A few knocks sound against my open office door. James, the office manager, peeks his head into my office. Holding a massive stack of documents, he frowns, “You’re late, Gwen.”
I glance at Aaliyah, who rolls her eyes and mimics James’ expression. Smiling, I stand up straight and cross my arms over my chest as I stare back at the flustered man in front of me.
“James, it’s 1:02. I don’t think I would count two minutes as late. Besides, lighten up. It’s not like the clients are here already.”
I lean forward again to continue reading the email I was glancing at when James clears his throat. Glancing up, I see a worried look fill his eyes.
“The clients are here already, huh?” I ask.
He shakes his head yes and stands straighter, hugging the files tightly to his chest. A slight air of nervousness comes over me as I realize I have no clue what I’m about to walk into. It’s obviously big enough that the whole company has kept it under wraps until now. I like to be prepared, and I usually would’ve pressed to know more. Still, with the move and my late-night escapades in Lexington, Kentucky, my mind has unfortunately been preoccupied.
Aaliyah rises. I smooth out my blouse, run my hands down my tight skirt, pulling it into place, and attempt to calm my nerves. “Okay, don’t panic, it’s fine,” I say, grabbing a few papers on my desk before making my way to the door. Aaliyah is hot on my heels, and James is right behind her as I hurriedly walk down the hallway toward the conference room.
“Gwen,” James starts. “I think you should know…”
“Now is not the time, James,” I hiss under my breath as we reach the conference room door.
Pushing open the glass, I usher them through as two male voices float to me from inside the room. James gives me a nervous look as he passes by.
“Smile,” I whisper, and he rolls his eyes. Taking a deep breath, I stand back, plaster a smile on my face, and enter the room last.
One gentleman is on his phone in the far corner of the room with his back to us. The other gives me a large smile as we enter. His temples are slightly graying, and he has a comforting look about him. He approaches confidently, and I shake his hand as the other gentleman ends his phone call.
“Lucien Maxwell,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
“Gwen Coppola,” I say, gripping his hand firmly. “The pleasure is mine. Sorry, we were a little late.”
Aaliyah and James have taken their seats, but I wait before taking mine in order to greet the other gentleman, who has turned and is approaching us. I cock my head to the side and try to place where I know the guy from. He looks oddly familiar, yet I can’t figure out why.
“Coppola?” Lucien asks. “Like the winemaker?”
I smile as the younger gentleman walks with assured purpose toward us. He smiles at me briefly before his eyes roam hungrily over my body. The sizzle between us is undeniable. Faltering slightly, I turn back to the older gentleman and say, “Yes, but we’re of no relation.”
Extending my hand to the younger man, he gives me a drop-dead gorgeous smirk as he takes it and pulls me a step closer. If handshakes could be seductive, his just took my breath away. With his fingers wrapped around my palm, I fight the urge to step further into him like my body suddenly craves.
“Gwen?” he asks, the mere mention of my name on his lips sends a jolt of pleasure through my core.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Eric Maxwell.”
Then it hits me. Eric Maxwell. Two-time MVP for the Atlanta Braves. Eric Maxwell who was on the cover of Sports Illustrated last fall. The man every red-blooded woman drooled over. GQ’s most eligible bachelor. A pitcher I’d gladly round every base for and make sure to score at home with many, many times until I am sated and satisfied.
My cheeks flush. I look down momentarily to see our hands still laced together. When I glance back up, his eyes claim mine. He holds me still, breathless, unable to speak. His grin cocks up one side of his flawless face, and that’s all it takes to send me back down to earth and slap me back to reality.
I’ve fallen for the cocky ones before and it never worked out.
I release his hand, but he pries his fingers off mine slowly. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Maxwell.”
“Eric, please. I insist.”
I smile and nod my head. “Well, if you insist,” I tease.
He grins and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Should we get started?” I ask, gesturing towards the table.
I sit quickly and wait for the two men to join us. Aaliyah shoots me a curious look, while James sits up straight, and attempts to look more professional and put together than he really is. Eric’s father, I assume, sits conservatively to my right — while Eric sits relaxed with one leg propped up on his knee to my left. He straightens his tie, and tilts his head to the side. His gaze roams up my legs.
Swiveling them under the conference room table, I clear my throat and busy myself with straightening the stack of papers I walked in with. Eric chuckles, knowing I purposely moved to hide from his stare. I’m no prude, but if he wants to admire the view, he will have to work a lot harder than getting it for free.
