“Have I?”
I let the question hang in the air long enough for her to become uncomfortable. I’m already jumping out of my goddamn skin. This conversation is killing me. No—not having my hands on the exquisite creature fifteen feet away is slowly, inexplicably, driving me out of my mind.
Eyes narrowed, Sarzó juts her chin out. “Let’s be clear with one another. Are you telling me that you plan to shutter Basiqué? If you are, do me a professional courtesy.”
“Not immediately.”
“When?”
I stand up as calmly as I can. “You have two issues to prove to me that my money wouldn’t be better spent on publications that will compete with the top five.”
Sarzó doesn’t miss a beat, rising to her feet. “I have no doubt we’ll exceed your expectations.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”
She raises both hands, waving me off. “Of course. A pleasure to meet with you, Mr. Hunter.”
“And you,” I say, then move toward the doors to her office at a purposeful pace. I will not be seen hurrying away as if this meeting has had any effect.
It’s not the meeting that has my heart pounding so hard I wonder if it’ll stop right now, before I can get back to the hall. This is going to be the last time I ever let myself look at this woman again but I have to see her.
The only problem?
She’s not here.
Sarzó’s office door closes with a whisper behind me, but I’m standing in an empty office. Her computer screen is still on, casting a glow down onto the glass surface of her desk, but the petite body with the gorgeous breasts, the shining dark hair, the hazel eyes that glowed when she saw me, despite her irritation, despite the nervous jitters that shook her body when she discovered that I had arrived while she was out—
She’s not fucking here.
My heart clenches with a disappointment so strong it embarrasses me. What the hell was I thinking?
I raise a hand to my tie in a nervous gesture that I hate and drop it back to my side like the fine silk is a hot coal.
There’s only one thing to do: find another fuckable woman and take her out. Tonight. Before I lose every scrap of my self-control to Catherine Schaffer.
Chapter 6
Cate
Sandra’s office doors are open when I step into the office.
He’s gone.
My heart sinks right into my shoes, which is so goddamn stupid.
Why do I care that some arrogant rich asshole has left the building?
I don’t, I tell myself sternly, knowing even as I think it that it’s a lie.
I lasted for two minutes after the doors to Sandra’s office closed behind him before I stood up and bolted for the bathroom. Leaning against the faux-marble wall in the largest stall I struggled to catch my breath.
And—shit. I left my phone at my desk, so I can’t search for him on the Internet.
Hunter.
Hunter.
I’ve heard the name, but he has nothing to do with the fashion industry, and that’s the only thing I’ve allowed myself to think of for over a year now.
I waited until the buzzing had mellowed in my veins enough for me to walk out of the bathroom with confidence, my back straight and my chin up. My plan was to go back to my desk, and when he left the meeting with Sandra, I’d show him. I’m not some flighty bitch who gets bowled over by some jerk in a fancy business suit. I don’t need him.
I need my job.
But as I get closer to the office doors and my heart speeds up, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers: Don’t you need him? Don’t you?
No. If anything, I want him. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to someone that unbelievably sexy? Wanting isn’t the same as needing.
The voice whispers again: Oh, yes, it is.
I’m three steps away from the office when it hits me.
What if he’s the solution to Williams-Martin’s bankruptcy issue?
I brush the thought aside. If he is, I’ll know in a matter of minutes—that is, if Sandra decides to throw me a goddamn bone.
She’s calling my name the moment I step through the doors, and a rush of relief washes over me. That stupid little trip to the bathroom could have cost me the relative peace of the afternoon. It’s almost enough to mask how my heart is crushed when I register the open doors.
I pick up my notepad on the way in, and before I’ve even fully approached Sandra’s desk she’s listing off things that must be accomplished before the hour is out.
“Push all the meetings from this morning to the afternoon. You can inform anyone who wants to reschedule that I’ll cut them from the issue. I want eleven or twelve different tops from Calvin Klein by three. Cut three of the models from the businesswear lineup and send me the top four.”