Page 4 of Wallflower
“I can definitely make that work.”
I challenge her hot stare with one coated in ice until movement at the other end of the table catches my eye. It’s the intern doing her best to disappear into the high-back boardroom chair. I glance at her, but it’s obvious she doesn’t want to look at me, and it gives me an idea.
I need someone who isn’t going to throw herself at me and someone who won’t give me any trouble. I want someone who keeps to herself, stays out of my way, and won’t drive me crazy. I need someone invisible.
She’s perfect.
I fling up my arm and point. “I want her.”
“Oh, no!”
The intern’s hands fly up to cover the roses in her cheeks, and the way her eyes grow round like she can’t believe she said that out loud makes my lips twitch. I almost feel bad for her, but Courtney’s scornful sniff makes my dickish behavior worth it.
The marketing manager visibly collects herself, flipping her hair over her shoulder and rolling her mouth against a condescending smirk. “That’s Violet James, one of our junior marketing executives, and she willnotbe working with you.”
Is that right?
I stand and button my suit jacket.Well done, lady. You’ve just gone and guaranteed that this little wallflower is mine for the summer.
“If you need anything else,” I say to the room as I stride toward the exit, “send requests to Violet—my assistant.”
I set my hand on the door, but before I walk through it, I pause next to Violet and wait for her to raise her head. It takes a long second, and her gaze drags up my body like she’s delaying the moment she has to meet my eyes. When she does, I almost cancel the whole thing.
How much of an asshole do I have to be to demand this woman work for me when I can tell by the crease between herbrows and the way her plush pink lips are parted that she wants to tell me something but can’t?
I hear Courtney get to her feet, but I can’t look away from Violet. There’s a question in those deep chestnut-colored eyes, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her she’s off the hook.
Courtney is suddenly at my shoulder. “You’ve changed your mind,” she says, and the relief—or maybe it’s hope—in her voice is palpable. “Good. I offer my—”
“No.”
The chill in my stare is for her, not Violet, but Violet’s on the receiving end because I can’t bring myself to look away. Her eyes widen, and I blow out a frustrated breath.
Fuck it.
“Be at Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard at ten a.m. tomorrow,” I tell her. “Don’t be late.”
three
Violet
Chord Davenport smells sogood I can’t think straight. Clean like powder. Fresh like mint. Earthy like cedar with mouthwatering base notes of man. Tall, intimidating, devastatingman. The fragrance goes straight to the pleasure center in my brain, but it’s his eyes that freeze every muscle in my body. He’s got thick, dark brows—the one on the right sliced with a single scar—over cold cobalt blues that pin me to my chair and suck the air from my lungs. And I can’t look away.
We’re in a room full of people, yet Chord stares at me like there’s nobody here but us. He’s waiting for me to say something, but there’s no chance I can string a coherent sentence together.
Tell him you can’t be his assistant. Tell him you can’t spend a whole summer on his ranch. Tell him he terrifies you. That you have responsibilities. That you’re the wrong person for this job!
My lips part, and Chord’s gaze drops to my mouth. His eyes trace the shape of it, sweeping from one corner to the other and back again and triggering a warm flush across my chest. Thesmall hope I had of stopping his plan before it goes too far is lost in the silence between us.
“You’ve changed your mind,” Courtney says. I didn’t even notice her approach, and I should probably acknowledge her, but Chord’s eyes remain fixed on mine, and until he lets go, I’m at his mercy.
“Good,” Courtney goes on. “I offer my—”
“No.”
The change in Chord is swift, and even though I’m almost positive his problem is with Courtney, it’s terrifying to be on this end of his icy glare. My fingertips press into the leather of the boardroom chair as I remind myself breathing isn’t optional, and I should probably start again if I want to live long enough to tell my dad about this.
Chord clenches his jaw as a frustrated sigh puffs from his flared nostrils. “Be at Silver Leaf Ranch & Vineyard at ten a.m. tomorrow,” he orders. “Don’t be late.”
