Billionaire Bad Boys of Romance 2(4)

With a few minutes to spare, I used the time to my advantage. Pulling out my iPhone from my handbag, I checked my e-mails. There were easily a hundred new ones from people who reported to me around the world. From store managers to subcontractors. Why did everyone have to bother me with their silly problems? But that was my job. To run the company. There were only two that I urgently needed to read. The first, from Kevin, who was likely updating me about the status of this afternoon’s annual Gloria’s Secret Fashion Show. I opened it and sucked in a deep breath. So far everything was on schedule and moving forward. The other one was good news too. It was from one of my product managers informing me that the first prototype of the sex toys we were developing had been shipped to our Los Angeles headquarters. A smile spread across my face. We were about to expand our business, which now included intimate apparel, active wear, and beauty products, with a collection of BDSM-inspired lingerie and a complementary line of fun, innovative sex toys. Our consumer research with focus groups had strongly indicated that this could be a breakout piece of business for us—women believed that vibrators, dildoes, and bondage accessories, like lace masks and silk handcuffs, were a natural extension of our already sexy product line. And that Gloria’s Secret was a store where they would feel comfortable purchasing these provocative items. We had indeed evolved into a major “lifestyle” brand. As I was about to hit reply, an urgent e-mail came in from Kevin.



G~

The run-through was HOT! Except the lead model tripped on her heels and sprained her ankle. Looking for a replacement. Challenging as all models are working Fashion Week. Will keep you posted.

~K



I replied to his e-mail with a smiley-faced emoticon. Among the many things I loved about Kevin was that he was a problem solver. He had once saved my life. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be who I am; there would be no Gloria’s Secret. I was confident he would find a replacement, and the show would go on. I began to reply to the remaining e-mails.

The sound of sprightly footsteps diverted my attention. My head swiveled to the doorway. My mouth dropped to the floor, and my iPhone slipped out of my hand. Oh. My. God. It was him! That pompous asshole who had caused me to drop my briefcase in the elevator and then played head games with me. What the hell was he doing here? Maybe he worked for Ms. Zander?

He took long confident steps in my direction. I hesitantly stood up. He took my hand in his and shook it. His grip was firm, the touch warm and smooth. My body stiffened and my heartbeat quickened.

“Ms. Long, a pleasure to meet you officially.”

I wasn’t sure if I had yet closed my mouth, but I was speechless. I finally found my voice. “And you’re…”

“Jaime Zander.”

Fuck! Holy, holy, fuck!

I collapsed back into my chair. He shot me a devilish smile. Damn him. He knew I was caught off guard. Big time.

Wordlessly, I gazed up at his face. The baby photo that I’d seen online flashed into my head. It was him all right. Though maybe thirty-five years older, he had the same baby blue eyes with that thick fan of lashes, silky chestnut hair, and that distinct dimpled chin. He had been one of those babies that old ladies would look at and say, “Oh, he’s pretty enough to be a girl.”

Mortification struck me like a lightning bolt. I was not easily rattled, but Mr. Zander had succeeded. I suddenly didn’t want to do the meeting or give him my business.

Paralyzed, my eyes stayed locked on him as he lowered himself into the chair catty-cornered to mine. We were in such close proximity that I could inhale the intoxicating scent of him and feel his warm breath on my cheeks.

“Are you sure I can’t get you something? A coffee? Water? Tea perhaps?”

A fan?

“No, thank you,” I said, nervously tugging on the thick, platinum braid that wrapped around my shoulder and cascaded over my boobs. The sooner we got down to business the better. His presence was making me bristle. Get a grip, Gloria. You’re one of Forbes’s One Hundred Most Powerful Women in the World!

Composing myself, I began by telling him that I was seeking an outside agency to bring my company, Gloria’s Secret, to a new level of sales and sensuality.

He folded one long, muscled leg over the other and relaxed back in his chair with his sculpted forearms casually crossed over his crotch—I mean, lap. “Gloria’s Secret. The #1 lingerie retailer in the world. 2,045 stores worldwide. Estimated annual sales revenue: 6.2 billion dollars.”

He had indeed done his homework. But there was no way in hell that I was going to let him know that I was impressed. My expression remained impassive while I responded.