She arches one of her perfect eyebrows. “You don’t get where you are because of luck. Good timing maybe, smart business practices and a charismatic personality, yes. But definitely not luck.”
I nod, taking in her slightly stiff posture. I’m about to address the elephant in the room, but she does it before I can.
“You look so different without the beard. And the suit. You look different.” London motions to my attire, eyes following the same circuit as her flailing hand, which she quickly clasps with the other one and settles them firmly on top of the table, leaning in. “Are you seriously planning to give Spark House this opportunity or is your plan to dangle the carrot in front of me and then pull it away for turning you down?”
“Pardon?” I’m more than a little taken aback by her directness, and the question itself.
“This whole meeting, you showing up out of nowhere, am I supposed to believe it’s all a coincidence?”
I take a seat so we’re eye to eye. “Despite how it may appear, Spark House being chosen was entirely coincidental. As for dangling carrots, that’s not how I operate.”
Her fingers press together, the knuckles turning white. “So you being a jerk in that meeting had nothing to do with a bruised ego?”
“A jerk?” I feel my eyebrows lift. I should not find the way she’s schooling me attractive right now.
“With the way you put me on the spot. Or is that how you are all the time?”
I don’t know how to respond. I consider my line of questioning in the meeting. It seemed appropriate at the time, something I’d ask anyone who was making a presentation. However, now that I’m viewing it through her lens, I realize that given the circumstances, I could see how she’s misconstruing my thoroughness as being purposefully hard on her. “In this particular case, my behavior was inadvertent.”
“So you’re often inadvertently intimidating?”
I lean back in my chair, hoping to appear casual and less … intimidating. “In business affairs, I tend to be a straight shooter. Which may come across as harsh at times.”
London purses her lips and regards me shrewdly. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth for a second before setting it free. “You seem to be a pretty straight shooter outside of business affairs too. You really look very different than when I first met you.” It almost sounds like an accusation.
I rub my chin. It’s mostly smooth, only a hint of shadow. “Ah yes, well, I’d just returned from a camping trip.”
London’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “Camping? In a tent?”
I laugh, appreciating how perceptive she is. I realize what she’s getting right now is contradictory to the version of me she met a few months ago.
“No, not in a tent. In a trailer.” I leave out the fact that it’s more of a luxury mobile home, set on a remote lake between Boulder and Colorado Springs. As much as I love the escape, it hadn’t been a particularly pleasurable trip. I’d needed a reset after spending a few weeks in Peru, helping oversee the cleanup of a chemical spill. Mostly I drank scotch, ate whatever food was brought to me by delivery persons every few days, and pondered my existence.
I knew I’d reached my time-out limit when my best friend, Trent, flew in from New York to get me. And we’d ended up at the pub. After a shower and a change of clothes, of course. I wasn’t a complete barbarian. The liquid courage was a strong force that night. So was the knowledge that I wasn’t getting any younger, and that every single relationship I’d had ended the same way: I worked too much and I wasn’t emotionally available.
It wasn’t untrue. I was highly aware that I kept everyone—apart from a very select few—at arm’s length.
Except that night.
There had been three women at the table, but if asked, London would be the only one I could describe. Long blond hair the color of butter that fell in waves past her shoulders. Warm green eyes, wide and expressive. Perfect regal nose and lips that were made for kissing.
She’d been so alive, her laugh musical, and her easy conversation with the women she was with told me they were a unit. The best of friends.
I watched her pull strips of paper out of her purse and turn them into what looked like little balls. But when I’d approached her table, I realized they were stars. Tiny puffy stars. I’d taken one, sure she wasn’t going to miss it.
I approached her like everything in my life, head-on, take the reins. I’d probably come on too strong, considering the way it had blown up in my face. But here she is again.
Just as beautiful as I remembered. And now I have an excuse to get to know her. But I realize I’ve boxed myself into a corner. I’ve just committed to a business deal with her. Which means I have to remain professional.