I left out that I’d asked said loose cannon out on a date. Luckily, it seemed Little Miss Wedding Crasher hadn’t shared that tidbit either when she’d talked to my sister.
I shook my head, still digesting that my sister had invited Stella to present for the investment team. “No, Olivia. Just no.”
“My God, Hudson. I remember when you weren’t such a perfect person. If my memory serves me right, Dad had to bail you out after you were arrested for breaking and entering once.”
“I was seventeen and drunk and thought it was our house…”
My sister shrugged. “What about the time you blew up a porta potty on a construction site? The only reason you didn’t get arrested that time is because Dad agreed to buy the contractor three new ones.”
“I was also in high school. It was the Fourth of July, and Jack lit the M-80, not me.”
“You know what your problem is?”
I sat back in my chair and sighed. “No, but I’m sure you’re about to enlighten me.”
“You’re no fun anymore. Five years ago you would have laughed if someone had crashed a wedding you went to. Now you’re uptight and bitter. Your divorce sucked the sense of humor right out of you!”
My jaw flexed. A woman I’d recently dated a few times had told me I didn’t smile enough. I’d been polite and refrained from telling her she just wasn’t very funny, but her comment had nagged at me. The week before, Charlie had drawn a picture of her family at school. Everyone was smiling—her, my ex-wife, the babysitter, even the damn dog—except for me. I was frowning.
I shook my head and picked up my pen. “Go away, Olivia.”
“She’s coming in to do her presentation for the team at two o’clock today. They can vote with, or without you.”
I lifted my chin toward my office door. “Shut the door behind you.”
***
“Evelyn.” I nodded as I walked into the conference room.
Stella frowned, and my sister glared at me.
“What?” I shrugged.
“You damn well know her name.”
I smirked and looked to Stella. “Ah, that’s right. Evelyn is your alter ego, the one who commits crimes. Apparently Stella is an upstanding businesswoman I have yet to meet. Do you change in a telephone booth or something?”
Since they hadn’t started yet, I took my usual seat at the head of the conference room table. I was curious to see how Stella would handle my jabs. She surprised me by walking over with her hand extended.
“Hi, Mr. Rothschild. I’m Stella Bardot. It’s very nice to meet you. I appreciate the opportunity to present to you today.”
I shook her hand and held her eyes. “Can’t wait.”
After telling myself I wasn’t going to bother showing up for this meeting, I went to the front reception area a little before two o’clock. I’d gone to put some mail in the outgoing bin, but as I walked down the hall near the conference room, I caught a whiff of perfume and knew Stella had arrived. She smelled even better than I remembered. The scent brought back some other memories I didn’t care to recall—her phenomenal smile, a spunky personality, and the way I couldn’t take my eyes off the slight hint of a pulse I could see in her neck when she laughed. The woman made me feel like a vampire, I wanted to suck on it so badly.
Back in my office, I’d attempted to ignore what I knew was about to start in the conference room. But ten minutes later, I gave in, knowing I wouldn’t get any work done anyway. Plus, I never missed a pitch meeting, and it was probably best that I kept an eye on my sister. Someone had to keep her bleeding heart from giving away the kitchen sink.
Stella returned to her seat. I could tell by the way she kept shifting in her chair and twisting her ring that she was nervous. Though she did her best to pretend she wasn’t, which I respected. The VC investment team was comprised of three senior analysts, the director of marketing, Olivia, and myself. But I generally led the team and did most of the questioning.
From the other end of the table, my sister caught my eye and gave me what I knew was a warning look. She wanted to remind me to be on my best behavior.
“Why don’t we get started, shall we?” I asked. Looking to my left, I gave Stella a curt nod. “The floor is yours, Ms. Bardot.”
She took a deep breath, not unlike the way she’d steadied herself after taking the mic in front of the crowd at my sister’s wedding—and not unlike the image I’d conjured up on more than one occasion over the last few weeks while in the shower…
Those gorgeous green eyes, full, pink lips, and innocent face—Stella Bardot was beautiful. There was no doubt about that. But it was the way she rose to a challenge, pushing through to say screw you at the end, that made me want to sink my teeth into her flawless, ivory skin.