His handsome, chiseled-jawline face dropped, and he sighed.
“Someday Kelli … we’re going to talk about the past.”
I shrugged my shoulders and then took another large bite of ice cream. That was a dangerous and painful road, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to take that road with him, now or ever.
“Kelli, I understand what you’re telling me now, but believe me, it’s not that simple. I had to learn the hard way not to mix my professional life with my personal life.”
“But you ended up with a very successful company,” I countered.
“After lots of mistakes and at great cost.”
I hesitated to ask, but I was so curious. “Is that why you’re divorced?”
He was just about to take another bite of ice cream, but he slowly lowered it and placed it back in the carton gazing into my eyes the whole time. I got the feeling he didn’t like me mentioning he was divorced.
“I’m sorry, your personal life is none of my business.”
“Let’s just say I married for all the wrong reasons, business being one of them.”
I slightly cocked my head. What an odd reason, but I left it at that. I honestly didn’t like to think of him married. It reminded me that he rejected me.
“So … Kelli, can we call a truce at the office?”
I moved my head back and forth as I thought about his request. “I guess so, Mr. Greyson, but I hold out my right to reserve a break in said truce when I feel it necessary.”
His eyes sparkled in all their rich deliciousness. “I would expect nothing less of you.”
Chapter 9
The rest of the week had considerably fewer fireworks and blow-ups. I didn’t move the credenza, which I could tell irked him, but I wasn’t ready to completely give in to him—maybe after a few months if things went well. I even wore jeans to work on Thursday just to test the waters.
He raised his eyebrow at me. “Please don’t wear those to our meeting tomorrow.”
I politely, or maybe not so politely, told him he didn’t need to tell me that.
I was actually a little taken aback that he wanted me to attend this particular meeting. It was with the largest health insurance provider in the state of Tennessee. They were interested in doing a pilot program using our ad software. Boss usually handled clients this large, so I was pleased that Mr. Greyson asked me to join him; in fact, he insisted I do the presentation. Of course he gave me pointers, and he meticulously went through my PowerPoint and notes. He wanted me to script out everything I was going to say, but I told him I didn’t work that way. I always worked with an outline that gave me room to adjust depending on the mood and interaction of those in attendance. “I need to be organic when I present. Just trust me, I’m good at reading people,” I informed him.
I could tell he didn’t like it, but he reluctantly gave in. I’m sure he had a backup plan in place, just in case I screwed up.
When I arrived on Friday, I was dressed to kill; I pulled out the red pumps and a black dress that said, Hello. Mr. Greyson’s red and irritated eyes said just that when he saw me. Yep, he did a double take.
“I know it isn’t jeans, but I hope this works for you.” I smiled wickedly.
He cleared his throat. “It’s very appropriate.”
“Remember when I said you need to work on your compliment skills?”
“To properly compliment how you look would be inappropriate for the office.”
His response totally caught me off guard. “Why thank you.”
He shook his head at me.
“What’s wrong with your eyes, you look terrible.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bryant, for that observation. I’m having a terrible time with allergies; I’ve never had problems before. I even had to take my contacts out.”
“Welcome to the south,” I replied.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked.
I shook my head yes. “Just let me get my laptop.”
He offered to drive. I gave in and decided I would relent and let him drive me to our meeting. It was kind of weird for me. It brought back a lot of memories. I didn’t have a car my freshman year, and he was my main source of transportation. I kept reminding myself that memory was Ian, and I tried to pretend Ian didn’t exist—only Mr. Greyson did now.
We walked down together and out to his car. Oddly, he followed me to the passenger side and opened the door for me.
“Um … this isn’t a date.”
“Sorry, old habit.”
Yeah. This is why I didn’t want to drive with him, but he opened my door anyway. When he opened his own door, he looked at his hands. “What in the world is all this yellow stuff on everything?”
I laughed at him as he got in, but he began to reach up and rub his eyes. I instantly grabbed his hand without a second thought. He looked at me not sure how to react.
I tried not to react other than to say, “Believe me, you don’t want to touch your eyes. That yellow stuff is pollen.”
Only southerners would understand. Back west, pollen didn’t manifest itself this way.
I let go of his hand and reached into my satchel to pull out some wet wipes. “Here, wipe your hands off,” I said as I handed them over.
He took the wipe from my hand and wiped his hands as he looked at me curiously. I then handed him an allergy tablet. “This will just dissolve in your mouth, and it should help with your itchy eyes.”
“Will this make me drowsy?” he asked.
“I think what you meant to say was ‘Thank you, Ms. Bryant.’ Because Ms. Bryant isn’t fool enough to give someone medication that would make them an unsafe driver, especially when she’s a passenger.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bryant.”
“You’re welcome Mr. Greyson.”
He reached up in his visor and pulled out a pair of glasses and put them on. I smiled at him. There was my Ian.
“I know, I hate them, but I can’t drive without them with my contacts out.”
“I like the glasses,” I said quietly. I probably shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t help it. He looked at me like perhaps I was being insincere.
“Really, I do.”
And unfortunately I really did. I turned and looked forward and put my sunglasses on. We hadn’t even gone anywhere and I was ready to be out of the car with him. I kept repeating, This is Mr. Greyson, glasses or no glasses. I also tried not to remember the marathon make-out sessions that had occurred in his old Toyota Corolla. Boy did I miss that car.
Thankfully, he brought me back to reality when he asked me to run through my notes with him again. I normally would have declined, but under the circumstances, I was grateful to think about something other than him. He threw in some last minute suggestions, but I assured him I had this.
“You need to trust me. I have this. And you can always jump in if you need to. This isn’t just my show, we’re a team.” That sounded so weird to say.
He briefly glanced my way. “I like the sound of that.”
I looked out the window. “Yeah,” I mumbled.
The ride was mostly quiet after that, which was fine with me. It confused me when he was nice to me.
He was super tense as we walked in.
I laughed at him quietly. “Is this your status quo?”
“It helps me stay focused.”
“Ok, but at least smile.”
He looked at me and smiled.
“See that wasn’t so hard. Remember you’re in the south now.” Then I inadvertently winked at him. Stupid Kelli. He would probably send me an email later telling me that was unprofessional, but he did smile a true warm smile in response, so maybe not.
“We’re here to see Lorelai Duchane,” Mr. Greyson informed the receptionist. Lorelai Duchane was the CEO and President.
“They’re ready for you in conference room one,” said the receptionist, who looked like she was just out of puberty.
We followed her back and down a long hall. I noticed she had a hard time keeping her
eyes off my boss. I could hardly blame her.
We entered to find three others beside Lorelai. I scanned the room quickly to pick up any queues from my audience. I always tried to hone in on who I really had to sell because it wasn’t always the big boss, and it didn’t take long for me to see that was the case here. I needed to sell the hotshot in the corner, Nicholas Price. He was the Executive Vice President.
Without being too obvious, I directed my presentation to him and put on some subtle charm. It was working quite nicely. He even playfully bantered with me. By the end, I had him eating out of my hands, and he was selling it to Lorelai for me. I looked at Mr. Greyson, who surprisingly had let me do my job; he said maybe two words the whole time, and they were at appropriate times and blended well with the direction of the conversation. After the presentation, I let him take over and discuss the finer points of implementation and the mechanics of launching it on their site. He also addressed any security issues they had. We really were a good team; I had better people skills, and his technical knowledge and skills gave people confidence that we knew what we were talking about and that their data was safe with us.
I could tell that Mr. Greyson was pleased by the way he looked at me between questions and more requests for information. I could also tell that Nicholas Price wanted my attention. He kept trying to engage me in conversation that was unrelated to our product or presentation. I might have paid a little too much attention to him.
At the end of the meeting, he handed each of us his card, but he winked at me. “My personal number is on the back.” It was just like out of one of those bar scenes in a movie. I almost expected him to call me baby or something. He also held on to my hand longer than appropriate when shaking it. I gently tried to extricate it without appearing rude, even though it was he that was in the wrong. I could tell his overt advances bothered my ever proper boss (to be honest, they bothered me too); it was a good thing Nicholas didn’t work for him. I could tell Mr. Greyson was holding back his comments. I’m sure he wanted to school him in proper work place behavior.
As we walked out into the parking lot, I thought that Mr. Greyson would be happy, or at least pleased, but he seemed agitated.
“I think that went very well,” I said cheerfully.
“Maybe too well,” he muttered.
“How is that even possible? What’s wrong?”
He stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. “You did well.”
“Thank you?”
“Really, you did. We should go to lunch and celebrate.”
“Um … ok.”
He looked astounded; I was too. I normally would have declined, and I’m not sure why I didn’t, but oh well. I couldn’t back out of it now. Besides, it wasn’t an unusual request, Boss and I had been to lunch several times over the years to celebrate or to just have lunch together. I guess it was appropriate for Mr. Greyson and me to have the same type of post presentation lunch. Of course, he would never be a Boss, but like it or not, he was my boss.
He opened the car door for me again, and I grimaced. He didn’t say anything to my reaction, but his look conveyed that I could just deal with it. Plus, he didn’t seem like he was in the mood for my snarkiness. I was very confused by him. He should be happy, I had no doubt those guys were signing on the dotted line. I was trying to think of something to say as we drove to break the silence. I finally came up with, “Do you have any other ideas or contacts in other verticals we could approach? Because I was thinking we could go after …”
He abruptly interrupted me. “Are you going to call that guy? Because I don’t think that would be a good idea until we close this deal.”
“I’m not sure that’s any of your concern, in fact I know it’s not, but no, I have no intention of calling him.”
I could see him visibly relax, and he slowed down considerably. I forgot he drove fast when he was stressed. I just didn’t understand why this was such a stressor.
He glanced briefly over my way. “So why aren’t you going to call him?”
“Is that a real question?”
“Yes,” he said ever so seriously. “I think he is what most women would find attractive, and I guarantee his position there pays at least triple what you make.”
“And that should mean something to me why?” I asked.
“Money’s not important to you?”
“Not in that way, no. I don’t care about the size of a man’s paycheck, just as long as he’s a hard worker and a decent person.”
He laughed at me.
“Why are you laughing at me? I’m in earnest.”
He looked over at me again. I could tell he didn’t believe me.
That ticked me off, so I went off on him. “A good portion of the men that have meant the most to me in my life have made very little money. And just for the record, I wouldn’t date someone like Nicholas because I know his type, and no amount of money would compensate for it.”
I turned and looked out my window at the cars passing us by. For some reason I had the urge to cry. “Maybe we should just go back to the office,” I muttered.
I felt the slightest touch on my knee, but I didn’t react to it. I just kept staring out the window.
“Kelli, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you mean, Ms. Bryant?”
He didn’t respond.
“Apology accepted, Mr. Greyson.”
“Do you have any suggestions for where you would like to eat?” he asked cautiously, but with hope.
I thought for a moment. “Sure, there’s a great little café near the river walk.” I spouted out directions to him.
“So, just for the record, what type of man is Mr. Price?” he asked bravely, or maybe stupidly.
I wasn’t sure why he wanted to keep on this line of questioning. You would think he would leave well enough alone, but fine, I decided play along for a bit. “He’s all about the flash, there’s nothing real about him. A date with him would mean an exclusive, overpriced place, the food would be awful and the conversation would be worse, as it would center completely on him. Then he would probably have tickets to a sold out show and he would congratulate himself all evening for scoring said tickets. Then to top it off, he would expect to be paid back for showing you such a good time by some physical means. Of course, when that didn’t happen, he would be disgruntled, but he would play it off because now you just became a challenge and he likes the chase. But eventually he’d get tired of the chase and realize there were easier women out there, and he’d never call again.”
We had just pulled into the café parking lot. He turned the car off, and he looked over to me with a sense of delight in his expression. “You got all of that from one meeting?”
I stared directly at him. “I can read people very well, men in particular. And I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure to know a Nicholas or two in my day.”
He chuckled as we got out of the car.
It was such a beautiful day, I felt like it shouldn’t be wasted inside. “Would it bother your allergies too much if we ate outside?” I asked him.
“The allergy medicine seems to be working well.” He briefly took a moment to look around at our surroundings. “I think eating outside is a great idea.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being sincere or just trying to please me, but I just accepted it. I was hoping we would be lucky and there would be some struggling musicians playing out by the river. This was Nashville after all. He asked the hostess for a table for two outside, and we were immediately seated.
“They serve breakfast here all day and everything is fabulous,” I said as we looked at our menus.
Oddly enough, I ordered the Denver Omelet full of ham and cheesy goodness. I never understood why Denver was its namesake. He decided on their bleu cheeseburger and sweet potato fries. Of course he asked what temperature they cooked the burger to. I had to stop myself from laughing. It was a very Ian-like thing to do. The poor waitress had no idea; she had to ask someone. I just rolled my eyes.
&nb
sp; Once the flustered waitress left, he looked across the table at me. “Do you miss Colorado?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “Sometimes. I’ve been thinking I should take a vacation there someday. How about you? Are you homesick?” I asked.
“Men don’t get homesick.”
“Oh, ok.”
He grinned. “I find I’m liking Nashville more and more.”
That didn’t really answer my question. “Nashville’s great. It just lacks the mountain scenery,” I responded.
He looked out toward the river and then back to me. He stared at me for just a moment. “I’d say Nashville has some pretty great scenery of its own,” he said with a smile in his voice.
I cleared my throat, not sure what to make of that particular comment. I was saved from responding when our sweet little waitress returned with the waters we had ordered. After she set the glasses down, I noticed he was still staring at me.
“I’m curious, Ms. Bryant, you say you can read men well. What is your summation of me?”
“Ha! I don’t think you want to know.”
He tried to glower at me, but he didn’t really succeed. “Say you just met me today and I gave you my number. What would you think?”
“Oh, so now we’re pretending. Ok, fine.”
I studied him for a moment or two trying to keep my unflattering opinions of him out of it and think what I would think if I had never met him. I knew what I thought of him the first time I ever met him, but that was Ian, not Mr. Greyson, but I would think the same first thing, Oh my, he’s attractive. Yeah, I wouldn’t be saying that out loud. He kept looking at me eagerly.
“Well ... First of all, I would think it was out of character for you to hand me your number. You look like somebody that likes to be in control, you would want my number instead. That way you could control the variables and timing.”
“Very good,” he responded.
“I told you.” I sat back and congratulated myself silently.
“You can’t end it there, Ms. Bryant. You didn’t say whether you would give me your number or not.”
“No,” I said quickly.
Professional Boundaries Page 10
