Bad Boy Rich

I shake my head, distracted by my cell ringing. “Speak of the devil…”

“Milana!” Emerson’s high-pitched voice barrels through the speaker, forcing me to distance my cell till the echoing stopped. “I need your help!”

“Is everything okay?” I ask, worried.

“Yes, no. I don’t know. Can you meet me in the office in twenty minutes?”

“Of course. I’m only a few blocks away.”

Emerson says goodbye, giving me no inkling as to what was happening. When Aurora asks what’s going on, I shrug, unsure of why Emerson sounded panicked. We part ways, Aurora heading to a fabric meeting and me to the office.

It took me only ten minutes to get there, and thankfully I didn’t trip during my sprint to get to the office on time. I’m wearing my black pumps, the pointy ones that went with every outfit but were not designed for running, along with my A-line charcoal dress, coupled with a black patent belt. The dress—also not designed for running—bunches up around my waist which I fix in the elevator.

My hair was braided back and away from my face. I thought long and hard about cutting it since the heat and long hair did not mix, wondering what Mom would think. It had always been her thing, and I’m not sure why it never bothered me so much until now.

Jana—Emerson’s receptionist—tells me to head to the boardroom where Charlie is sitting, laptop in front and a stack of papers. She lifts her head to greet me, brushing her hair away from her face in annoyance.

“Hi Milana. Glad you’re here early. We’ve got a lot to work on.”

“Emerson told me to come straight away, but I have no clue what is—”

Behind me, the sound of feet tap against the tiles. Charlie looks up, smiles quickly, though forced, and then stands, extending her hand. The hand reaches past me; manly, slight hair on the knuckles and fingers that have traced all over my body…

Breathe.

Repeat.

Shit.

“Charlie, always a pleasure.”

Charlie ignores his comment, gesturing to me. “Milana, have you met Wesley, Emerson’s business partner? Oh wait a minute, you mentioned that you had.”

I stand up, only having just sat down, and take the deepest of breaths as if I was preparing to sing at the opera, and finally—turn around.

His eyes are dancing sinfully; the small smile that plays on his lips intending to make me quiver beneath my dress. The crisp white business shirt that sat beneath his navy suit is unbuttoned more so than usual, exposing his tanned chest. I could eat him whole. Stop, you need to act professional here.

I extend my hand while keeping my eye contact simple. “Yes, we have met. Pleased to meet you again, Mr. Rich.”

There is amusement in his eyes as I called him Mr. Rich, and I nervously pull my sweaty palm away and sit back down. Wesley walks around the table, positioning himself in front of me, placing his cell down.

My notebook, sitting on the table, becomes my focus. I find myself doodling on the page knowing that he is watching me, then quickly write down some words to ‘pretend’ that the way he is staring at me is not affecting me whatsoever.

“I’m here…I’m here.” Emerson runs through the door, closing it behind her. She takes a moment to catch her breath, saying hello to everyone. As she sits down, I examine her nice blouse. It’s off-the-shoulder; a style she always pulled off very nicely. Emerson had really nice shoulders, if that was such a thing. Tanned—though she admitted it was spray—and extremely fit. The shade of light blue suited her light-colored hair that was left out today. Sometimes, the shade looked blond, and other times, like now, it looked silver.

Nevertheless, Emerson is very attractive and her sitting beside me had me questioning my confidence especially when she was Wesley’s ex-fiancée. I mean, he wanted to marry her. That had to count for something and they had this whole life planned out together.

“Okay Charlie, give us the lowdown, please.”

“Right, okay, so there’s a company in Greece, a rather large corporation selling counterfeit designs of your latest line.”

“But how? We bought the patent rights to that dry-fit fabric?” Emerson questions, annoyed. “It would be illegal to reproduce or for our manufacturer to be supplying this to anyone else.”

“We paid top dollar for these rights. Who are these people?” Wesley intercepts. “What kind of loss are we talking?”

Charlie frowns, pushing a paper towards Wesley and Emerson. “I’m afraid we’re talking around two million.”

“Two million dollars!” Wesley yells, agitated. “How the fuck was this not picked up earlier?”