I tug imperceptibly at the hem as I clear my throat and start volleying questions.
“What’s so special about this campaign, though? I assumed your focus would be around your bigger shipping interests,” I say, fiddling with my nails as he continues to stare.
“We’re in the process of instituting environmentally sustainable cruises in the next few months. We’ve refitted some liners to utilise solar power, new wastewater treatment methods, and alternative fuel options. What I want is for the campaign to emphasise the impact of our services on the environment. Cleaner cruises are the way of the future, and I’d like for the company to be rebranded as an environmentally friendly option to vacationers.”
Wow. It must have cost millions to take a step in this direction. I’m no environmental expert, but I’ve seen what alternative energy and carbon reducing initiatives cost. Suddenly I feel a respect for the guy that I really don’t want to feel.
He’s so likeable I’m finding it hard to remember why I shouldn’t want him.
“That’s so cool. It must have cost a fortune. How many ships are eco-friendly?”
“Three. It’s a process to get them up to the standards I want, so we’ve launched three so far.”
My mind has taken what he’s telling me and run with it, and I see a myriad of paths this campaign can take. I am so excited by the prospect I don’t notice when his hand brushes my thigh, until I feel a tickle at the hem of my skirt.
My eyes practically bug when I look down to see his thumb stroking me. When I look up I am caught in the glare of his desire. He wants me, I can see it, and the knowledge frightens me as much as it turns me on.
“Uh, er, I should get back to work,” I say, rising quickly and dislodging his hand.
“If you insist.”
Oh, but I do, I must, I think silently as I scuttle to my station and sit gingerly. He continues to stare as I pretend to work, and by the time Jordan walks in I’m a bundle of rattled nerves.
Things, things that I haven’t felt since the first year of my disastrous marriage are coming to life deep inside me, and I feel unsettled to the extreme.
I have never been this conscious of my own body, never, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
“Hannah, coffee,” Jordan barks, stopping short when he spies Gregory Lucas. “Oh, hello. I’m sorry I kept you waiting. The traffic, you know,” he rambles off as Mr Lucas follows him into his office.
I scramble to my feet and rush to the little kitchen, taking deep breaths to regain my composure before joining them. By the time I enter Jordan’s office I am my usual unflappable self, and I feel more composed as I serve the coffee and hand Jordan his notes.
“I’ve been telling Miss Newman about my expectations of the campaign. I hope you’ve been researching the issue. I want people to know what the line has to offer on a global perspective.”
Jordan looks nonplussed, and I’d bet my prized Manolo Blahniks —post-divorce shopping —he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on. Lazy bastard.
“Well yes, yes, of course. Here at Yates and Marshall we offer only the best.”
What a crock. If the account had gone to Jack that statement would be so true. Under Jordan’s guidance the campaign will be filled with blonde beach babes swimming in the cruise ship’s pool. If he’s lucky.
I blush, feeling embarrassed for him, and make a quick escape, studiously ignoring Mr Lucas and his oddly penetrating eyes.
My phone is ringing when I sit, and I answer it with a terse hello.
“So how hot is he?”
Oh, Lucy.
“Don’t you have work to do?”
“Nope. My boss actually knows how to do his job. What’s wrong?”
What isn’t wrong? I’ve developed a monumental crush on a client, I have to go to the nursing home and sit through an hour of lecturing by Mrs Ludwig, and my sister’s a mooch.
“Nothing. Just digging up stuff on the new client’s company.”
I love Google. He, and I say he because he’s become a living entity lately, is my friend. He never lets me down and usually rewards me with more information than I actually require.
“What happened to my wrap yesterday?” I ask, digging a granola bar out of my purse as I read the Lucas Cruises and Sea Travel website. There’s so much here I won’t have to look anywhere else.
Have I mentioned how much I love order?
“Sorry. I went to lunch with Tony, and by the time we got back…it was smooshy. Sooo, back to the reason I called you. How hot is he?”
She says it so loudly I pull the phone a good distance from my ear and wait for the squealing to stop. I don’t want to talk about my schoolgirl crush, but what the hell.