous flirt who wasn’t even in the building. A man you barely knew. Who has a cute thing for French fries and a sigh-worthy loyalty to his employees. But so do mob bosses. And boyfriends who deal drugs then knock up your best friend before skipping town.
But denying my feelings would be like stopping my breath. Heated attraction. Giddy arousal. Mounting frustration. Dizzying desire.
Oh, yeah. That.
This was crazy. Didn’t I just need to be grateful? How many women my age could seriously complain about a “problem” like this?
Women like you, Montgomery—with precarious secrets to hide. Prison orange will not be a great color on you. There’s a good chance Louboutins aren’t allowed on the cell block, either.
I laughed aloud as my thoughts tumbled atop each other, which made the conversation stop. Everyone turned and stared. I froze in place, mind scrambling for a fast save. “You—uhhh—mentioned Wooten’s affinity for waffles,” I stammered. “It made me think of this YouTube video…waffles and cats…maybe we could hire some college kid to do a Wooten-style riff on it? Stranger things have gone viral.” When they all kept staring, I tried to smile. “Anyone need coffee?”
I’d almost made my escape when the conference room’s door opened. I felt him before I even stared up at him. Killian’s presence ruled the air from the moment he
entered, weaving through my senses in three seconds flat.
I dropped back into my chair before he could notice me swaying like a doll. Besides, Andrea would start the presentation right away. The client was never kept waiting.
Trey followed his brother, now looking like a puppy being taught to heel, complete with an impeccable suit and a fresh shave. He sat next to Killian, of course—meaning I had to look at the man now.
My memory had shortchanged me. He was more gorgeous than any image in my mind. Heat crept across my cheeks as he caught my glance—directly across the stretch of table he’d helped me down from. His muscles were tight under his shirt, exactly as they’d been when he’d lowered me then steadied me. My body filled with the same electricity as then, the same exquisite awareness of him. His looming height. His expensive cologne. The heat radiating from him, alluring as a self-contained furnace. The way he’d felt under my hands. The way he’d held me with so much strength yet so much care…
I shook my head. Head back in the game. Now!
Andrea commanded the room by moving to the head of the table, launching her synopsis of the action items tackled by the team today. I fought to listen, hoping to catch the ideas I’d already daydreamed through. God, this was so unlike me. I was hideously out of place not being to-the-minute on with a project, especially one of this magnitude.
The conversation progressed around the table, with each team member adding their ideas about how we’d move forward in combating the damage inflicted by Wooten’s press conference. The secondary layer, dealing with the senator’s threat of legal charges, was addressed by Michael, who hoped to be sitting for the Bar next year. I wasn’t surprised when he dazzled the hell out of SGC’s legal team, though every moment that went by without a warrant officer at the desk gave us all hope that Wooten would pull a one-eighty on the threats.
As the rotation neared me, I was still pathetically off my mark. Though I was supposed to have preliminary details about the best course for the project based on the overnight ratings for the news outlets, compiling it into sensible form was an obstacle course my mind couldn’t seem to navigate. I dashed a private message to Chad on his laptop, telling him to pass me over. The rest of the team tensed. Andrea wouldn’t care that I’d spent half the day on the phones and had no time to compile data, she only knew we had a glaring hole in the information stream to Killian.
At least one person was happy about my downfall. Margaux preened like a forewarned guest to the Red Wedding, finger sliding around her touchpad as she waited for the bodies to fall.
Andrea shot to her feet after Chad’s bullet points of tomorrow’s plan, smiling with over-bright zeal. “Mr. Stone?” She nodded toward Trey. “And…Mr. Stone? Are you comfortable with the approach thus far? Any questions at this point?” Her plastic smile gave away the rhetorical slant of the questions—which added to her obvious surprise when Killian rose.
“It’s all excellent information, Ms. Asher.” He glanced my way. Also a stunner. An unwanted one. “I want to particularly thank Miss Montgomery for assisting Britta this morning, in dealing with the phones.” He nodded at me. “You have my sincere appreciation for the help.”
“My pleasure.” I tried to smile but the knives Margaux inserted to her gaze turned my expression to one of desperation. Enough, dammit!
He went on without flinching. “But I’m not glutted with gratitude as to overlook that you haven’t had the chance to speak yet. I’ve been truly looking forward to your input, Miss Montgomery.” He angled more fully toward me, slamming me with the full force of his tall, polished grandeur.
“My input?” I barely avoided squeaking it. “Why?”
His dark brows drew together as if I’d just questioned whether two plus two got someone to four. “Because nobody else in this room has touched more of the media today than you.” He dipped his head, looking deferential, beautiful—and determined. “That makes your feedback the most valuable to me right now. So…your thoughts, if you please.”
If I pleased?
Hell, no. I didn’t please.
As the shriek raced through my head, everyone shifted in their chairs to stare at me. Crap, crap, crap.
Anyone have a free hand to save the deer in the headlights?
Chapter Five
Killian
If a person could really turn a glare into a dagger, I was positive hers had me diced a hundred ways. I returned to my chair, bracing elbows on the rests, returning her glower like an indolent king. Clearly, the woman had no idea how much practice I had at being vilified. More importantly, at my capability for ignoring it.
Most importantly, how much she’d thank me for this. She had no idea how tightly she’d been crammed into Asher’s tidy little box, did she? Oh, it was all right to step out for a bit, perhaps do something more than run presentation slides, answer phones or fetch coffee, but to be stretched and challenged, be told she could run and push herself? That expressing herself was okay?
I couldn’t wait to see her embrace that freedom.
And dammit, I couldn’t wait to be the one giving it to her.
The thought was a dance with fire. But I was already halfway to Hell with the subtle-as-a-grenade line during our phone encounter this morning. I still couldn’t explain the slip, only that once I heard her voice, I realized how everything had felt…off…since our parting last night. The sensation terrified me. Trey had already taken care of all the unbalance my life could afford right now, meaning I needed to make things right with Claire—which should’ve led to a sincere apology and a promise to keep things professional from now on.
Instead, I’d let my dick do the talking. Every word. I did want to see more of her. Lusted for it. Craved the idea of claiming her. Taming her. And hell yes…fucking her.
Factors that had nothing to do with my demand of her now.
Climb out of the damn box, Claire. Show me—and everyone here—the spitfire I found on this table last night. The innovator with blue nails. Colin Montgomery’s fighter of a daughter.
“I—uhhh—” She flung a nervous glance around the table. “I requested to be skipped. I knew how pressed we’d be for time, and the others undoubtedly have more insight at this point than I do, so…”
As she trailed off, she looked up to her boss. Andrea waited with a stare like a corporate Mother Superior, ready to rap a student’s knuckles for screwing up a Bible verse. Witnessing the exchange made me lower my hands to the armrests, clawing at the leather.
“Mr. Stone.” Andrea pivoted back toward me. Mother Superior was still in place, hands joined, smart phone in place of a rosary between them. “With all due respect, Miss Montgomery is correct. Our job is just beginning. Her specialty is data and media analysis. She’s our ace for watching trend graphs, demographic skews, and how the public perceives our efforts. At this stage, her input to the plan is—”
“Just as vital as everyone else’s.”
Andrea’s nostrils flared. “I beg your pardon?”
Trey, who’d been obedient and quiet to my right, snickered. “You like poking bears, brother?”
I ignored him, maintaining my scrutiny on Andrea. “I think you heard me perfectly well, Ms. Asher, but I’m happy to repeat it. My assistant informs me that Miss Montgomery spent five straight hours at the desk with her this morning, assisting with funneling hundreds of media calls to you, as well as five photocopier vendors, seven misdirected job applicants, and three reality television producers wanting to get their hands on my brother.”
Trey grinned. “Seriously?”
“Don’t even think it.”
My decree withered him into a slump. Andrea Asher’s posture was another story. The woman, clearly undecided whether to glare or hiss at me, stiffened her stance. “Miss Montgomery volunteered for the duty, Mr. Stone.”
“I’m aware of that, Ms. Asher. The attitude further justifies her input to this conversation.” I steepled my fingers. “This conversation, where I need thinking just like that. Where we
’ll all benefit from ideas outside our normal parameters, right?”
When I angled to Claire again, I was glad to see she’d stashed the daggers. The amber depths of her eyes carried a new glow now, matching the anticipation across her face.
“Very well,” Andrea murmured. “Claire, do you have anything you’d like to contribute?”
“Well—” She stopped herself after looking again into Andrea’s firm stare. By now, I was certain the woman knew how to communicate whole sentences with her eyes. The slogan on this glance to Claire? Screw this up and you’ll pay big-time. “I’m—I’m sorry,” Claire finally stammered. “I really don’t. I didn’t have time to prepare anything, Mr. Stone.”
“Bullshit.”
The room thickened with tension at my interjection. I didn’t give a rat’s ass.
“Excuse me?” she blurted.
“Of course you’re ready. You’ve been ready since nine this morning, when you gained first-touch access to those reporters. After listening to the mob, before they’ve had a chance to compose themselves for Andrea or Margaux, what’s your take?” I leaned forward, elbows on the table, abandoning indolent king in favor of a man who had more at stake than a castle. If Stone Global suffered permanent damage because of Trey’s stunt, thousands of unemployed people would be on my conscience. “I don’t want what you’ve ‘prepared,’ Miss Montgomery, or what Ms. Asher’s told you to prepare. Push outside that damn envelope, and give me the truth of what your gut’s telling you. That’s what I want. Don’t give me your numbers and statistics. Just tell me what you feel.”
Claire blinked. Afterward, the expression on her face made my miniature asshole act worth it. She actually met my gaze this time. She even smiled a little.
Like a woman climbing out of a box.
Still, she queried, “What I…feel? Really?”
“Go ahead, Claire.” Lerner gave her an encouraging nod. “Just don’t go into a Celine Dion wail-fest on his ass. It’s not pretty, Mr. Stone. Take my word for it.”
