Blood rushes to my face as I realize I more than just zoned out, I started to fantasize about Chris fingering me right here in the middle of this very visible conference room. Holy shit. “I’m okay,” I say. “Just a little dizzy for a second.”
“Well,” he says as he stands, holding out his hand to me, “your ankles seem okay. Did you hit your head?”
“No, I don’t think so.” I twist and stretch, seeing if everything feels fine, and it does. “I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Flintlock, I didn’t realize there was a step up.”
Chris freezes, his eyes suddenly narrowing. “How do you know my name?”
Apparently him knowing who I am only extends as far as my fantasies. I straighten my spine, put on my best winning smile, and hold out my hand. “My name is Scarlett Brown. I’m your marketing associate for the trip. I just got in, came straight from the airport.”
He doesn’t take my hand. Instead, his face falls, his eyes go dark and cold, and I suddenly feel like the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. He walks away from me back to the head of the table, picking up his cellphone. He dials it without looking at me, and I can practically see him vibrating with angry energy. I look around at the mess I made in my fall, coffee and paper are strewn everywhere.
I start picking up the stack of papers, better than waiting for Chris to look at me again.
“Maureen,” his voice rings through the room, and I freeze. “Chris Flintlock.”
Maureen is the name of my boss—the woman who just put me on the red-eye here.
He continues, and my stomach continues to drop. “I need you to send someone else to New York.” A pause, “No, that’s not going to work.”
I gather up the rest of the papers, setting them on the table. I pick up and throw away the spilled coffee cups, thanking whatever lucky stars I have left that the carpet is black and that this won’t leave a stain. “I don’t care what you do with her. Bring her back to Seattle, fire her, send her to the moon, that’s not my concern. I need someone who can get the job done.”
Rage burns through me, and I turn around marching towards him. “Now wait just a minute—”
Chris holds up a hand to me, listening to whatever Maureen is saying on the end of the line. I grit my teeth at the indignity of being cut off like that. Whatever it is he’s hearing, he’s not enjoying it. “Fine,” he says, his voice practically a growl. “But we will have a conversation about this when I get back to Seattle.” He cuts off the phone call, tossing his phone onto the table. “Looks like we’re stuck with each other. Maureen can’t send anyone else in time.”
I paste on a sickly smile. “Despite that unfortunate spill, I actually am good at my job.”
His eyes drag up and down my body, catching right at my breasts. I look down to see that my shirt has come unbuttoned in the fall, giving Chris a view of way too much cleavage. I pull my shirt together quickly, covering myself. He finishes his perusal of me, glancing to where I’ve picked up the papers and coffee. “What I see right now is that you’re sloppy. I hate sloppy.”
The words are like a slap in the face. If he knew any of my work at the office in Seattle, he wouldn’t say I was sloppy. But you know what, it doesn’t matter. Even if Christopher Flintlock is a total bastard wrapped in a delicious package, I’m going to do my best. I’m going to knock his socks off and succeed. By the time we get back to Seattle and he has to have that conversation with Maureen he’ll be singing my praises enough that I’ll get another promotion. “By the time we’re finished here you’ll change your mind about me,” I say, trying to project smooth and utter confidence.
“I’m not holding my breath,” he says, gathering his things together. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel.”
I follow him, but not before making a face at his back as he exits the room.
2
Chris
“What do you mean there is no reservation?” I ask the woman at the front desk, desperately trying to keep my cool. “This reservation should have been made a week ago along with mine.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Flintlock,” she says. “There were two reservations here. But when you weren’t accompanied by any colleagues you were upgraded to a suite and the other room was dropped.”
The anger feels like ice in my veins. “Why on earth would someone on your staff do that?”
“I don’t know,” the woman winces. She knows they made a mistake.
“Can we please get an extra room now? We’re short on time.”
The look on her face is painful now. “That’s the thing. We don’t have any.”
“What do you mean you don’t have any?”
“There’s a conference at the hotel, and we’re entirely booked up.”
The anger spreads to my gut, churning. I hate it when things don’t go according to plan, and there have already been too many things toady that haven’t gone according to plan. “A conference?”
“Yes sir.” She taps a sign that’s on the front desk. “We’re hosting the annual ADA conference for dental hygienists here in the hotel. Every room we have is booked for the next three days.”
I glance at the sign. It features a dancing tooth, saying ‘The American Dental Association welcomes you!’ I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Of course I’m getting screwed—or should I say drilled—by a bunch of dental hygienists. She’s going to have to stay in my suite. This is the last thing I need right now.
“Fine,” I say to her, barely managing to keep the word civil. I turn away from her before she can tell me she’s sorry. Scarlett is waiting for me a few feet away, watching calmly. I can’t read what she’s feeling, her face is relaxed hearing the news. Coffee is sprinkled on her shirt and I have a hard time keeping my eyes away—especially now that I’ve seen a peek of what lies beneath. “There was a mistake with the reservation,” I say. “There aren’t any rooms.”
She tries to cover it up, but I see the momentary panic that comes into her face. That look on her face unsettles me, and I hurry to assure her. “I have a suite. It has an extra bedroom. You can stay there.”
Her body visibly relaxes, and the fact that she’s not worried makes me feel better than it should. I shouldn’t care at all. She’s a mess, and she should be back on a plane to Seattle right now. Instead she’s going to be sleeping just a few feet away from me. This is so not what I need.
“Thanks,” she says, as I start walking towards the elevators.
“No problem.”
When I saw her walk
in through the door of that conference room, I wasn’t sure what to think. I knew that I hadn’t expected someone like her to walk through the door. I got a picture of blonde curls and curves that would drive any man crazy. My dick jumped straight to attention, and it shocked the hell out of me. Then she fell, and something in my gut pulled, and I had to make sure she was okay. I found myself drawn to her, making her comfortable, making sure nothing hurt. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that kind of immediate attraction to someone. And since I’m not at home, I figured it wouldn’t be a problem.
But I don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Business is business. It needs to run like clockwork, no mistakes, no hesitation. When you mix in personal relationships with your business, things get complicated. Messy. Sloppy. Like I already said once today, I hate sloppy.
I don’t have any doubt that I can control myself, but I’m still hesitant about having her here. The Pleasure Chest deal is important. We need the kind of partnership they can provide—enough capital to help us with expanding our operation, and getting in on a brand that itself is ripe for expansion. Nothing can go wrong with this, and I can’t have someone falling into the room on these meetings. And I certainly can’t be worried about being distracted by her.
The elevator opens on the sixteenth floor, and I listen to the sound of her small suitcase rolling on the carpet. I open the door to my room—our room— and let her inside. It’s a suite, but not a big one. A tiny kitchen flows into a small sitting area that’s next to my bed. Through an archway is the second bedroom—her room, and there’s one bathroom. As she passes by me, I get a hint of perfume, something warm and sugary. The scent draws my eyes to her, and I watch as she takes in the room, watch the way her ass fills out the skirt.