Three and a Half Weeks(3)

In addition to being gaga over him, I remember being somewhat terrified by him that day in his office. He’s an important man for a reason: he oozes competence, grace, and confidence. It’s ridiculously intimidating to us mortals.

Truthfully, I was feeling intimidated before I even stepped foot into his office. The platinum-frosted blonde who manned the reception desk tried her level best not to stare at me as I sat fidgeting in reception. She clearly couldn’t figure out why someone who looked and dressed like me would have business here in Blackmon’s universe.

“Miss?”

I sidled up and stepped nearer to the desk. “Yes?”

“May I offer you a beverage? Coffee, tea, or perhaps iced water?”

“No, thank you,” I answered, feeling at a disadvantage, a fish out of water.

The woman’s eyes skidded over my outfit and frowned, barely hiding her disdain.

For my part, I didn’t much care about Frosty’s attitude. I just wanted to do whatever was necessary to take my leave in short order. Uncomfortable was how I felt in the manufactured air of Excalibur’s luxurious corporate offices. But first I needed to satisfy my curiosity—my mother always warned me that my intense curiosity would prove to be my undoing. When his driver deposited me at the front entrance of the building a few minutes before, I looked up and saw the name Blackmon—his name—carved indelibly into the imposing limestone edifice of the tall building. Was the whole gigantic building owned by his father? I decided to ask Frosty.

“Excuse me, does Mr. Blackmon’s father own this entire building?”

The blonde stared at me in consternation. “Mr. Blackmon’s father?” she repeated like an idiot.

“Yes,” I elaborated, unable to resist, “you know, the man whose wife gave birth to Ian Blackmon and who then raised him into adulthood?”

“I’m sorry I don’t understand. Mr. Blackmon’s father has nothing to do with the corporation.” Though the frosted blonde behaved very politely, her tone was dismissive, putting me in my place. “Are you here to interview for a job?”

“Job?” I repeated, perplexed. “Uh, no. I’m here because Mr. Blackmon summoned me.”

Now Frosty looked taken aback. “Oh. Please accept my apology, Ms. Strong. I thought you might be one of the candidates for the open positions for which we’re interviewing. I was wondering why you were on this floor, rather than 23 where HR is located.

I didn’t much care about the slight. I was too worried about whether my extreme agitation was plainly visible to everyone in this plush corporate bubble. Could they see me perspiring excessively? Was my face shiny with sweat, my eyes bulging in terror like the fish out of water? Or were they all too distracted by my wrinkled clothes and messy hair to take note of anything else?

Just then the massive mahogany doors opened and a tall, wickedly handsome man emerged with two people in tow, an older, silver-haired man and a stern-looking, fiftyish woman. I looked up and everyone else disappeared. There he stood, the man in the brown suit in all of his Armani glory. Today, though, he wore navy, with a pearl gray shirt, and aubergine tie. His light eyes swiveled toward me, dazzling me with his peppermint smile—all red and white and delicious.

“Ms. Strong,” a silky baritone voice slid through the air and into my ears where it diffused into all the pertinent body parts. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice. Please come into my office.” He turned to Frosty and said, “No calls, please, Janine. You might also have to reschedule my five o’clock. If you don’t hear from me by 4:30, cancel… but check with Claudia for conflicts before rescheduling.”

Frosty, a.k.a. Janine, nodded deferentially, jumping to puppy-like attention. “Yes, Mr. Blackmon.”

Mr. Blackmon seemed annoyed by her slavish obedience, frowning at her before turning his attention to me.



After leaving Frosty sitting there bewildered, he escorted me into his spacious office and told me to take a seat. Told, not asked. Imperious was an adjective I’d definitely use to describe Mr. Blackmon. I looked around for the most uncomfortable chair to sit on, so I could keep my guard up… but there were none. Every piece of seating furniture looked stupidly comfy, inviting one to sink into the lap of luxury and stare up in awe at the exalted assets of the man inhabiting the office. Fine, I’d take the one closest to the door. All of this rumination transpired in about five seconds.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here, Ms. Strong.”

Did he know his voice was like liquid sex? Merely hearing my name spill from his throat did things to me, deep inside. Why was I here? I cleared my own throat. “Yes, I am actually at somewhat of a loss…”