Spring Training

by KB Winters

  Maybe the entire thing was too shtick-y.

  “I would say, make the design and logo all black, keep the bold lettering, and lose the lightning bolt. Maybe outline the letters with the electric blue if it absolutely has to stay. That would make the letters stand out more. I would display the watches in solid black boxes with the same shocking blue on the inside lining. That would make the gold and platinum pop, especially on the ones with stones on them. That would probably draw the eye even more in a case of them and would probably sell more of those more expensive ones. They need to hire a team. I’m thinking three, celebrities that are cool, young, and fresh. Action stars—but again, no super heroes or Indiana Jones, so they shouldn’t even think Harrison Ford, no matter how incredible he is. Anyways, the commercials should have slick cars, gorgeous women, but not slutty ones, and then some kind of flash, lux backdrop. Each one could tell a story, and of course, the hero wears the watch. Maybe nothing but the watch…” She drifted for a moment before shaking her head and blushing slightly at her unfiltered comment. “Just my two cents.”

  My mouth was practically hanging open by the time she finished. Her marketing talk had my cock halfway ready to go, and the way her pouty lips moved, had it the rest of the way there.

  She ran her eyes over me. “I mean, really, what you’re wearing would totally work. If you have a sports car to back up that suit, you should call Timeless and offer to be their model.”

  “Thank you. I do have a pretty sick car, but I’m not really in the market for a modeling gig.”

  She nodded, and I noted that her skin flushed slightly.

  “Really though, that critique was fantastic. You’re going to be a great asset to a marketing team. You’ll probably have people knocking you over to offer you a job by the end of this thing.”

  She laughed. “Oh, I’m not—no, no, I’m not a marketer.”

  I brushed over her comment and extended her my hand, “I didn’t catch your name.”

  She took it and gave me another glimmer of her perfect smile. “I’m Megan Louise, but most people call me Megan.”

  “Megan,” I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue. “I’m Grant, but most people call me Mr. Christiansen.”

  “Grant Christiansen? As in—” Her eyes flicked over to the Shock Watches display.

  I nodded, unable to hold back a small smile at her growing horror.

  She immediately dropped my hand and it flew back to cover her mouth. “Oh my God!”

  Chapter Two — Megan

  Grant Alexander Christiansen? Did I really just trash the Shock Watches display to none other than the CEO of Timeless Timepieces?

  Oh my God.

  “I might have misheard you, but did you just say that you’re not in the marketing program?” Grant asked, sailing right over my mini-freak out.

  I zeroed back in on what he had just said. “Right, um. No, I’m a graphic design major.”

  He nodded, and I wanted to melt into a puddle and slide down a storm drain somewhere.

  “I see. Well, let me tell you, I’ve been in there,” he pointed at the auditorium, “all day, and yours is the first pitch that’s really captured my interest.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I fidgeted with my hands that were laced together in front of me.

  “Megan?”

  “Yes?” I forced myself to look up and meet his slate colored eyes. His face had an edge of familiarity and I knew I’d probably seen him in a magazine or newspaper article before, or something online, either way, I should have known better than to run my mouth. I’d made a complete idiot of myself. What did I know about marketing? He said he thought it was a good pitch, but clearly he was just being kind since I probably looked ready to bolt into oncoming traffic.

  “What are you doing here, if you’re a graphic designer?”

  I sighed. As much as I wanted to run away, I needed a little more time to try and come up with a graceful way to exit the conversation. “My friend Jeanine is presenting today and she was sort of losing her mind, so I came for moral support. But, I like coming to the event anyway, to see the logos and marketing materials. I do an internship at a printing press and we do stuff like this—” I tossed a glance at the bright Shock Watches display.

  Grant looked at me like he had just received some type of revelation. “Aha. So that’s where you got your critical eye.”

  “I wished you’d told me who you were before I went off like that. I tend to get a little fired up…about art and design.”

  He stepped closer, and I caught a whiff of his cologne. It was seductive and masculine, I couldn’t place the notes, but I knew it was unlike anything I’d ever smelled before, but now that I had, I’d have to hold myself back from outright sniffing the air around him.

  “I think you’re wasting your time with design,” he said, his words blunt and unapologetic.

  My eyes flew to his, wide with alarm at his accusation. “Excuse me?”

  “You have the mind of a marketer. You should be in there too. The fact that you were able to analyze and reconfigure an entire campaign within five minutes of seeing it, and to not be in marketing, shows that you have a raw talent.”

  I glared up at his face that hadn’t changed expression since he introduced himself to me. How dare he? Who did he think—okay, well, now I knew who he was—but still…

  I crossed my arms. “Listen, Mr. Christiansen, with all due respect, you don’t know me. So you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t suddenly rush to the front office and demand a change to my major.”

  He laughed and it was a low, smooth sound that reverberated through my entire body.

  “I’m not advising that you change your major,” he replied.

  “It sounded like you were. If I’m just wasting my time with art,” I fired back, not caring to even try and hide the sarcasm from my tone. Just because he was some stuffy rich dude in a power suit, didn’t mean he could just walk around dictating the lives of others, like some weird walking, talking career aptitude-test.

  “I’m offering you a job, Megan. I want you to come and work with me at Timeless Timepieces. Obviously, I need your help,” he continued, raising his hand to showcase the ugly display board in our backdrop.

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “I’m sorry, but you what?”

  “I want you to work for me. Let’s set up a meeting.” He handed me one of his glossy, black business cards.

  I held up my hand. “Stop right there, I don’t think we’re on the same page here. You want me to work for you? Doing marketing?”

  “Yes.”

  Had I slipped and hit my head in the shower this morning? I couldn’t remember any kind of trauma, but then again, I wouldn’t, would I? It was like I’d been dropped into another person’s reality for the day. Megan Sinclair didn’t get job offers from famous billionaires. In fact, Megan Sinclair didn’t even talk to guys that looked like Grant Christiansen.

  I looked him up and down again—yeah, I’d definitely never done this before.

  Grant Christiansen was tall, nearly a foot taller than my 5’3 frame, and where my body was curved and soft, his was hard and solid underneath the sharply cut suit that looked like it was custom made to mold to every inch of his broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long legs. My eye took their second—or, was it third—tour of his magnificent body, not able to reign in my lustful, hungry gaze.

  When my eyes finally made their way back up to Grant’s slate grey ones, they were two shades darker and an amused grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “What do you think?”

  That I am in way, way over my head just being in the same zip code as you…

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Christiansen, but I’m not interested. I’m sure the watches will do just fine without me.” I spun on my heel and hurried away from him as fast as my wobbly legs could take me. Thank God I wasn’t wearing heels like most of the women around me. The last thing I needed was to trip and fall headfirst into a trash can or bush while Mr. Billionair
e was still watching me.

  I put as much space between Grant and myself as I started looking for my friend, Jeanine, who I was supposed to be meeting up with for lunch, but the courtyard and breezeways were clogged full of people coming and going and it was impossible to find her in the sea of faces. I circled back around the loop, hoping I wouldn’t run into Grant again. The whole encounter had been so jarring. Why had he let me go on and on like that before introducing himself? I’d made a complete ass out of myself to one of the richest—not to mention scrumptious—guys in California.

  But, I quickly decided that off-the-charts, melt-your-panties hotness was not an excuse for his rather bad behavior. Sure, he was suave and cool about it, but he had basically just told me that the last three years of art classes were all for nothing and that I’d somehow missed my real calling. What the hell had that all been about?

  And that job offer? That had to have been his idea of a joke. Right? No one in their right mind offered someone a job at such a prestigious company after an introduction like that. I tried to coax my mind into recalling any shard of information I knew about him. It started coming back in little bits. I remembered that a few years ago, his father had died. It had been all over the news, but other than mentioning Grant was to be the heir and new CEO of Timeless Timepieces, the articles never seemed to give much more details. Or, if they had—I’d skipped over it. I wasn’t exactly the type to pore over the business news section on my internet homepage. The only reason I’d seen anything at all was because my dad was old school and insisted on getting a copy of the daily news delivered to the front walk, no matter how many times I’d tried to show him that he could find the same information, a thousand times faster—and for free—on his smartphone.

  Jeanine was nowhere in sight, and I was forced to go back and retrace my steps. I was still fuming over the meeting with Grant and replaying my side of the conversation—thinking of all the things I wished I’d said—when a voice called out to me.

  “Looking for me?”

  I cringed at the slow, sultry drawl. I spun around on my heel and sure enough, Grant was there, leaning up against the retaining wall—probably getting his Armani all dusty—although, what did he care? A snap of his fingers and he could have a butler fetch him a new one and messenger it to him lickedy-split.

  Must be nice…

  “Are you following me?” I asked, crossing my arms and shooting him what I hoped was my most scathing of glances.

  Grant smiled, revealing a subtle dimple in his left cheek that I hadn’t noticed before. It gave a hint of boyish charm to his bad boy grin. “What can I say, I’m a persistent guy. When I see something I want, I don’t stop until it’s mine.”

  Holy hell. My entire body lit up in flames at the mental images that his words stirred up.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you then, but, I’m afraid this isn’t a battle you’re going to win. I’m not a marketer, and I’m way too busy right now to even think about taking on a job. I already have a full course load and an internship. So, even if I wanted to work for you—which, I don’t—I couldn’t.”

  His smile didn’t fade. “We’ll see.”

  Before I could even build some kind of smart reply, he pushed off the wall and walked past me, leaving me flushed and pissed off in the lingering scent of his expensive cologne.

  I was still reeling from the whole thing when Jeanine, my friend who actually was a marketing student, flagged me down from across the courtyard. She was bouncing and excited to tell me all the details about how her presentation had gone, and although I wanted to, I didn’t tell her what had just happened to me, or who I’d met.

  It would be best to scrub the whole thing from my mind and move on. After all, maybe I’d dreamed up the entire thing. Maybe I should ask my brother Robbie if he’d heard any loud thumps when I was in the shower that morning…

  Real, or not, the sooner I could forget about the whole thing, the sooner I could go back to normal.

  Chapter Three — Grant

  The rest of the symposium passed at a slow crawl. After the last of the presentations, I met with a few students by the Shock Watches display, but was disappointed to find that the majority of them wanted to kiss my ass instead of offering up any real feedback or advice on the ads. Nothing any of them said came close to Megan’s dissection of the campaign.

  “So, what do you think, Mr. Christiansen?”

  I tuned back into the conversation I was having with an over-eager student, Max or was it Mark? Either way, his idea was trash, and for the last ten minutes I’d been waiting for him to run out of steam long enough for me to tell him to go back to the drawing board before he tried to pitch it to anyone else. He was looking at me with a familiar sparkle in his eyes and I felt bad for him. I handed him my card. “Call me and we’ll set something up.”

  He practically ripped the card from my fingers. “Thank you, Mr. Christiansen!”

  I nodded to dismiss him and watched as he ran over to tell his group of partners and show off the black card as though it were some kind of trophy.

  I checked my watch—a platinum replica of the first watch my grandfather, Alexander Sherman Christiansen, had ever made back when he started Timeless Timepieces in the twenties—and decided I’d put in enough time at the event. A few of my assistants would be arriving soon to take down the booth and return the materials to the office. I took one long look back at the electric blue sign and shook my head. Megan’s assessment was still ringing in my mind.

  “Mr. Christiansen?”

  I spun around to find the blonde that I recognized from Fuego. “Hello.” I offered her my hand, making it apparent that this was to be a professional meeting only.

  She shook my hand with a limp wrist, and then slid her fingers slowly from mine. Her eyes locked with mine leaving no doubt that she remembered exactly where she’d seen me last.

  Shit.

  “How can I help you?” I asked in hopes of moving the conversation along. I glanced around, seeing all the students milling about. If she spoke even one decibel too loudly about seeing me at Fuego, everyone on campus would know my secrets before the cafeteria closed for the night.

  “My name is Angela Wills. I’m a marketing student here,” she said. She didn’t even bother trying to conceal her wandering eyes as she scanned my body from head to toe.

  “Yes, I saw your presentation. Excellent job,” I lied. In reality, she’d been like walking cardboard allowing her tits to do most of the talking. She picked just the right moment to lean over to retrieve her notes, turning quickly enough to her presentation board that her cleavage danced for the front row of—mostly male—professors. They happened to be the scoring panel for the event. She’d been pretty slick, but it had caught my attention right away. Although, not in a good way. Women like her were a dime a dozen.

  “Thank you,” she said, giggling and playfully slapping my forearm.

  I gave her a tight lipped smile. She was a pretty girl with long blonde hair that hung straight with a razor sharp edge that told me she spent a lot of time in a salon. Her lips were full and her teeth perfect when she laughed—not too much, not too little. She was wrapped in a short black dress that was made from some kind of clingy fabric, jersey with maybe a hint of spandex that suctioned the dress to her curves, displaying her tanned and toned legs and arms.

  I recalled the last time I’d seen her, at Fuego, waiting for a Dom to choose her from the lineup. At the time, she’d only worn a crystal encrusted bra and thong with a matching chain around her neck. I’d noticed her, but not enough to choose her.

  Her giggle faded and an awkward silence took its place. She looked up at me expectantly. “It was nice to meet you,” I said, hoping she was smarter than she looked and that she’d take the hint and go away.

  She smiled and leaned in close to me. Her tits grazed my chest as she whispered, “If you thought that was a good presentation, you should see what I can do behind closed doors. Next time you’re at Fuego give
me a chance to show you all of my talents.” She pulled back and flashed another perfect smile before turning away and instantly getting swallowed up in the crowd.

  In her absence, I started wondering if a trip to Fuego—or any one of the other BDSM clubs—might be what I needed to clear my mind. It had been far too long since the last time I’d had a chance to go. Things at the office had required working sixty hour weeks, and by the time I shut down my office for the night I was too exhausted to do much of anything. In advance of the symposium, I’d cleared my schedule and arranged the rest of the day off. I knew that if I went to the office I could find more than enough work to occupy my busy mind, but I also knew that I needed—and deserved—a break.

  I left campus and drove around waiting for Fuego to open but found myself thinking more about the slightly Gothic angel, Megan Louise. For whatever reason she was glued in the front of my mind, and even when I knew Fuego was open and full of available, hot women who would be ready and willing to indulge my every fantasy, I turned the car around and sped through town. I headed back to my condo instead.

  I handed off the keys to the valet who would stow my vintage Ferrari away in the extra secure underground lot beneath the high rise. That was just one of the perks of living in the exclusive building. Last time I checked, the waiting list to nab one of the luxury condos was over four years. With sweeping views and more amenities than most hotels, it was the best place to live in California. My family had owned a home there for over a decade, and when I took over as CEO of Timeless Timepieces, my mother had insisted that I take it up as my full time residence. Prior to that, my father had used it as a crash pad for the weeks that got really hectic at the office and he wasn’t left with enough energy to make the drive back to the hills where my childhood home stood poised over some of the best acreage in the state.