Pure Abandon Page 12

As we arrive back at the office, Trish greets us with a concerned look on her face. “Mr. Asher called a three o’clock staff meeting.”

  I look down at my watch. “That’s in five minutes. He’s not supposed to be here until tomorrow.”

  “I know.” Trish whisks her redheaded body out from behind reception. “His reception called around two. Erik was in a panic. I’ve never seen him so unsteady. I’ve been running around trying to gather the crew and get the conference room in order.”

  Shit. I didn’t polish off my spreadsheet. I spent the last four days taking all the materials Asher signed off on and getting them in production. I was hoping to finalize that tomorrow morning.

  I feel overwhelmed. A few weeks ago, I didn’t even know who this man was, and today I’m falling apart at the thought of seeing him. Is it because I feel unprepared or because I feel… unprepared?

  Breathe. Calm down and breathe… in and out.

  I run down to my office, peering into the conference room and other office spaces on my way down. Everyone is frantic, dancing around like little mice scurrying from the presence of a cat. And all the excitement is making me jittery.

  I print up what I’ve completed and grab a notepad from my desk.

  Glancing in a mirror on the way down the hall, I check my appearance. My brown locks are up in a French twist. My navy skirt still looks crisp. And, thankfully, I have freshly painted nails. Hopefully no one will notice how fresh they are. I tug at my blouse and adjust my necklace. With my paperwork in hand, I stroll confidently in the conference room.

  Just like last time, there is a lone seat next to Asher, meant just for me.

  The meeting goes better than expected. Asher starts by inquiring about ad sales and then moves on to the technical and graphics teams. He listens to everyone’s progress reports and makes decisions on what should be executed next. He has a way of being stern and abrupt without being harsh or mean. One by one, he calls on each member of the production team and listens for the issues at hand and resolves them. The man has a way of seeing the big picture and filling in the blanks. No matter how big or small the problem may be, he has an answer.

  I find myself staring at his full lips as they speak with ease. I imagine all the women he’s kissed with those lips.

  I looked around the room. How many women in here has he kissed? I smile, thinking he definitely hasn’t kissed Heather.

  “Mrs. Monroe. How are you doing on the Lincoln Center itinerary?”

  Shit. I was lost in thought. I try to control myself. Fumbling for my papers, I spew out what I’ve committed to memory. “The rundown for the televised portion of the evening is still being laid out. I’ve submitted an itinerary to Erik.” I hand Asher a printout. “It can also be found in the company drop box.”

  Asher’s eyes skim the document as I continue. “I was only able to make final confirmations with several vendors this week, but as it stands, deliveries will be made starting at three in the morning.”

  I rush through a list of who’s arriving and what they’re setting up as well as their estimated time of setup from start to finish. “Guests will arrive starting at six o’clock… and Gretchen and I are working on an opening act for the performance. There seems to be some confusion on who should be appearing at the park event and who should be at the Lincoln Center gala. I was hoping for someone hot, like the new pop star Ashley Sands.”

  I swallow hard and wait for a response, unsure if I should continue.

  “That’s an interesting idea.” He stresses the word interesting with a condescending tone and continues. “But this is a group with a lot of wealth and class. The Philharmonic will open the event. It’s their home venue so they should be the ones to open the show.”

  Is he insinuating I don’t have class or wealth?

  I feel like he’s putting on a show. As if he were saying, “See I can be a nice guy, but don’t forget, I am in charge here so if I don’t like what I hear, I can change it at any time.”

  Nonetheless, my inner sparring warrior takes her stance. “With all due respect, the Philharmonic is impressive, but we should open the show with a bang or else the event will feel uptight and unwelcoming.”

  Take that, Asher. I just called you uptight!

  He looks at me with a smirk. “We don’t want to be uptight, Mrs. Monroe.” He takes out his cell phone. “I’ll call Crystalis. Her album is number one on the pop charts. I’ll tell her to perform at the gala after the Philharmonic.”

  Crystalis is the current “Princess of Pop.” Her current single is being deemed the “song of the summer,” and since last year no one has been able to listen to the radio for more than twenty minutes without hearing one of her songs. Of course he would have one of the biggest talents in the world in his personal Rolodex.

  Heather nearly leaps across the table. “Crystalis is performing in the park!”

  Gretchen puts her hand on Heather’s forearm and gently guides her to sit back in her chair. Turning to Asher, Gretchen explains, “Her publicist agreed to the telecast. They would never let her do a benefactors’ gala with limited exposure.”

  Asher finishes typing into this phone, which I can only assume is a text to one of the most famous women in America right now. He puts down the phone and sits back in his chair, looking directly at Gretchen and Heather, unaffected by their concerns. “She knows this is for the children. She will perform wherever she’s needed. She doesn’t need the coverage.”

  Damn. Case closed.

  Heather and Gretchen know there’s no use in arguing. Instead, Heather’s grimace sends negative vibes to my side of the table, and I try to shoo them away. It’s not my fault Asher gave me her performer. I wanted someone else.

  Asher turns back to me and points to the document in his hands. “I liked your idea about giving seats to the kids. Give them more. You only allotted two hundred. Double that.”

  Despite my surprise, I affirm vigorously. There are plenty of seats in the venue, and I know they haven’t all been sold out.

  “You will also need to block time for a special performance. I’m working with a group of children who will be playing for the grand finale.” He pulls out the incomplete rundown sheet. “Give them four minutes.”

  I look for Erik or someone else to interject, but they do not. “Um, that may be difficult. The event is only two hours. With commercial breaks, that leaves us with eighty minutes of airtime. Between the Philharmonic, Crystalis, the two other acts Gretchen booked, and the speeches that have to be made, you have no time left.”

  You could hear a pin drop in the room. There are dozens of other people here, yet everyone is completely focused on the man to my left.

  Including myself. Especially since there are dozens of other people here, his eyes are completely focused on mine.

  He takes a beat, clearly thinking over the matter. My heart skips when he speaks again. Not because he’s intimidating me. It’s because his tone is sincere. “I want the kids to have four minutes. It’s important. Take a look at the rundown and see if you can move the timing around.” I let out a breath and look down at my notepad. I thought it was the end of discussion, but he speaks again and completely catches me off guard. “If anyone can make this happen, it’s you.”

  If we weren’t in a room full of people, I would probably ask him what kind of game he’s playing, but I can’t. Not only because we’re in a room full or people, but also because I, for the first time, don’t think he’s playing a game.

  Is it possible the bastard can be sincere about one thing in his life?

  When the meeting ends, I grab my belongings and rush to my office. Between Asher and Heather, I need to get far away. There’s no doubt in my mind Heather is stomping her feet in front of Erik right now. I, on the other hand, am ecstatic. I have the number one performer in the country at my event. I’ll have to get a list of requirements from Gretchen and work with Harvey on her introduction.

  I close the door behind me and start working on my notes
from the meeting. I have calls to make and an itinerary to change. Oh, and the New York Philharmonic to book! Knowing I have the Asher name behind my back, I have no doubt they will make themselves available to perform.

  I take a seat in my sleek leather chair and start typing away. I don’t hear the door open or hear him come in. I actually don’t know why I look up but there he is, leaning against my wall with his arms folded, staring at me.

  “You don’t like my flowers?”

  He has removed his tie and jacket since the meeting, leaving him in black slacks and a dress shirt, his sleeves rolled up. He looks relaxed, yet his eyes gleam, determined.

  My body pulls a Trish and my leg starts bouncing under the glass table. Tucking a stray hair that has fallen out of my twist behind my ear, I try to appear as professional as possible. I offer a polite smile and fold my hands on the desk in front of me. “While they are exquisite, I’m afraid I cannot accept them.”

  Keeping his eyes trained on me, he asks, “And why can’t you accept them?”

  Keep your cool, Kat.

  “They are rather inappropriate, Mr. Asher.”

  “Why ever so formal, Mrs. Monroe? Pray tell, why are they inappropriate?” His lips turn up in an indecent grin.

  “Why do you insist on calling me by my married name?”

  “Why do you answer a question with a question?” His voice is amused yet polite. He has a way of drawing me in with his charm, but I have to stay on my toes. So far I’m three for three with failed attempts at talking to this man. One of which I can’t blame him at all for. I need to maintain proper decorum.

  “Mr. Asher…”

  Unfolding his arms, Asher takes a step off the wall, closer to my desk. “Alex, just call me Alex.”

  Ahh, just call me Alex. Those famous last words from the limo. Irritation sends blood pulsing through my veins. I keep my voice even and cross my shaking leg under my steady one. “Mr. Asher. With all due respect, I’m a married woman and cannot accept flowers from another man. Especially when he’s the one signing my checks.”

  His face turns serious as his eyes squint, appraising me. “Do you always uphold such high moral ground?”

  With his palms placed on my desk, Asher leans forward, driving that divine scent into my personal space. Our eyes lock. I stare at them like someone mesmerized by a pinwheel. Those flecks of gold and brown are a kaleidoscope for the devil.

  He inches his body toward me until he’s so close I can feel his breath on my skin. I want to turn around, push my chair away from the desk. But, like always with this man, I freeze.

  “Relax.” A slow, sexy smile creeps across his face before he pulls away and collapses into the chair in front of my desk.

  What the…?

  Well, it looks like we’ll be going four for four with awkward encounters.

  Asher sits back… no, lounges back in the seat with his arms spread open, resting on each arm of the chair. He fills it far more than Trish. In fact, he actually makes the chair look small.

  Oddly enough, his order to relax actually does calm my nerves a bit. It was in the tone. It was… earnest?

  I stare at him, dumbfounded.

  “You intrigue me.” He crosses his right leg over his knee. “You are the only person in this damn place who tells it like it is. I like you. I want to get to know you intimately.”

  I must look like a deer in headlights. He leans back his head and laughs. A real laugh. Like a deep in the belly guttural laugh. It’s deep and smooth.

  “No, no, not like that.” He holds up his hand while the other sits on his chest.

  If not like that, then what?

  He pauses as he tries to assess how to proceed. “Gray. May I call you Gray?”

  I shake my head. “No.” We’re not doing nicknames.

  He mouths the word no as a question, his lips forming a perfect O.

  He leans over, placing his elbows on his knees. His legs spread wide, hitting the sides of the chair. “That’s fine. I like your name. Kathryn.” My name slides off his tongue like a dare. “It’s beautiful. It means pure.”

  Pure? I’m far from it. Maybe once, a long time ago. Speaking of pure… “The white roses. They have to go.”

  “The roses were meant as a peace offering. I should have told you who I was, but I swear I didn’t know who you were when you got in my car.”

  I blink at him, unsure whether to assume he really did or did not know. “So you weren’t being inappropriate?”

  He takes a deep breath. “To be honest, yes, I was coming on to you in the elevator, but I swear that was before I knew you were married. Scouts honor.” He holds up his fingers in some twisted Vulcan-type sign.

  “You said I intrigue you. Intrigue how?” I ask.

  “Fascinate, interest, beguile… Are you really going to make me list every SAT word I have in this head? Because I’ve got a lot of them. Appeal, bewitch… transfix…” He counts off the various words.

  “I know what intrigue means. The question was, how?”

  Clearly amused by himself, he smiles and then shrugs his shoulders. “You’re intense. You tell it like it is and you don’t take shit from anyone, especially me.”

  Okay, that is so not me. What he just described is Malory. Have I really come off like that to him?

  He continues. “I would have written you off, but there’s something about your work. You understand what I want to do with these concerts more than anyone else here.”

  He seems genuine, yet, as with everything Asher, I tend to stay on my toes, not knowing what he’s going to say or do next. This is something I didn’t see coming. Not today, anyway.

  My interest is piqued. “What do you mean you want to get to know me better?”

  The corners of his eyes crinkle just enough to make him look like someone I’d want to get to know on a friendly level. Not the ultra-serious businessman that had me reeling for the last few weeks.

  “You are a breath of fresh air. Women always tell me exactly what I want to hear and I know it’s because they want to get in bed with me to become the future Mrs. Alexander Asher.”

  His conceit knows no bounds. “That is the most self-obsessed thing I’ve ever heard.”

  His smile broadens, revealing beautiful white teeth. “See, that’s what I mean. You don’t feel the need to lie to me or jump through hoops. As hard as it may be for you to believe, most women see dollar signs around me and only want me for that single purpose.”

  Does he not realize how gorgeous he is? I’m sure he’d get plenty of women if he were dirt poor, personality aside.

  “And the men around here…” He continues. “They all want promotions or event tickets, trips on the private jet…” His list continues, and I wonder if he’s gloating or merely stating facts.

  “Mr. Asher.” I use his name in an attempt to keep this relationship as professional as possible. “I doubt there isn’t a single person who can be upfront with you.”

  “You are a rare breed.” He leans into my desk. “That’s why I’m here to apologize and ask for a truce. I mean it. I want to be your friend.”

  This is so awkward. I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s forget the fact I’ve had some very odd dreams about him. One that happened to take place in this very office. Yes, we’re going forget about that.

  This whole situation is just…

  “Again, it’s inappropriate. For starters, I am your employee. And secondly, I’m married.” I flash my ring finger at him. Yes, today I am wearing one.

  Asher nearly jumps out of his seat. “That’s exactly what I like about you. You’re taken. You have no interest in me and I have absolutely no interest in you. I can relax. Be myself. I know you’re not after anything.”

  What does he mean absolutely no interest? I don’t know if I should be disappointed or relieved. He certainly had a thing for married women the night at the museum.

  “Mr. Ash—”

  “Please, call me Alex. You said it in the car. I like
it when you say my name.” My mouth opens and he waves me off before I can say anything, “And, no, it’s not inappropriate. Consider yourself my consigliore, my right-hand man, my secretary of state.”

  He’s being playful and it makes me smile, a tiny sliver of a smile I know he’s getting a kick out of. “I’ll take the title of ‘work friend.’ But first, you have to earn someone’s friendship.”

  His brow puckers as if he’s never thought of that. Distorting his face, he looks as if he’s processing something. I decide to put him out of his misery and change the topic.

  “Why are you here?”

  His furrowed brows look back at me. “I thought I just explained—”

  “No, why are you in the office today? You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. You have the staff going crazy.”

  “I have a very important date tomorrow.” He’s back to being Mr. Casual, leaning back in the seat.

  “A date?” The words come out slow, accusatory. “You cause chaos amongst your staff because you have a date tomorrow?”

  “No, not the kind of date you’re thinking of. I have somewhere very important to be every Friday afternoon until the concerts. And yes, if I want to surprise my staff with a surprise meeting, then I will. No one ever became a successful CEO by playing it safe with the staff.”

  “You really do love yourself, don’t you?”

  “Confidence, Gray. It’s the key to success.”

  “Smug is more like it. And I said no nicknames.”

  “That was before we were friends.” He pauses to look around the room. “Where is the umbrella?”

  Oh shoot. The umbrella. It’s still under my desk in the box.

  “It hasn’t rained so I haven’t had a chance to use it.”

  His eyes light up and a satisfied smile brightens his face. “So you’re keeping it. Good. I picked it out just for you. My olive branch.”

  “Olive branch accepted. But no more gifts. I mean it, Asher!”

  “Asher? I like the stern connotation in your voice.” He’s mocking me with his eyes and his mouth.

  “I’ll keep the umbrella, but the staff enjoys the roses. And yes, Asher, no more gifts!”