“Like what?”
He leaned closer. “What are people going to think if you’re looking at me like that in meetings?” he asked in a low voice.
“What are you talking about?” I hadn’t been looking at him any special way, had I?
“Ogling. And you can’t behave like you’re not…you’re not afraid of me.”
My eyes nearly popped out of my head. “I’m not afraid of you, but that has nothing to do with…” I flipped my hand through the air, “that…event last weekend. And you’re the one giving me special treatment.”
“You mean calling that sonofabitch out for what he said or having his buddy print those articles to punish you because you took his place on the trip?”
“God no. I thought that was surprisingly fantastic. And I’d love to get a front-row seat to the ass kicking, whenever that’s going to be.” In all seriousness, with all the excitement, I hadn’t truly had time to process all that. Mr. Cole really had put himself out there to stand up for me. It was really…nice. Really, really nice. “I meant that you should’ve yelled at me for suggesting the nude photo campaign, but you didn’t.”
“Why would I? You had no idea I’d banned it.”
“Yeah, but I think someone like you would expect me to do my homework before I pop off a suggestion. I didn’t. ”
He stared. “Fine. Point taken. Next time, I’ll be an unreasonable hard-ass.”
“I’d expect nothing less, Mr. Cole.”
He stood up. “And the next time I tell you to come to my office, you drop whatever the hell you’re doing and come. Understand?”
I nodded, trying desperately not to check him out. I just couldn’t help but want to look at him. Eyes on his face, Lily.
“Yes, sir.” I wouldn’t do what he’d asked, but why fight about it now when we could save that enjoyable little argument for another day?
“Good.” He reached for the door.
“By the way, I bought six tubes of lip gloss after seeing you naked.” Oh, wait. “In the photo, I mean.” Because that would be weird to bang your boss and then run out and buy lip gloss. “I really hope you’ll do it again because I’d like a fat bonus this year.” Which I’d only get if we all hit our sales numbers.
He shook his head—“Women”—and left.
Once he cleared the room, and I cleared my hot mess of a head—okay, maybe I had been ogling him in the meeting and needed to keep that in check—I realized Mr. Cole hadn’t once looked at my tits. Not at my ear or neck or the floor either. He’d looked me right in the face. And while I understood from experience that his symptoms tended to subside when emotions were high, he really had been pretty calm.
I wondered if his “therapy” hadn’t worked on some level. However, it was a question I wouldn’t get to test out for a very long time.
~~~
The next three weeks, I saw almost nothing of Mr. Cole. He went to his side of the world, and I went to mine, visiting with clients in L.A., Toronto, Atlanta, and New York.
My mother and father hounded me for photos via my brother at every stop. I’d been so tired after spending long days with customers, hearing complaints about supply, talking about upcoming forecasts, and going through my lists of questions about their facilities, that most of the pics I’d sent to my parents were of me standing next to the window in my hotel room, wearing my pajamas.
Hitting airport after airport, customer after customer, for three solid weeks promised to take my mind off of Mr. Cole—those soft lips, those hot kisses, the feel of his naked body slamming into mine while he groaned my name—but the truth was, the separation had given me time to process my feelings. I wanted more of him.
It was something I desperately needed to get over, which was why, after my return, I avoided Mr. Cole most of the week, spending my time in meetings with Marketing and Mike, hammering out a project plan for our new tween line. It was fun, crazy work, and I really liked Mike’s humor, which was also why I decided to accept his offer to go for drinks on Friday.
No. I absolutely did not think that having an office romance—a real one—was a good idea. Bad in every way. But how would I ever start getting over my own issues if I didn’t begin opening myself up to men? And drinks with a male coworker did not mean sex. It meant spending a little downtime getting to know someone. Innocent and perfectly acceptable. Right?
Friday, around four o’clock, I sat in a small conference room with Mike, poring over color concepts from Marketing when a text from Mr. Cole caught me completely off guard.
Mr. Cole: Come see me.
“Everything okay?” Mike asked, noticing that I probably looked like a ghost.
“Oh. Um. Yeah.” I stared at my phone, deciding not to reply and placing it face down on the table. I was in the middle of something, so Cole would just have to wait.
Several minutes went by and my phone began to vibrate. I could have sworn it sounded angry, too.
“Sorry,” I said apologetically to Mike and took a look.
Mr. Cole: I know you’re with Mike in the corner conference room downstairs. Get your ass up here, or I’m coming down and you won’t like it.
Shit. It sounded like I was in trouble.
Me: be right there
I looked up at Mike. “It’s the boss. And he sounds angry.”
“Doesn’t he always?”
“More than usual,” I clarified. “I’ll be right back.”
I marched upstairs, past Keri, who wore a bright orange dress and was on the phone—probably with her boyfriend because she had a naughty little smile.
I knocked lightly on his door.
“Come in,” Mr. Cole said.
I cracked open the door and found him talking on his headset, staring out the window, wearing a dark T-shirt with the C.C. lips logo on the back and a pair of extremely sexy jeans. His tall, lean, but muscular frame accentuated by those broad shoulders was just as breathtakingly delicious as the first time I’d laid eyes on him. I’d honestly forgotten how damned good he looked and what he did to my pulse. Okay. No, I hadn’t. But I’d been working hard on it.
He looked me over, making a pit stop on my breasts, which were highlighted by my fitted, button-down khaki dress.
I cleared my throat, and his gaze snapped up to my face.
He pointed to the table and chairs.
“Yep. Sounds right,” he said to whomever was on the phone. “Look. I’ve got an important meeting, but I’ll have Keri follow up with you on Monday.”
I’m important, am I? I sat, and he turned to look at me, removing the band over his “don’t give a fuck” messy dark hair that left it looking even sexier.
“So. Miss Snow, how are things going?” He folded his arms over his chest, but didn’t join me at the table.
“Fine. I’ve gotten out to see all of my clients, have forecasts started for next quarter, and have begun working through all of the promotional plans.” Honestly, it was hard work, but I liked it—especially the customers, who were more like members of the Maxwell Cole cult. One lady, a senior buyer for Lacy’s department store, had a Ken doll on her desk with a tiny photo of Maxwell Cole taped to the face. It was pretty mind-blowing how much they worshiped him and wanted to come to our offices for our quarterly meetings just so, on the off chance he was around, they could catch a glimpse. It was almost comical, except that I could relate.
Anyway, there wasn’t anything I’d come across in the role I didn’t feel I could handle. And being back in the office this week also gave me a chance to meet two more ladies on the sales team who reported to directors but were at my level. We all seemed to click. So I guess…things were moving ahead.
“Good to hear,” he said. “I want you at my place tonight at nine.”
My stomach fell through the floor in a rush of nerves and shock and…confusion, frankly. “For?”