What Lola Wants (Leave Your Shoes On 1)

Maxi headed to the door with Avril hot on her high heels. They traveled the hallway to the main conference room. Maxi’s nerves jumped. She was typically a very grounded, steady person. Not easily flustered or derailed. But being catapulted into the center of attention and a company crisis that could lead to financial ruin? Yeah, that was enough to sufficiently rattle her cage.

She discreetly employed breathing exercises as she entered the room. Nearly twenty junior and senior executives had already situated themselves around the enormous, polished-wood conference table with a granite inset where microphones were evenly spaced and outlets were inconspicuously housed. Staci Kay herself had originally indicated she’d call in to the meeting, but the Board of Directors had her engaged in an emergency session offsite. That session would be supplemented with whatever brilliant ideas came from this particular meeting.

Oh, dear God, let there be brilliant ideas from this group!

Maxi might have just been promoted, but that didn’t mean Staci couldn’t turn around and drop the axe on her if she didn’t deliver.

A distressing thought, not just because Maxi had recently purchased her first condo and it’d be a damn shame to go into foreclosure if she depleted her savings and couldn’t continue to pay the mortgage.

More than that, though, Maxi was a firm believer in the empowerment of sexy shoes and she fully embraced the company’s vision of not only selling shoes that fit the size and style of the entire female demographic, but keeping the cost down as well, so that they were affordable.

Staci’s motto was that one’s personal style should not be hindered by a lofty price tag. Maxi wholeheartedly agreed. And it was her duty and destiny to ensure Staci Kay shoes made it into the hands of loyal consumers.

Come hell or high water.

So she marched to the front of the room, her chin lifted high, her shoulders squared. This was her golden opportunity to prove she was worthy of this promotion regardless of how it’d come about, and to secure the confidence of her colleagues.

Everyone was settled with coffee and Danishes. Avril placed the box of folders on the floor at the head of the long, oval table where Maxi’s nameplate sat and awaited Maxi’s cue to pass them out.

Maxi’s palms were a bit clammy, but she made eye contact with each person as she said, “Good morning. Thank you so much for being here promptly at eight thirty. As you all know, we have a complex situation on our hands, and it’s going to require our collective thoughts and strategic tactics to come up with a solution.”

She turned to Avril and nodded, giving the signal to distribute the packets containing three typed pages of the Staci Kay Shoes’ history leading up to the current predicament.

Avril knelt t

o retrieve the folders, but straightened quickly when the door swung open and a tall dark-haired man wearing a navy suit and tortoise-shell rimmed glasses sauntered in, nabbing everyone’s attention.

“Ah,” he said, his Australian accent thick and… sexy?

Maxi shook her head.

Whoa, where had that thought come from?

“I’ve found the right room,” he added with an impish grin. “Do you realize this building has thirty-two conference rooms and three of them start with Gold: Operations—and the office map does not indicate which room is A, B, or C?”

“This is A,” Maxi informed him, slightly amused by his rant and slightly annoyed that he’d interrupted her dog and pony show, because it took a shitload of nerve for her to stand before all of these people when tensions were so high. “The largest of the Operations conference rooms.”

“Fantastic. That means I’m in the right place.” He thrust a hand toward her. “Dr. Ryan Donovan. That’s PhD, not MD, so please don’t ask me to diagnose any sort of personal ailment.” He chuckled softly at his own joke.

“Duly noted,” Maxi said as her palm slid across Einstein’s. His skin was warm and smooth. No calluses, unlike her ex, Kev, who might as well be a lumberjack for the rough patches he’d never bothered to buff away. Even after he snagged her clothing.

Not that Dr. Ryan Donovan’s neatly trimmed nails and refreshingly supple skin mattered. Why on Earth would that even register in her mind?

She mentally pushed the thought from her head.

“Although,” the PhD continued in his deep, disturbingly arousing tone, “I am here to help provide a cure for what ails Staci Kay Shoes.” He smiled smugly, as though pleased with his play on words.

Maxi fought a grin. He was slightly infuriating in a really titillating way.

“And you are?” he politely demanded.

“Maxi Shayne,” she told him as she gave a solid hand pump that seemed to take him aback—as though he weren’t expecting that from a woman. Or at least, not one of her slight build. “Vice President of Operations.”

“Oh. I see.” He jerked his hand from hers and pushed his glasses a quarter of an inch up his nose.

His very rugged-looking nose. Not that she could justify what made that adjective spring to mind, except for the fact that, as she studied him closely, everything about his handsome face was rugged. Square jaw line. Chiseled cheeks. Dark-brown irises that instantly made her crave melted Godiva chocolate poured over lush, velvety strawberries.

Exhilaration rippled through her as it always did at the mere notion of dessert—her favorite meal of the day.