Sienna, stuck somewhere back in Jesse’s comment about wanting her in colors to complement her hair, lifted her chin.
“I make my own choices.”
Jesse raised one dark eyebrows. “And I make the decisions.”
If looks could kill, he would have been dead.
Sienna left the fitting room for the last time fifteen minutes later.
She was wearing a fitted jacket over a chocolate-brown silk dress, and, yes, the colors were perfect with her hair. Another swift-moving clerk had brought shoes—Jesse had bitten his lip at the sound of Sienna’s laughter over whatever had been the first pair offered. This pair was fine. They were slender high heels the color of the jacket, matched by a small purse that hung from her shoulder. Someone from one of the fancy makeup counters on the first floor had popped in with a bag of tricks: lipstick, mascara, the whisk of a comb through those gold-tinged curls…
“Madam looks exquisite,” the clerk said, though grudgingly.
Jesse said nothing.
“Well?” Sienna said. “Will I do?”
“You’ll do,” he said, and just for an instant, the air between them took on that electric heat they’d generated before. He liked what he saw, she thought, and despite all her promises to herself about not wanting him, a tremor went through her, so intense and so swift that it made her heart gallop.
Their eyes met. Time seemed to stop. Then he cleared his throat, went back to looking removed and irritated, and stood up.
“The bill,” he snapped. The clerk handed it over, Jesse dealt with it, and then they went down the escalator, into another taxi, and were quickly deposited outside an imposing brick building.
“Where are we?” Sienna hissed as Jesse clamped his hand around her elbow.
“We’re meeting with my financial consultant,” he said, and after that, the entire day went to hell.
It was all her doing, she knew it.
And knew that her job had gone the same way.
But, really, was it entirely her fault? Didn’t some of the blame start with the groomed-to-within-an-inch-of-her-life receptionist, wearing flared trousers that put her waistline in the vicinity of her ribs and, yes, shoes with what looked like a four-inch platform? The woman beamed at Jesse.
“Mr. Blackwolf, how lovely to see you, sir. Mr. Henley’s expecting you.”
Not even a glance spared for Sienna. Jesse didn’t mention her presence, either. Okay. She was a secretary. Not a PA or an Admin Assistant. Basically, she was a PNN. Persona non noticeable. Or something like that.
Henley’s secretary came out to greet them. “Mr. Blackwolf, sir. It’s good to see you.”
This time, a glance went in Sienna’s direction. Sienna smiled pleasantly. “How do you do? I’m—”
“This way, Mr. Blackwolf.”
Sienna narrowed her eyes. “I have a name,” she said coldly. “I am not invisi—”
Jesse’s fingers bit into her elbow.
“You’re here to take notes,” he said in a low voice. “Not to intrude or interfere. Got that?”
“Whatever you choose to call them, you should remember that women who take notes and run themselves ragged for men like you are not pieces of furniture.”
“The last place you ran yourself ragged for a man like me was last night, in front of the fireplace,” he said even more coldly than she. “And it was hardly an event I’d want to remember.”
God, he was despicable! Sienna clamped her lips together and followed him into a lush office. A football field long, at least. Or damned close.
“Jesse,” the small man behind the big desk boomed as he shot to his feet, hand extended.
“Henley.” Jesse shook the man’s hand. Sienna waited expectantly. “My secretary,” he said. No name. No look in her direction. None from Henley, either.
Sienna gritted her teeth.
Jesse took a chair before the desk. Sienna looked around. There was a straight-backed chair against the wall. Jesse looked at her, jerked his head toward the chair. She marched to it. Could you grit your teeth hard enough to dislocate your jaw?
“Coffee?” Henley said.
Jesse nodded. “That would be fine.”
The small man looked at his secretary. “Coffee for Mr. Blackwolf, tea for me.” He chuckled. “I’ve had enough caffeine for the day.”
“Oh,” Sienna said brightly, “tea has as much caffeine as…” They all looked at her. She cleared her throat. “Actually, I’d prefer tea, too, if you—”
She was still speaking when the secretary left. Henley and Jesse chatted about this and that. Definitely, you could dislocate your jaw, so Sienna gave up tooth-grinding for lip-gnawing. She endured the serving of coffee and tea to the two men, took out a notebook, uncapped a ballpoint pen and prepared to take notes.