Even though Joe Flanagan had told him there were no security cameras in the building, he checked the corners of the elevator, which were typical squared-off corners. No black globes lurked to spy on them.
Yep, safe.
Nicole squinted up at the corners, too. “We were wondering in the lab, what’s your handicap, anyway?”
Kingston grabbed her hand and spun her like a ballerina, pushing her up against the wall with her arm stretched over her head. Her mouth made an O, but her dark eyes were smiling. He said, “Probably my distractibility.”
He kissed the heck out of her, crushing her softness against his body and finally seeing the appeal of a decrepit elevator that inched up the shaft to the third floor.
When the doors finally ground open, they were both standing separately, though Kingston took one last surreptitious swipe at his mouth with the back of his hand in case he had any of her lipstick on himself.
Phenomenal.
Later that afternoon, Kingston was in a meeting with the other sales staff, where Meagan and Morgan were putting on a presentation comparing and contrasting Sidewinder’s golf clubs for when he started selling them at trade shows the week after next.
His ostensible boss, Gia Terranova, glowered in the back corner of the darkened conference room, watching him. Joe Flanagan had mentioned that she hadn’t liked having a new sales guy foisted on her, considering hiring and firing the sales and marketing staff entirely her responsibility.
It had been. Half this sales staff would have to go, and Gia Terranova was on the chopping block. Sidewinder wouldn’t need most of its managerial-level personnel.
Morgan and Meagan were going to make the cut, though. Their numbers and knowledge about the products were the best on the team.
The two old guys snoring on the other side of the table were definitely out.
The two young guys, Ben and Andy, didn’t know they were competing for the one last spot.
Ben was playing some sort of game on his phone. Andy was dozing off.
Maybe Sidewinder only needed two salespeople.
Half the research and development people would have to go, too.
Not Nicole, of course. Her creativity and rigorous design expertise were both essential to the company.
Kingston smiled and nodded through the meeting while he texted Nicole.Where should I pick you up tonight?
Numbers and a street name appeared.
A thrill at seeing her address sizzled through him like he was a stalker.
She asked,What time should I be ready?
I’ll pick you up at seven.
He nodded at Meagan, who was talking about the pros and cons of the older Timber Rattler line of golf clubs.
Per Joe Flanagan’s notes, orders for the Timber Rattler line had declined precipitously when the Massasauga line had goneinto pre-sales. Joe had planned to discontinue the Timber after the summer.
Or Kingston could cut some corners on materials, order a million sets to be shipped via a fast boat, and have Timber sets in retail stores by mid-July.
Retail stores would leap at the chance to have Sidewinder clubs in their stores immediately available for purchase. The tactic of hand-selling individual units went out with the horse and buggy. Sidewinder needed to be profitablesoon.
Kingston checked his watch.
Three forty-five.
Three hours and fifteen minutes until Nicole would be in Kingston’s car and on their way to supper.
The meeting dragged onforever.
