“I’ll be sure to remember that,” he said, that dangerous gleam back in his eye.
“Did you need me to do something?” she asked, busying herself at her desk once more because staring at Gabriel Bishop for too long had a way of adversely affecting her nervous system.
“I need you to come in to work tomorrow.” A faint scrape of sound that told her he was rubbing his jaw. He always ended up with a five-o’clock shadow around four and kept an electric shaver in his desk drawer in case he needed to attend a late meeting or business dinner.
He hadn’t shaved last night when he’d actually left at a reasonable hour in order to make a personal dinner. His dates probably didn’t mind the stubble. Charlotte didn’t—and God, that was a singularly improper thought. Not just because he was her boss, but because he’d spent the day infuriating her in myriad ways.
“You also need to book us return tickets to Queenstown on Sunday,” he told her before she could respond to his first request. “I want you with me for the lunch meeting I’m having with a number of hotel managers there.”
“On Sunday?”
Another rub of his jaw, his voice grim as he said, “Saxon & Archer boutique contracts are coming up for renewal, and it’s going to be a hard sell to get them to give the company another shot after Hill’s idiocy.” That shark smile again. “Might as well ply them with champagne before I get them to sign on the dotted line.”
“I’ll organize it now. Is it overnight?”
“No. Back on Sunday night—latest flight you can get.”
“Okay.” Having somehow reined in her rioting thoughts, she got up and handed him a piece of mail she’d seen at the top of the pile Tuck had dropped off. “It’s marked personal.”
His expression darkened as he took in the plain white envelope, the writing in front elegant and full of flourishes. “Thank you.”
Charlotte almost asked if something was wrong, if the letter was connected to the phone calls he’d received over the past two days from an older-sounding man. However, he’d turned to head back to his desk by the time she parted her lips to speak. Closing her mouth on the words, she’d begun to book the tickets when it hit her.
He wanted her with him in Queenstown.
The city was famous for its skiing, water adventures, and breathtaking alpine scenery, the Saxon & Archer boutiques there as important to the company’s bottom line as the flagship stores. Each was located in the heart of a five-star hotel and was meant to function as a designer haven for well-heeled travelers.
As a representative of Saxon & Archer, she’d be expected to look the part.
Spots appeared in front of her eyes, her heart pumping hard and fast. She’d known she’d be expected to accompany him to meetings, but the reality of it was nerve-racking enough that she took off for a walk the instant she’d finished booking the tickets. Once out on the street, she called Molly.
Her best friend was out of the country but picked up quickly. “Charlie? What’s up?”
Charlotte wanted to ask Molly how everything was going with Fox and the concert setup, but in full panic mode now, she said, “I need help!”
“To seduce the Bishop?”
“Molly.” Her stomach twisted at the thought of being so close to all that raw male heat, desire entangled with a fear that seemed woven into her bones. “No,” she said to her best friend. “Clothes, I need help with clothes.”
“You’re changing your wardrobe?” This time the question was gentle, hopeful.
Biting down on her lower lip, Charlotte fisted her hands. “I can’t go to a major meeting like this.” She waved a hand over the baggy black dress she had on, forgetting Molly couldn’t see her. “Mr. Bishop—”
“Mr. Bishop?” Molly repeated. “I’m your best friend. I know you don’t think of him as Mr. Bishop.”
The teasing was just what she needed to get back on an even keel. Making a face over the phone line, she said, “I was going to say T-Rex has been very patient.” Unexpectedly so. “He could’ve ordered me to get a better wardrobe the day he gave me the promotion.” She scowled. “The day he forced a promotion on me.”
“That job was always yours. He just made sure you’re getting paid for it now.”
Charlotte rubbed her hand free hand over her face. “I just don’t know if I can do it.” Her messed-up psychology wasn’t that complicated; she knew exactly why she wore what she did. Knowing that clothes made no difference, wouldn’t have changed what had happened to her, didn’t alter anything. The clothes she chose made her feel invisible, and even if that was a lie, it was a lie she needed to function.