When the meeting finally wraps up, I can tell that Carl is having a hell of a time playing the cool, calm professional. He knows too well that the whole thing went over fabulously. Stark’s interested in the product and impressed by the team. In this business, it doesn’t get much better than that.
We’re just about to start the round of goodbyes and handshakes when Ms. Peters steps in, her expression tightly efficient. “I apologize for interrupting, Mr. Stark, but you asked me to inform you if Mr. Padgett returned to the building.”
“He’s here now?” I watch as Stark’s expression shifts from casual and calm to hard and dangerous.
“Security just called up. I assume you’d like to speak to them?”
Stark nods, then turns to face us. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me. There’s a situation that demands my attention. I’ll be in touch next week.” He glances at Ms. Peters. “If you could see our guests out?”
“Of course, sir.”
His eyes meet mine, but they are unreadable. And then he steps out of the conference room and disappears down the hall. The sense of loss from his departure surprises me, but I say my goodbyes to his colleagues, then turn my attention to helping Brian pack one of the cases, all the while afraid that everyone in the room can read my expression.
After Ms. Peters has put us on the elevator and the door has firmly closed, Carl does such a funky little jig that I can’t help but laugh. “That was great,” I say. “Thank you so much for letting me be here for this.”
Carl spreads his arms in a magnanimous gesture. “Hey, we’re a team. And we all kicked some ass.” The elevator doors open onto the lobby, and Carl swings his arms jovially around Brian’s and Dave’s shoulders. They valiantly try to move with their boss and still drag the rolling cases. I’m about to take pity on them when I hear my name.
I look up and see Joe the security guard gesturing toward me. “Ms. Fairchild? If you have a moment?” He’s holding a phone to his ear.
“Yes?” I say, hurrying to the guard desk.
Joe holds up a finger in a just a moment gesture. I glance sideways at Carl, who’s looking at me with an unmistakable what the fuck? expression. I shrug, just as clueless as my boss.
Joe says something I can’t hear, then hangs up the phone. “You’re wanted upstairs, ma’am.”
“Upstairs?”
“Back in the penthouse,” he says. “Mr. Stark would like to see you.”
Behind me, I see Dave and Brian nudge each other. Great. Apparently Carl shared his suspicions with the staff. Maybe by tomorrow there’ll be an interoffice memo.
“Now’s not a good time,” I tell the guard. “I’m on my way to a team meeting.”
“Mr. Stark was very insistent.”
I bet he was. An unpleasant heaviness starts to settle over me. I spent most of my life being told exactly where to be, where to stand, what to do, and when to do it. I squeeze my right hand into a tight fist and force myself to smile at Joe. “I’m sure he’ll find something else to occupy his time this afternoon. But if he calls my office, I’ll be happy to work him into my schedule next week.”
Joe’s eyes are wide, and his mouth hangs open a little, as if his jaw is made of rubber. I have the feeling nothing like this has happened before. People don’t say no to Damien Stark.
I toss my shoulders back a little, liking the new Nikki. “Shall we?” I say to Carl and the boys.
Carl frowns. “Maybe you—”
“No,” I say. “If he wants to talk about the project, we can all go back up.” In the distance, I hear the ding of an elevator, the sound punctuating my resolve.
“And if it’s not the project he wants to see you about?” Carl asks, looking at me hard.
I stare back, just as coolly. “Then he doesn’t need to see me, does he?” I stand firm, daring Carl to send me up there. He did it once at the party. If he does it again in the lobby of Stark’s building, it really isn’t going to be pretty.
After a moment, he nods. “Come on. Champagne’s waiting.”
Joe has been eyeing us warily, and now that we’re moving toward the exit, he becomes animated. “I’m going to need to call Mr. Stark’s office,” he says. “He’s expecting you upstairs.”
“It’s all right, Joe.”
I recognize the voice before I see the man—it’s Stark, of course, and he emerges from the elevator bank looking calm and polished. Just seeing him sends a jolt of awareness through me. It’s like the fight or flight response. With Stark, I think it’s a little bit of both.
He passes by the security desk and shakes hands with my good buddy Joe and the second guard before continuing on toward me and Carl and the boys.
“Ms. Fairchild,” he says, my name sounding soft and decadent on his lips. “My decorator sent over some portfolio pages from local artists. I was hoping to get your opinion on a few of the pieces.”
“You didn’t find something you liked last night?” Carl asks.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Stark answers, his eyes on me. “But I’m still not satisfied.”
Fortunately, Carl is looking at Stark. Otherwise, he might notice that my face has undoubtedly turned a dozen shades of red.
“I apologize for the short notice—you probably have a team meeting planned?—but I’d like to get this matter put to bed.”
My mouth goes dry at his choice of words.
“No plans,” Carl lies, waving his hand casually. “It’s Saturday. I was just about to wish everyone a good weekend and congratulate them on a job well done.”
“Then you don’t mind if I steal Ms. Fairchild again.” He takes a step closer to me, and as is always the case with Damien Stark, I can feel the effect of him in the air between us.
“Not at all,” Carl says. “I’m sure she’ll be very helpful.” The last is said with a tone that I really don’t appreciate, but since I’m going to accept Stark’s invitation and not return with my co-workers, I can’t really complain.
Yes, despite my earlier resolve I’m going up to the penthouse with Stark.
Why? Because of the way the air has fired between us.
Because of the way my flesh is tingling merely from his proximity.
Because he came down here and so boldly demanded it.
And, finally, because even though he wants a piece of my ass, all Stark’s getting today is a piece of my mind.