23. Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Three
M y car is to arrive at exactly eight thirty in the morning.
By eight, I have too many cups of room service coffee down me for my own good, considering I’m bouncing off the walls nervous. I’m literally pacing from window to couch, window to couch—stand, sit, stand, sit. All the while, I’m practicing my pitch, repeating it over and over in my head and speaking it to the empty space around me. Getting out of the room might help me, but that’s a no go. I can’t risk getting even more worked up by running into Ethan before the meeting. Of course, the fear that I’m sharing a ride with him to the meeting is real, but it’s doubtful. I just don’t believe he’d do that to me right before the presentation.
But at this point, I can’t rule out anything.
I didn’t believe we were staying at the same hotel either, or that he was staying at a hotel at all. I’m reminded of what the whirlwind of running into him made me forget—he supposedly owns an apartment here in the city. If that’s true, he chose to be here with me, but I just find that hard to believe. I don’t believe for a minute he’d stay in a hotel just to be near me. He doesn’t strike me as a man who needs to chase a woman, not that I think he’s that into me anyway, or mock someone so low on the totem pole of life compared to him, as I am, for that matter. He’s not a man who plays games, or that wasn’t my impression of him in any of our encounters.
He must not really own an apartment in the city any longer, I reason. Maybe he never did. The truth is, I don’t know a lot about Ethan. Maybe he is all about games. There was certainly some game-playing in our sexual encounter, now that I think about it more open-mindedly. But does that even really translate to real life? More importantly, into business?
That doesn’t feel even a little right to me. No, I do not know him well, but that night in Hawaii, when we were talking, I sensed a real need for honesty in him, and that’s why my hidden identity was a betrayal that I believe he took like a sword to the gut. There was a sense of freedom between us that night, as if we were safe together, in ways we would not be with anyone else. And yes, it had a lot to do with the nature of the encounter I assumed to be one night, but what if…what if it was more than that?
I shake myself out of that headspace.
It was never more than one night between us, and for me to start creating that story in my head right before this meeting is just insanity at its finest.
The phone on the nightstand rings, and I rush and pick it up and hear, “Your car is ready, Ms. Cameron.”
I don’t give myself time to overthink what I’ve already overthought way too much. I grab my purse and portfolio, and head for the door. A few minutes later, I’m at the front door, being directed to a black sedan, and that’s when butterflies erupt in my belly. He could be in that car. He could be…he’s not. The driver opens the door for me, and I find the backseat spectacularly, miserably empty.
I’ll see him again, and he’ll be my judge and jury .
Actually, I remind myself, he’s an investor and board member, not the CEO, so at least he won’t be the head of the table. Not sure that helps a lot, but it feels less intimidating to have him be one of some, not the king himself.
The car delivers me to a high-rise on Fifth Avenue, and this is it. I’m here. I’m about to make one of the biggest moves of my life and pitch for what could change my future. I close my eyes and say a little prayer before I walk into the fancy lobby toward security. It’s not long before I’m in the Moore’s Department Store lobby, which is quite dark—a bit like their brand right now, in my opinion.
The ceilings are low, with industrial pipes and dim lights above that send a contrasting message to the fancy multi-toned reception desk and brown velvet chairs. There is nothing here that says “This is Moore’s,” but rather makes you ask, “What is Moore’s?” I check in with the receptionist, a pretty twenty-something brunette who introduces herself as Cindy.
Cindy is quick to call her backup and lead me down a long hallway to a glass-encased room where a table full of what appears to be a dozen people await me.
And just like that, I’m standing at the front of the room, at one end of the exceptionally long rectangular table, and to my shock, Ethan is, in fact, at the opposite end. He is the head of the table, and he’s watching me with keen blue eyes, as Cindy introduces me to the room, but I see no one but Ethan. I see nothing but the implications of his presence in that one seat. At this point, it’s safe to assume he’s the majority stockholder, and he’s downplayed his role in Moore’s. He’s in charge. He must have approved me being here. There was no boss above him who made the decision, only someone who may have suggested my visit, but ultimately, he would have said yes or no. Ultimately, Ethan made the decision to bring me here.
And I’m really not sure what that means.
What game is this? If he knew who I was, and he’s claimed to not know , why not just call me and talk to me? Why put me on display? Why? Why? Why to all of this?
My mind tries to reason that he perhaps thought I knew how involved he is with Moore’s from the beginning, thus his hostility toward me last night. And yet, as I stand here, my stare locked on his, our intimate encounter burns in the air between us, crackling with a spark I know can become a flame.
“Welcome, Sofia,” Ethan greets, rather than “Ms. Cameron,” as one might expect in this environment, and there’s a familiar tone to his voice, an intimate tone that rumbles rough and wild through me, that I do not believe anyone else will notice, but oh, I do. I so do. Just as I notice his sky blue tie that matches his intelligent eyes, that have seen far more of me than anyone in this room ever will. A detail he and I both know all too well. It’s settled between us, even in this room, with a sea of eyes watching us.
It will always be between us.
And I’m not sure where we go from here, but I do believe he has a plan that I’m not sure will go the way I’d hoped.