“With cherries on top,” he affirms, flashing Thing One and Thing Two my way.
“Okay, I feel a little better. I just want to do a good job for all the companies I’m working with, and I was unsure whether I’d fit in here.”
“We’ll make you fit,” Phoenix declares, and I have to suppress a giggle because that reminds me of a certain line in some of Juliette’s books.We’ll make it fit.
Schooling my face, I ask, “So what do I need to do?”
Phoenix grabs a large sketchbook and places it on the oval wood table facing me before flipping it open. The picture depicts a blonde woman—me, I assume—in a long, flowing gown with a face full of makeup.
“These are some of the styling ideas my team came up with,” Phoenix says.
As he flips from one page to another, I see they’re all much the same. Fancy clothing. Harsh makeup. Overly done hairdos that looklike they’d take four hours to complete. My stomach sinks, and apprehension makes my skin feel too tight. This is so not…me.
I guess Phoenix reads my face because he closes the sketchbook and sets it aside. “You’re uncomfortable.”
Deciding honesty is the best policy, I say, “It’s difficult to see myself in any of those sketches. You said you want to portray strength, but nothing about ballgowns and beehives screams strong to me. I’m more of a ponytail and cleats kind of girl.”
Phoenix’s arms cross over his chest, and I look away from the bulge of his biceps becauseseriously?How does some pretty-boy executive in a suit have arms like that? When I dare to look back at his face, his mouth curls slowly upward at the corners. Literally curls like the Grinch’s. Between Thing One, Thing Two, and the Grinch, it’s like Dr. Seuss drew Phoenix Hale from scratch.
Then he surprises me by picking up the sketchbook and tossing it over his shoulder. A bark of laughter escapes me when it lands with a thud behind the couch.
“You know what?” he asks. “You’re right. This isn’t you at all. I had put Guillermo on your campaign, but as of right now, I’m taking over. I’ll personally redesign everything and have new sketches for you by next week.”
I’m taken aback, and I’m pretty sure my eyes are bulging from my head. “For real?”
He nods a bit smugly. “For real. I’ll officially be the lead designer on the Jordie McNamara campaign.”
I gulp down the bowling ball in my throat, but before I can say anything, the intercom buzzes, and I hear Charlotte’s voice. “Phoenix, Reece is on the phone for you.”
He jumps off the couch like his pants are on fire and strides over to his massive mahogany desk, pressing a button. “Thanks, Char. I’ll grab it. And can you make Jordie an appointment for next week? Whatever is good for her, please work her into my schedule.”
“Will do, chief,” she says as I rise, making my way to the door. But before I can reach it, Phoenix is beside me, taking my right hand. His is warm and slightly rough as we shake.
“Sorry for the interruption, but I just want you to know I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy, Jordie.”
My hand tingles where he’s still holding it, and his sparkling blue eyes grasp onto mine, making it difficult to look away. “Thank you. I appreciate your time, Mr. Hale,” I say, sounding surprisingly professional given the sparks that are shooting up my arm.
“We’ll be working very closely together, so you might as well call me Phoenix,” he says as he releases my hand. “Just let Charlotte know when you’re available for next week.” His eyes drop to my chest and then jerk away swiftly.
As I place my hand on the doorknob, I hear his voice behind me, obviously on the phone with Reece. “Hey, baby.”
That’s when I remember he has a woman at home while he has trysts with that Perri chick and obviously a whole stable of models at work.
Nope, I won’t let myself be charmed by blue eyes and dimples. I may have to work with this jerk, but I’ll remain distant and aloof. As soon as I’m in the waiting room, I look down to find that stupid-ass button undone on my shirt, revealing my plain, white bra beneath.
Great, Jordie. Just fucking great. You just flashed the cosmetics Casanova.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Scraped knees and bruised penises
Phoenix
“Hey, Daddy, guess what? I fell down because I was running when Nonny told me not to, and I scraped my knee, and then Nonny put a polka-dot Band-Aid on it,” Reece says in one long run-on sentence as soon as I answer the phone. “Polka-dots are my favorite.”
I’m aware of that. It’s why I have so many dotted shirts and ties. Hell, I think if Reece ever saw a polka-dot suit, she’d insist I buy it. Leaning back in my chair, I smile at the ramblings of my four-year old. She started calling Lorraine Nonny a couple years ago. The woman is a godsend, more like another grandmother than simply a nanny, so the name fits.
“Is your knee okay, sweetie?”
