The redhead’s voice drops to something uncomfortably sultry. “But I’d call him Daddy.”
The other woman snorts. “Hell yeah. That man is hotter than a pot of five-alarm chili. Have you slept with him?”
She twirls a finger around one fiery lock. “Not yet, but I will.”
Holy shit. These women are bold.
Once again, the elevator stops, and both women shift toward the doors, the brunette tossing a wink over her shoulder on the way out. “Good luck with Phoenix. Good call leaving your shirt unbuttoned. He’ll love that.”
“Shit,” I mutter, fixing the button as the car rises swiftly to the top floor. I exit into a high-ceilinged lobby that’s decorated in white and silver, much like the one on the first floor. Clean lines dominate, and everything looks so… smooth and slick.
“Hi, welcome. You must be Miss McNamara,” a woman says pleasantly, from where she stands behind a chrome reception desk.
“I’m Jordie,” I confirm.
“Fabulous. So great to have you here. Just go down the hallway to your left.”
I thank her and head that way, my shoulders relaxing a little. She seems friendly. In fact, everyone has been nice so far, and even the models from the elevator were okay. As I near the middle of the hallway, the white walls gradually darken until I’m standing in a waiting room with gray walls and carpet. It’s a wide-open space with tall windows that reveal the surrounding buildings of downtown Houston.
The furnishings consist of a black desk and round, hot-pink chairs. More colors pop from framed posters of Hale beauty products on thewalls, and I recognize the two women from the elevator on a couple of them. The vibe is sleek and fun.
A woman greets me instantly, a lovely smile on her face, which is framed by gray and purple curls. “Miss McNamara, I’m Charlotte, Mr. Hale’s administrative assistant. He’s in a meeting right now but will be with you shortly. Can I get you a coffee or something else while you wait? We have a fully stocked fridge and a barista on this floor, so she can make anything you want.”
They have a barista just for this floor? Geez Louise.
“Maybe an iced mocha?”
“Of course.” She lowers her voice and leans toward me. “She makes an excellent hazelnut pistachio iced mocha if you’re feeling frisky.”
I laugh. “Frisky it is. That sounds great.”
“Back in a jif. Make yourself comfortable. There are iPads on the side tables with games you can play while you wait.” When my eyebrows lift in surprise, Charlotte’s lips twist to the side. “I know, so bougie, right? I remember when my only waiting room entertainment was flipping through an outdatedReader’s Digest.”
“Loved that magazine as a kid. The jokes were my favorite,” I admit.
“Mine too,” she agrees as she strides from the room.
Charlotte returns shortly with my coffee, and I take a sip. The nutty flavor explodes on my tongue, and I let out a little groan. “Oh my god, that is divine.”
She flashes me anI told you sosmirk and returns to her desk while I settle on a hot-pink padded chair that’s just as comfortable as it looks. After a few minutes waiting, I begin to get antsy, so I snag one of the tablets from a shiny black table and scroll through the selection. Deciding on one of the mindless color block games, I waste a good ten minutes while Charlotte fields what seems like a hundred calls.
“Uh-huh. I understand, Mr. Willis… Yes, of course, but there are only so many hours in a day, and Mr. Hale is a very busy man… I can squeeze you in for an afternoon appointment in August… That won’t work for you? Fine. Then it will be February of next year… Oh, you’ll take the August appointment after all? Great. Got you down, sir. Such a pleasure to speak with you, as always.”
She hangs up the phone and mumbles, “Pompous ass,” and I dip my head to stifle a giggle. Charlotte appears to be in her sixties, and she doesn’t seem to take shit from anyone. On the phone, she’s polite, firm, and efficient, but as soon as she hangs up, you find out how she really feels. It’s almost like she’s forgotten I’m there and can actually hear her.
The admin presses a button on the phone and says, “Amanda, please handle the phones while I step away from my desk.” Then she rises and walks over to pick up my empty cup. “Can I get you another?”
I smile up at her. “No, thank you. I try to be careful about my sugar intake, but it was delicious.” She disappears through a door I assume leads to the executive level’s own personal coffee shop.
A second later, the main office door opens and two people step out. The woman is in a sharp business suit, and I suddenly regret not dressing up more. Her makeup is beautiful but understated, and light-blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, in sharp contrast to my regularly scheduled ponytail.Crap, I really should put more effort into my appearance.
My eyes land on the man, and the elevator Barbie’s words come back to me.
That man is hotter than a pot of five-alarm chili.
She wasn’t wrong. I’m guessing this is the very busy Mr. Phoenix Hale, dressed in an impeccable navy suit that fits him like God himself fashioned it from the finest of materials. He’s tall—even taller than me—and very fit, with a trim waist and long legs.
His hand rests lightly on the blonde’s back in a way that makes me wonder if she’s more than a client. A girlfriend, perhaps? For some reason, that thought irks me.
