“Yes, I will send him right up, Mr. Charles.” She looked straight at Cole. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see–” Cole cursed, forgetting who his uncle had told him to meet via an abrupt, early morning call. “Wait, I have it here.” He pulled out the crumpled Starbucks napkin he’d scribbled the name on while shoveling sugar into his coffee cup. “Shaun Wright?”
“Jacobson-Wright Contracting, please hold.” The receptionist answered another call with expressed annoyance in her tone, then looked up at Cole again. “And you are?”
“Cole. Cole Jacobson. I have an appointment.”
The last name must have registered, because it brought about a complete turnaround in her posture and attitude. “Oh, Mr. Jacobson.” The phone rang again. “I apologize. Monday mornings are very busy. Jacobson-Wright Contracting, please hold.” Cole was used to seeing people fall all over themselves around his uncle, but now that the deference was directed at him, it felt weird and most importantly undeserved. “Elevators are on your right. You want the sixth floor. Someone will be there to assist you.” She smiled, but once more the phone sounded, stopping any further instructions.
Cole pointed to the right, and the receptionist nodded while continuing her conversation with whoever was on the other end of the line. He headed in the gestured direction, thinking he probably should have asked her to let his uncle know he had arrived all right. But if he were to be honest, he was in no hurry to see the man who had pretty much blackmailed him into coming to Mason in the first place.
After Cole had graduated from RCIT with a bachelor’s in architecture, he’d stayed on at the college, working under his professor for a year, instead of moving to a big city and getting an internship with a corporate firm like the rest of his classmates. He’d then returned home and occupied his creative side building custom furniture in between helping manage the recovered family business. Cole’s designs were beginning to earn some notice with the lumber company’s customers, and he’d even been working up the nerve to fill out the vendor application to sell some of the finished pieces at the County Corn Festival. But then his uncle had shown up to collect on his debt.
Reaching the bank of elevators just as one opened, he stepped inside with four other suits and pressed the button for six, tugging at his collar. His skin itched from the notion of having to wear a monkey get-up five days a week, an addition to the growing list of changes he needed to get used to for as long as his uncle required.
When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Cole ditched the attire tantrum and honed in on an incredible pair of legs. One red-soled shoe, which could have doubled as a circus stilt, lifted off the ground to rub against a shapely calf, leaving the other foot to support the full weight of the woman’s exquisite figure. Exhibiting no shame, Cole continued to gawk, his head tilted. He slipped his hand in the shrinking slit of the closing doors, finally remembering this was his floor. He hopped out right before the buzzer sounded and straight into the path of a mail cart, which was barreling toward him at full speed, its driver rocking out to whatever song was blaring through his earbuds.
One wheel clipped his ankle, forcing Cole to his knees. “Shit!” he muttered under his breath, scrambling to pick up the loose drawings that had fallen from his notebook and were now strewn all over the floor. Mail cart roadkill. His first day was shaping up just fine. As he reached for a sketch of a bench he’d designed his last week in Sweetwater, the sexy pair of stilts responsible for his unfortunate position on all fours and the throbbing pain in his ankle came into focus again, and the owner knelt down to scoop up the crinkled parchment first.
“Let me help you,” she said, her voice soft … and familiar.
“You.” Cole looked up and recognized the woman from the bar. And from his illicit dream. Pale hazel eyes now hid behind black, horn-rimmed glasses, and her chestnut-brown hair rested on the crown of her head in an elegant bun. Different, but definitely her. Gooseflesh broke out over his skin, although his body burned beneath his suit.
She laughed, and lips the same deep red from the previous night accentuated her knockout smile. “That’s not my name, but maybe if you’re good, I’ll give it to you.”
She rose to her feet and his eyes followed. His mouth, however, missed the memo, his lower jaw remaining agape. Damn, if he thought she’d worn the shit out of that red dress at the bar, her knee-length, slate gray skirt put a whole different spin on the numerous fantasies he’d cooked up while trying unsuccessfully to get some sleep. The cream silk button-down beneath a form-fitting gray vest flared open enticingly at the neckline, but not enough. Not even when she bent down to help him get a handle on his drawings, to his chagrin.
Cole couldn’t look away. In the full light of day she was positively gorgeous. And most certainly out of his league, given that words escaped him in much the same way as they had the night before. Regardless, she might serve as a welcome distraction in the gilded cage he found himself stuck inside. Except she had to be someone important, considering that she looked a little bit intimidating, standing over him at the moment. Her effortless confidence was an additional accessory.
Cole chuckled uneasily and stood, taking the sketch from her with a tentative hand. “Well, I’m not very good at being good.” A wide range of warning bells regarding office etiquette chimed in his head. He knew his response bordered on unprofessional, but considering this was the last place he wanted to be, what did he have to lose?
Her brows popped up above her glasses and a smirk crept over her face. “Interesting.”
Sensing a degree of mutual intrigue, Cole couldn’t stop himself from grinning like a cat that had found a new mouse to chase. One that had appeared not all that interested in tomcats. His mind switched to the dream he’d been having before the alarm clock had ruined everything. Then he noticed she was still staring at him.
“Oh. Uh, thanks for the help.” The temperature in the office had somehow gone from comfortable to sweltering in the past minute. Holding up the mess of drawings and his notebook with one hand, he scrubbed at his close-cut hair with the other, turning up the dial on his boyish charm.
She nodded, seemingly unaffected by his attempt to gauge an attraction on her part. “Anytime. You have to be careful during mail run around here. Marcos is very efficient.”
He laughed this time. “Yeah, I have the bruised ankle to prove it.”
“Ice from the break room should ease any swelling.” She gave him a cordial smile. “Well, I should get back.” She curved her thumb over her shoulder.
“Yeah, me too. I’m already late.” His eyes lingered on her as she turned away.
Bumping into the reception desk as he moved deeper into the open office space, Cole heard a derisive snort, and his head shot forward. A young man with auburn hair slicked into an impossible mound on the top of his head and a face full of freckles sat behind a cockpit-style desk, leering in his direction.
“Are you in need of assistance? An ice pack? Or a cold shower, perhaps?”
“Funny,” Cole muttered, shoving his papers back into his notebook. “I’m here to see Mr. Wright.”
“Mr. Wright?” The receptionist stared at him, puzzled. “There’s no–,” he started, but Ms. Hot and Cryptic promptly appeared next to him to interject.
“Mr. Wright?” she echoed.
“Uh, yeah,” Cole replied, taken off guard by her sudden interest.
“Actually, I’m going that way. I’ll escort him, Henry.” She winked at the receptionist, ramping up Cole’s curiosity. “I’m sure Mr. Wright is expecting him,” she added with a little too much humor in her voice. She spun around and started walking.
After a moment’s pause and a quick glance at the receptionist, who still wore an expression of complete confusion, Cole followed close behind, struggling to keep his gaze above the woman’s swaying backside.
“Are you Mr. Wright’s assistant?” he asked, deciding he’d better collect as much information about her as he could in the shor
t amount of time it would take to get wherever they were going. If she was his assistant, Mr. Wright was one lucky bastard. That little detail would explain her ability to pay the outlandish bar tab without a second thought. Corporate eye-candy of her caliber must not come cheap, and if he was anything like Cole’s uncle, office affairs were a management perk.
“Something like that,” she answered over her shoulder, but didn’t make eye contact.
“Cole?” Cole wheeled at the sound of his uncle’s voice, hackles creeping up to join the un-welcoming committee. The younger, arguably more successful brother of his late father stepped through a doorway, wearing the air of conceit he almost never went without and a navy suit that probably cost as much as two months’ rent on Cole’s place in Mason.
“Uncle Rob.” He forced a smile and shook his uncle’s offered hand, palms smooth and soft against Cole’s calloused and rough.
“Please, call me Robert here.” Robert gave him an arrogant smile, wiping his released paw against the fine fabric of his jacket. “I see you met Shaun just fine.”
Confused, Cole turned, looking for the man whom he had overheard his uncle discuss with his mom on the few occasions he’d gone slumming in Sweetwater. “Huh?”
“My business partner, Ms. Shaun Wright.”
Cole realized Robert was directing his attention to the woman, who was now watching them with her arms folded across her midsection, a mischievous grin on her face.
“You?”
“Ms. Wright,” she corrected, smile widening.
CHAPTER 3
Cole followed Shaun into a glass-enclosed corner office, conflicting emotions churning his insides. Anger. Embarrassment. Shit, his uncle had nearly doubled over in laughter when he’d realized Cole thought his business partner of three years was a dude.
Shaun shut the door and motioned for him to sit. Cole plopped down into one of two leather chairs that faced a cluttered metal desk, a smile far from his lips. He cast a quick glance around the minimally furnished layout; a small conference table littered with stacks of folders and magazines sat behind him.
“I would think the Wright of Jacobson-Wright Contracting would have a penthouse office. I’m pretty sure my uncle does.” Despite feeling like a world-class moron, Cole couldn’t rein back his sarcasm. Standard-issue Jacobson men came equipped with an extra helping of the stuff, a defense mechanism when faced with the enemy. Although he didn’t really believe Shaun to be the enemy in this scenario, but his ego believed itself too wounded to differentiate.
Shaun took a seat behind the desk, placing her hands on top. A hint of a smile still played at the corners of her mouth. She at least had the decency to shield her laughter much better than his uncle had.
“He does, and so do I. However, most of my team is stationed on this floor, and I don’t believe I can be as effective delegating by a phone call or an email.”
Cole begrudgingly found her admission commendable and far removed from Robert’s business model, but he couldn’t shake the gender fiasco in the hall loose from his mind. “How long did you know who I was? Did you know last night?” The memory of his offer to pay her tab seemed even more ridiculous, kicking around the muffin sitting in his stomach like a rock.
Her eyes narrowed as if assessing the tone of his question. “You do look a lot like your uncle.”
“I look like my father,” he corrected.
Shaun studied his expression and shrugged. “It wasn’t until you stepped out of the elevator that I knew who you were.”
“I’m glad I was able to amuse you, then.” Cole brushed a few errant muffin crumbs from his pant legs and cleared his throat. “So what exactly is my job here?” The faster he was done with her, the sooner he could get started on his prison sentence.
Shaun sat back in her chair, clearly sensing the lingering presence of an attitude on his part but appearing determined to continue with their meeting. “You will be my senior design consultant. Probational, of course. We have a couple of huge contracts on the table, and so far the clients like nothing the current team members have proposed.” She shifted around a few of the green classification folders on her desk, in search of something. “Robert suggested you. To be honest, I was hesitant at first, but judging by the sketches I saw earlier, I think he might be right.”
She paused and glanced up with a friendly smile, but her unequaled beauty failed to subdue his simmering temper. If she was waiting for him to acknowledge the compliment, she’d be waiting a long time. He couldn’t make nice. Not yet.
Showing disregard for the absence of a polite response on his part, she tipped her head to the side and proceeded. “I’m not sure if Robert discussed salary with you, but entry level is forty-five thousand. However, given your educational background and your obvious proficiency with a pencil,” she gestured at the notebook he had set down on the chair beside him, “I’m willing to offer fifty thousand. How does that sound?”
Contrary to the playful demeanor she had displayed at the bar, Shaun was all business now, and Cole found himself in danger of being impressed. Too bad the mention of his uncle had only managed to rile him up again. He didn’t know the nature of the relationship between the two company heads. Had never cared enough to ask his uncle, but now his suspicions were piqued. Could they actually use his expertise, or was his addition to her team part of some intra-office social experiment, with him as the guinea pig?
“How old are you?”
Her back straightened. “I don’t see how that is any of your business.”
Cole snorted, unable to stop words he knew he would most likely regret from shooting out his mouth like projectile vomit. “How about, are you fucking my uncle? I mean, in addition to the blonde from last night. Considering he’s my family, I think that falls inside the parameters of ‘my business.’”
A flicker of something along the lines of anger skated behind her intense stare, but vanished just as quickly. “Very well. This conversation is over.” She leaned forward and pressed a button on her desk phone. “Henry, please show Mr. Jacobson to his office.”
Shaun stood and opened the door, staring in Cole’s direction but appearing unmoved by his accusation. In fact, she seemed to look right through him, as if he were just some cliché she dealt with on a daily basis.
“Henry, the office assistant on this floor, will get you set up on your desktop,” she continued coolly. “I will have Marcos drop off one of the client files I mentioned, and I expect to have your preliminary sketches on my desk by tomorrow morning.” The young man from the reception desk appeared in the doorway. “You’re new; therefore, I will give you a pass for your insubordination this once. But next time, I don’t care who you’re related to, I’ll fire your ass without a second thought.” Shaun turned to the assistant, who looked suspiciously smug considering what he had just walked into. “I’ll be upstairs for the rest of the afternoon, Henry. Forward my calls.”
“Yes, Ms. Wright.”
Cole remained glued to his leather chair, left alone with Henry and the growing realization that he had screwed up royally. He couldn’t help but feel remorse for having been such an asshole. He knew nothing about Shaun, her credentials, where she’d gone to school. Who was he to imply that she’d slept her way to partner just because he needed to feel a little bit better about himself? He was lucky she hadn’t thrown him out on his ass then and there, forcing his uncle to find another way for Cole to work off his debt. She had every damn right to. He didn’t believe for a second that Robert wouldn’t hear about this. Hell, she was probably on her way to his office right now. His uncle would either die from laughter or do something far worse.
“Already impressing the boss, I see,” Henry quipped. Yep, he officially hated Henry.
Cole moved to his feet and followed the assistant to the office directly across from Shaun’s. The space wasn’t quite as large as hers, but it was still a lot more than he’d expected. A wooden desk sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, and in the opposite
corner stood a drafting table.
“This is mine?”
Henry rolled his eyes and pointed at the nameplate on the door. COLE JACOBSON, SENIOR DESIGN CONSULTANT. Now he felt like a real dick.
By the time Henry left him alone, sick with guilt, Cole had already received the files from Marcos, his ankle surviving the reunion unharmed, and had logged into his personal email account on the fully loaded Mac Pro desktop the company had provided him with. College was the last time he had used one of those machines, the price more than he had ever cared to spend. Cole swiveled in his chair and allowed himself a moment to stare out the window. His steel prison with a view. Now he had an idea of how animals at the zoo felt, currently occupying the donkey enclosure himself.
Loosening his tie, Cole settled in to work on the sketches Shaun wanted by the morning. Instead of testing the capabilities of the Mac, he yanked some graph paper out of his notebook and grabbed a mechanical pencil from the drawer of his new desk. He moved over to the drafting table, working best by hand and letting his fingers translate the images in his mind’s eye. His father had always sketched customer requests, believing the manual effort made the result more personal. Cole agreed.
In contrast, Robert subscribed to a different line of thinking. A more distinct managerial approach to business. Sure he had always seemed driven. Almost to a fault, competing with Cole’s father for the attention he thought he deserved from Pop-Pop, Cole’s grandfather, who had often favored Robert’s older brother. Pop-Pop had never viewed status or material things as important for a man’s character. Robert couldn’t understand that. Not since those items mattered to him most. Cole always felt his uncle had resented his father and looked at Jacobson’s moment of weakness as some kind of triumph, especially the part where he acquired the use of his brother’s son in return.
Cole struggled to remain focused as the day progressed, the way he’d acted earlier plaguing his thoughts. Every now and then he glanced toward his open office door to see if Shaun might have decided to return. She deserved an apology, his actions completely out of line and not entirely out of character for him. Cole always had a temper when provoked. He only wished he could rewind back to this morning and start fresh. Instead, he would have to settle for getting what Shaun had asked for done, and done well.
Drawn Through You Page 2
