Vanessa was at her office window, staring out at the parking lot. She didn’t bother turning around, but I sensed her tension.
I waited, remaining silent, curious to see how she’d handle this.
“You received my email,” she said at least a full minute later.
“I did.”
The woman didn’t budge, refusing to take a back seat. She was more formidable than I’d originally thought. When I remained silent, she finally sighed.
“I apologize for it being over the weekend.” Her tone was clipped, but did I detect a hint of regret?
“A workaholic like I am. Admirable.”
She finally turned and I noticed for the first time there was a nervous tic in the corner of her mouth. Good. “We need to talk.”
That was my cue. “You’re right. We do. You are going to work with me, Vanessa. And do you want to know why?”
When she started to interject, I moved to her desk, sitting on the corner. The sudden authoritative move seemed to catch her off guard.
“Christian, let me finish.”
“No, you had your say in your email, but I must say I was surprised to receive it since it appeared we had a very good relationship.”
“We didn’t have a relationship.” Now, she bristled.
“Oh, but that’s where you are wrong. We had a very… enjoyable evening together.”
“Which you fucked up by demanding I contact you bright and early on Monday morning. You didn’t bother staying to see me off or dare drive me back to my car. Were you embarrassed you’d allowed your guard to fall?”
I’d learned to use various levels of ammunition in business. With her, as tough as she’d appeared, I’d seen the softer side. She was simply too nice, too forgiving. Was I a bastard for using her genuine care of others against her? Yes. Did I care? No. Business was business.
My laugh annoyed her and yet as I walked closer, she didn’t bristle. Instead, her eyes flashed in defiance and purpose. She had no idea how much I admired her resolve while longing to break every single defense.
When we were only inches apart, she stood even taller. I happened to notice she was also wearing higher heels. We almost stood eye to eye. Perhaps she’d anticipated I’d be dropping by for a chat. “As I told you before, I’m not a man who handles rejection. Or I should say,” I stopped and allowed my expression to highlight the intense desire we both felt, “I refuse to tolerate them.”
She took her time responding. “I’d ordinarily ask you to leave, or should I say…” Her pause was purposeful, her smile and attitude rivaling my own. There was more like a tennis match. I was eager for her next volley. “That I’d toss you out myself physically if necessary. However, that won’t be necessary. I spent some time rethinking the possibility I could fulfill your needs. I believe I can.”
Her element of surprise worked, which in turn squashed some of the shocking revelations I’d planned to use in forcing her to change her mind. Time to regroup.
She skirted around me, moving to her desk. Without sitting down, her fingers tickled her keyboard. “I’ve selected several women from those I employ from time to time I think might interest you.”
I turned toward her fully as I heard the printer near her desk. Saying nothing, I enjoyed the moment of studying her from an entirely different perspective. She wasn’t only beautiful and intelligent; she was elegant, graceful in a way that came naturally to her. In those attributes alone, she wielded power, which I had doubts she understood. However, it was her lineage that made her even more valuable.
And I planned on using everything she could offer me.
She grabbed the few sheets of paper, taking her time walking toward me. When she placed them in my hand, I purposely allowed the tip of my index finger to brush across her knuckles. She didn’t recoil or blink. There was almost zero reaction except the slight curl of her upper lip as if thoroughly amused I was bothering her.
“My personal favorite for you is Lisa Tompkins. She’s beautiful, a talented musician as well as an actress. But she’s only been seen in local productions so there should be no concern that someone will peg her as a fake.”
I didn’t bother looking at the paper, instead keeping my gaze locked on Vanessa’s eyes.
“Another is Katherine Willoughby. The name alone should provide you with some sense of royalty since her father is Kevin Willoughby, owner of the Miami Heat. She’s charismatic, a quick learner, and comfortable in posh surroundings.”
Exhaling, I took a step closer, crowding her space. The nervous tic returned. “And?”
She exhaled. “My third choice would be Margaret Jasper. She’s a model, mostly working in Europe so there’s a chance your clients will know her profession, but that also might work to your benefit depending on how you play it.”
“Mmm… So you think of this as nothing but a game.”
