“Gentlemen, I don’t know you, but I find your smutty innuendo with a lady present offensive. Do you feel it’s acceptable to act in such a way?”
Mark’s demeanor hardened, his laughter changing to a scowl. “You’re working in a man’s world, honey, so I suggest you grow a thicker skin or look for a job elsewhere. Fucking women.” He looked skyward and spread his arms wide. “They want equality, but only on their terms.”
Kendall had to bite her tongue, but even this didn’t stop the distaste and anger coursing through her veins when the other guys nodded their approval, and she realized she was on her own in the dog-eat-dog world she now found herself in.
She’d been raised well. Her father was a high-flying lawyer with a portfolio of important clients, while her mother, who she loved dearly, was the head teacher at a private day school for girls, situated in the affluent uptown area of Morningside Heights. Good manners and respect for others had always been an integral part of her upbringing. However, her parents had always taught her to stand her ground and fight for what she believed to be right, and the way this Mark guy had spoken so dismissively to her made the desire to retaliate overwhelming.
Keeping as calm and controlled as the situation allowed, she pointed an index finger at him, which she was well aware trembled slightly. “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again. Who the hell do you think you are?”
Her new nemesis opened his mouth wide in theatrical mock horror before his weasel eyes narrowed on her. “Who the hell do I think I am, lady? I know exactly who I am, and you’ll know, too, just as soon as Buchanan comes through that fucking door.”
Kendall wondered if Mac Buchanan would have the same Neanderthal attitude to women that these three men had demonstrated. She wouldn’t pass judgment on him right now because she’d yet to meet the guy, but she didn’t hold out too much hope either, because from what she already knew about him, her new boss seemed to bear all the hallmarks of an old-fashioned chauvinist. A man’s man who believed that a woman’s place was in the home, preferably the kitchen or bedroom. Maybe if he’d personally done the hiring of his new financial controller, he’d have picked a guy, but on this occasion he’d delegated the responsibility to one of his minions—a delightful woman by the name of Louise Brody. This lady had given her an opportunity that few twenty-seven-years-olds could even dream of having.
Anyway, not wishing to sink further down the evolutionary scale to their level, Kendall folded her arms defensively across her chest, desperately willing the boardroom door to swing open again. She only had time to take two or three labored breaths before her prayers were finally answered, and this time it wasn’t the ever-smiling Marcy who entered the room.
Almost bizarrely, she found herself sucking a huge gulp of air deep into her lungs before holding it. To say that Mac Buchanan cut an impressive figure was an understatement. Sure, she knew what he looked like. He’d been in the papers and on TV more times than she could remember. When Louise Brody had given her the job, she’d even taken the time to Google him in order to obtain a better understanding of his meteoric rise in the world of publishing. However, to see this powerful man in the flesh for the very first time was, well, life altering.
As he strode across the hardwood floor toward his chair at the head of the boardroom table, she figured he stood well over six feet tall. On further analysis, she revised her estimate, guessing he was probably closer to six three or six four. His broad, upright stance was impressive, and she had no doubt this guy worked out on a regular basis.
Aged thirty-eight, he had a beautiful, full head of jet-black hair that was neatly trimmed, but it was his eyes that took her breath away. Solid silver discs that seemed to burn their uncompromising message into anyone he looked at. The sheer charisma the guy radiated was awesome, and it was easy to see why he was photographed so often with a beautiful woman on his arm.
Finally letting go of the breath she’d been holding since he’d first entered the room, she shuffled uneasily on her seat.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” His voice was deep and authoritative, his accent pure East Coast.
“Good morning, Mr. Buchanan,” they replied as one. The last time she’d responded in such a way she’d been in eighth grade. Good morning, class. Good morning, Miss Jones.
When he loosened his tie and removed his jacket before casually hanging it over the back of his chair, she felt her pussy moisten.
Goddamn it, this guy is hot. When he smiled a perfect smile and flashed a casual glance in her direction, she realized he knew it, too.