When the doors opened, Zee walked casually inside a penthouse suite with gleaming white stone floors, expansive windows that brought the light in, and boasted the most incredible view of the ocean. The open concept main floor was divided by furniture in black and white, made of leather and glass: a semi-circular sofa, and clear square tables in various sizes. In the middle of the large room, black leather winged chairs were gathered around a massive fireplace in the corner on top of a patchwork cowhide rug. To the right was the white kitchen with shiny, possibly unused appliances along the wall and a cement slab island, with leather white barstools lined along its length. To the left was a set of what seemed to be floating wooden stairs, and past that was a hallway.
The size of the place was an absurdity and it screamed filthy rich beyond what Cade could imagine. But she couldn't help but wonder how on earth a child could live in it. Even without being around children, she knew what they could be like, unless the father treated his home like a barracks and the family like soldiers. Cade had grown up spotless, neat, tidy, and well organized. A clean freak. But in her younger years, before understanding that having filthy hands meant an hour facing the wall, cleaning the floors with a toothbrush, or even being sent to bed without dinner, she had jumped on puddles, ate melting Popsicles under the sun, and rolled down a grassy hill. Maybe at eight, Harley Buxton Clark was also a trained clean freak.
A clicking noise approached them. It belonged to a pair of five-inch stiletto heels worn by a tight-lipped, pale-skinned, stick woman. She was so skinny Cade thought for sure she would break her femur just by exerting pressure on it while she walked. Her rouged lips formed into a smile, which Cade thought was supposed to be endearing, but it was all toothy and just scary.
"Mr. Arnold, thank you for coming so soon." As if she only noticed Cade at that moment, her facial features morphed into something sour. "And who is this?"
"Ms. Joyce, meet Cade Williams. She is Mr. Mackinley's choice."
She wanted to sneer at him. Zee wanted to play it safe. If the client didn't approve of her, the blame would only be placed on Mac. Being professional was of the utmost importance, so she forgot about berating Zee and extended her hand to Ms. Joyce. The woman blinked once, then opened her eyes into narrow slits. Cade had seen this same type of perusal from other women before. She had never understood it. Cade kept her appearance simple with her usual low ponytail, makeup-free face and standard black pantsuit that she knew full well was a size too big on her, letting it fall over her body instead of hugging her curves.
"What kind of girl's name is Cade?"
In her peripherals, she noticed Zee tense. Cade was known in the office to speak her mind, talk back without a thought. Staying professional was of the utmost importance, also factoring the short conversation she had with Zee earlier, Cade withdrew her hand and plastered a toothless smile on her face.
"What indeed?" a deep voice echoed in the white space.
Upon hearing it, the thin woman turned around. Without her blocking the source of that voice, Cade felt a sharp tug in her chest when she saw the tall man who stalked in bare feet toward them. He wore a white cotton shirt and faded, well-fitting jeans. The getup was all about comfort but the entire package-the black hair shaved on the sides and long on top, the easy swagger, muscles lengthening and bulging on his arms as he swayed them around-was entirely sexy. As he stood mere inches from Cade, she was able to drown herself in his manly spicy scent, admire his high wattage smile, and the smoldering glare that bordered on assault, Cade knew she was facing Jackson Clark.
Her training kicked in. She pushed away all other thoughts and emotions so nothing was left but the sense of safety and security. Her eyes remained in contact with his. She felt unprepared, and mentally kicked herself for not making time, even a little, to research the client more, and the uncomfortable awkwardness between her and Zee in the car didn't give her a chance to ask questions. There was unease deep inside her, a strange thought that, if given the chance, she would know more about him, enticing the wisdom out of his mouth every which way she could.
Her stubborn chin lifted as she answered, "It's short for Cadence. Cadence Williams."
His gaze intensified when she spoke. Her eyes darted to his lips, perfectly suited for a man in an astonishingly sexy way, then up to his eyes, dark, dangerous, and brooding. "Pleasure to meet you, Cadence." A tattooed hand was offered. Colourful inks artfully adorned his entire arm, disappearing under a white short, stretched out sleeve.