“Are you all right?” he asked, looking concerned.
He was on my left side, Dan across from us, Eugene sitting on Mr. Stevenson’s other side. The touch—presumably a foot—had come from in front of me on the right.
“Yes. Fine. I apologize, just a sudden cramp.” I reached under the table as though to scratch the right side of my leg; in reality I pinched his ankle. “Please continue with the prospectus.”
He continued. I planned to send a warning glare to Dan. That plan fled my brain as soon as our gazes connected.
Dan was leaning slightly to one side, looking relaxed, lounging in the chair; his elbow was on the table, his middle and index fingers along the side of his face, his chin propped on his thumb, his ring and pinky fingers just under his lips, one of his eyebrows slightly raised over a smoldering gaze.
He looked like he was issuing me a dare. My heart quickened.
I endeavored to glare at him. He smirked, his stare dropping to my mouth as his tongue licked his bottom lip. Then he drew it into his mouth, his foot coming back to my leg and sliding along the interior. I felt dizzy.
I’m frustrated to admit it, but his distraction techniques were working.
Earlier in the evening, close to 7:00 PM, he’d been sitting next to me. Everything had been fine, perfectly professional all day. We’d made it through the will, an extensive and detailed account of all the properties, bank accounts, offshore holdings, and so forth. But then I’d turned to Dan, planning to ask a question, and found his eyes on the top button of my shirt. His stare was intensely focused, like he wanted to destroy the buttons, or maybe just maim them.
I asked Dan the question, to which he’d shaken himself, blinked, and responded with, “What was that?”
I asked it again and he’d replied, pragmatically, dispassionately, and objectively. But I immediately missed the way I’d caught him looking at me. On a whim, holding his gaze, I decided to surreptitiously unbutton the top button of my shirt. The smolder hadn’t stopped since.
Presently, Mr. Stevenson said, “We have another four hundred statements on the viability of this particular fund I’d like to show you,” and I decided I’d had enough.
“Thank you, Mr. Stevenson.” I gave him a tight smile, pushing back in my chair. “But I believe that’s enough for today.”
He glanced from me to Eugene. “I have seventeen more accounts to review.”
“Yes. And we’ll do so tomorrow at my office downtown. You know the address.” I stood and so did everyone else.
“I plan to return to New York tonight,” he protested, pointing to the binder he’d brought.
“You’ll have to change your plans.” I was already gathering my belongings.
“That’s not possible. We’ll have to make an appointment for later in the month. Should I have my assistant call Mr. Marks’s office?”
I stopped organizing my things and stared at Mr. Stevenson, giving him an opportunity to reverse his assertion.
When he didn’t, I continued stacking papers. “Mr. Stevenson, you will meet me at my office tomorrow at nine. You knew how long it would take to review these reports. It is your job to plan your meetings with me efficiently, not mine. I will not be expected to conform to your schedule if you and your firm wish to continue managing this portfolio. If you didn’t want to stay another day in Boston, then you should have used your time more wisely.” Finished organizing my things, I placed the load into my bag and walked around the table towards the wooden double doors. I didn’t need to look to know Dan was behind me, and behind Dan was Eugene.
“I’ll see you out.” I heard Eugene say.
“That won’t be necessary.” I turned right, toward the elevator. “We know the way. Please ensure Mr. Stevenson knows how to find my office.”
Eugene’s footsteps fell away, and Dan drew even with my shoulder.
Once we were out of earshot, he took my bag from me and slung it over his shoulder. “You didn’t cut that Stevenson guy any slack.”
“No. I didn’t.” I shrugged. “But he makes a lot of money off of my family. Requesting he stay another day isn’t asking for something inappropriate. You and I, and Eugene, shouldn’t be expected to stay until midnight. That was poor planning on his part.”
“Hmm.” I felt his eyes on me.
I glanced at him as we approached the elevators. “He works for me, not the other way around.”
As soon as I pressed the call button, the doors slid open. I stepped on first. Dan followed and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors shut and he turned to me, crossing his arms, looking as though he was fighting a smile.