Despite all that, she still looked gorgeous. Sexy.
You’d think Grayson would be irritated about taking a button to the eyeball, but I have a feeling Gemma’s impressive cleavage might have softened the blow. And despite the shit show, her and Henry’s pitch was absolutely brilliant.
I sink into a nearby chair, flipping through Gemma’s pitch folder. Page after page demonstrate her passion and enthusiasm for the project. There isn’t a single detail she’s missed. She hasn’t created a marketing plan; she’s crafted an entire experience.
And it’s not just good.
It’s exceptional.
Heels click against tiles, the sound drawing closer. I stash my phone and glance up just as Gemma appears.
She falters, surprised when she sees me.
“Hello, Gemma.”
“Max,” she says, nodding in recognition.
Her soft, velvety voice wraps around me, and all I can focus on are her lips.
She hesitates, her eyes darting to the folder, and she fidgets with her necklace.
I lift the folder. “This is good.”
“I know.”
She’s confident, I have to hand it to her. I like it.
She moves toward the fridge, pulling out the milk as she prepares her coffee. My eyes zero in on the way her hips move, the fabric of her skirt hugging her perfect arse.
“I particularly like the piece you’ve included around the neighborhood guide. It makes Mayfair seem exclusive but accessible.”
She nods, pivoting to face me as the coffee machine hums, filling her mug. “Guides are one of my favorite things to develop. Mayfair has a reputation for being pompous. It’s all private members’ clubs and old money, but there’s this whole other side to it that I think Gray Hotel can really tap into.” She tucks her hair behind her ear, casually leaning against the counter as she continues. “When people think of Mayfair, they think of wealth. But we want them to picture the hottest wine bars, modern fine-dining restaurants, and edgy art galleries. There’s so much more we can get guests excited about. We want them to feel like they have the best of both worlds—that sense of exclusivity while staying connected to the latest trends and hot spots.”
Well, well, well. She can carry a normal conversation, after all.
I close the folder, lowering it to my lap. “I’m impressed. You’ve really thought this through.”
She crosses her arms. “Obviously—it’s my job.”
I smirk. Cheeky.
“What? You took one look at me and thought I was nothing but great tits and a perfect arse?” Her green eyes flash behind her glasses. “I worked my way up to this position all on my own.”
My jaw clenches.
“Of course not. Your pitch is evidence of that,” I say, my voice even.
My gaze catches on the safety pin holding her shirt together and I bite back a laugh. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed her assets—it’s impossible not to—but her presentation speaks volumes about her skill set and talent. I’m annoyed she assumed I was surprised by her intellect.
She rolls her eyes, turning to add a splash of milk to her coffee before taking a sip.
“Are you always this defensive?” I cock my head, studying her.
She spins around. “Are you always a dick?”
This time I laugh. The fire in her eyes, the sharp tongue—it’s all too familiar.
“What’s so funny?” she asks, drumming her fingers against her mug.
