Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
T he artificially clean air of the office was just the oxygen I needed. I hurried through the door and to my desk. Blake seemed to be in work mode as well, thank God. I slid into my seat and tapped my mouse until my screen came out of hibernation.
I typed in my password, popped open folders, and a browser. I scanned his prepared file and did a quick web search to make sure nothing had hit the social media pages that we’d be surprised about.
He passed me. “There’s a laptop in the drawer—bring it into my office.”
I looked up. “Into your office?”
“Yes. Move along, Ms. Copeland.”
I tamped down on the urge to growl and opened the drawer on my right. Just papers. I went for the other side and found a host of toys. IPad, mini-notebook—one I’d been drooling over for months—as well as cords galore.
I grabbed the laptop and opened it, balancing the lightweight machine on my palm as I quickly tapped in my details. God bless networks. My information opened a matching desktop, linked to what I’d just been doing.
The door was open, and he was looming over his desk with three monitors making a U-shaped workstation. A large projection on the glass flickered to life. The familiar logo for business conference calls came up and then a video feed.
My little IM box popped up, Mr. Carson’s fingers flying over the keys.
Mr. Carson
Send all research through here. Pertinent details only.
Like I knew what pertinent details were? I was an artist, for God’s sake.
A stunning blond woman came into focus on the projection screen. Huge china-blue eyes were lightly enhanced with makeup, and her almost too lush mouth was downplayed with barely there lipstick.
“Nice to see you, Blake. Sorry for the change of plans. Donovan has to attend a meeting in London.”
“Not a problem.” He nodded to me. “Lila Shawcross, meet my new assistant, Ms. Copeland.”
“Welcome to the madness, Ms. Copeland.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Lila’s cool, professional smile widened and bumped into almost warm. “Don’t worry, Donovan only bites on Tuesdays.”
“Today’s Tuesday,” I replied.
A small smile tugged at her lips, and she looked down at the iPad in her hand. “Fancy that.”
My lips twitched, but I managed not to smile back. Especially when Mr. Carson shot a look at me. I perched on the edge of the same chair I’d interviewed in, my fingers flying over the keys as I scanned the business trade articles for mention of Donovan Lewis and any new projects he was getting involved in.
“Sorry for the rush, Blake. Thanks for fitting us in.”
My gaze snapped to the screen. British, cultured, and deep—Donovan’s voice was equivalent in touch to cashmere. He had a similar look to Mr. Carson, only leaner and more elegant. He didn’t seem to be as tall, either, and his suit was definitely less rumpled.
Instead of getting more buttoned up, my boss took off his jacket and slung it over his chair. He had a small iPad in his large hand, and he cradled it like a freaking phone. “Just means I can actually go home before dark for once.”
“I wish I could say the same,” Donovan murmured.
Mr. Carson’s mouth tipped into a fleeting grin. “The installation of the security glass on Ms. York’s house is progressing nicely. The architect contacted me last night and ordered another dozen panels for her veranda.”
There was my cue. I quickly brought up the York file and all the emails he’d tagged. My boss was scarily efficient. I followed along with the conversation and sent him a few updates from the job site.
Lila seemed to be doing the same thing. Her fingers were flying and swiping over her iPad.
“Are you onboard with the re-facing of your New York office?” he asked.
Donovan leaned against a conference table. “We’ve crunched some numbers, and between the look of Lindsey’s place and my own discussions with a few of your established clients, it’s a go.”
Mr. Carson’s hand tightened on his chair, but otherwise, there was no reaction to the news. I didn’t have time to pore over any other details since the discussion got intense from there on out. I was trying to keep up with my boss’s numbers and notes for the session to make sure what he said actually came to pass.
I had a feeling the entire conversation was being recorded, but this also felt very much like a test. And I really needed to get an A+.
“The last question I had was an aesthetic one.” Donovan’s posture eased a little, and he clasped his hands behind his back. “Your product is phenomenal, but I work with people who value their image as much as their security. More than, in all honesty.”
Mr. Carson’s spine went straight as a ruler.
“Ms. York has expressed interest in a patterned glass for the front of her house - more of a showcase, instead of strictly for security. But she does like the fact that she can get that privacy and no loss of light.”
“Yes,” I answered automatically.
Blake shot a look at me.
“We’ve been experimenting with artistic avenues, as well.”
Donovan’s eyebrow went up and a small smile softened his angular features. “Excellent. I’ll have Ms. York’s architect set something up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Lewis,” I said when Mr. Carson continued to stare death rays into the back of my head. “If you need anything, your assistant can contact me.”
Mr. Carson came up beside me at the end of his desk. “We appreciate your business, Donovan.” His voice resonated through my bones, leaving a shiver in its wake.
“You have a good staff, Blake. Jack Hollister has been in contact with me for some follow-up visits to make sure the security is sound. I appreciate that level of attention, especially from you. I won’t forget it.”
I frowned. Especially from Mr. Carson, why? My boss didn’t seem like he normally took shortcuts.
Mr. Carson’s fingers curled around the thick glass of his desk. The side of his hand brushed mine, and I fought to stop the blissful teenage flutters from filling up my chest. “I’ll check in next week.”
“Perfect.” Donovan nodded, and the screen went blank.
Blake took a step forward and then turned to stand in front of me. “You overstepped, Ms. Copeland. We aren’t set up for that kind of work. Mass-produced glass cut-to-size is one thing, but aesthetics are a whole different kind of work. The profit margin?—”
I swallowed. “I saw that clock. It might not be as easy to do the beveled and the cuttings, but the design is worth it.”
“Oh, and you know all about profit and loss?”
I stood taller. “No, but I know about the wealthy people who spend ridiculous amounts of money on the beautiful. I know you checked me out. I’ve worked in a gallery most of my life, and the amount of money people will spend on the pretty far outweighs what they will on security.”
“I think I know my business.”
“I don’t think you do.” I wanted to snatch my words back. I didn’t know crap about business. Not really. I knew enough to get by, and sooner or later, Mr. Carson would probably figure out that I was full of shit, but right now, I knew I was right.
He tilted his head, and the arctic was back in his eyes. “Is that right?”
“What’s your poison, Mr. Carson?” At his frown, I hurried on. “When you made your first million, what did you spend your money on? A car? A house? A rare album?”
“My first house,” he said tightly.
“And that first house, did you do anything extravagant? Something you’ve always wanted?”
The muscle in his jaw jumped, and he still loomed over me. Still so very close. Without his suit jacket, he was more citrusy. Fresh enough that I wanted to step into him and put my nose into the center of his chest and see if he was as warm and delicious as I thought he’d be.
“That clock that’s in your showroom.” Suddenly, I knew. “That’s in your house.”
His nostrils flared, and I knew I was right.
“That’s what people want.” My heartbeat thundered behind my eyes and tried to leap out of my chest, but I rushed on. “Your name is already synonymous with distinction and beauty within the security circles. Add in the art side, and it would push your company over the top. I understand people with money, but more importantly, I know they want status above all else.”
“There’s no security in art.” He stepped back and walked out of the office without another word.
I slumped back against his desk. Then, because I knew he couldn’t see me, I leaned over to take a breath. Holy crap. What the hell was I thinking? This really wasn’t my job. I was supposed to be ingratiating myself, so he’d be more inclined to talk to me about the house. This was not going to help my case in any way.
I straightened up and looked out to the main area where my desk was. Blake was talking to Jack, and his hands were in his hair. God, I could see everything from this vantage point. The entire office was on display and my desk—that was the focus.
Was that so he had absolute control to micromanage his little kingdom, or was it more? He hadn’t come out to talk to me all damn day until Jack had come to my desk with food.
I shook my head. That line of thought was as stupid as it was dangerous.
I gathered my laptop and went to join them in the outer office.
“That’s brilliant. Do you realize how much we can make on those crazy LA people? They’ll pay thousands of dollars to have their freaking cars detailed with a simple pinstripe. Do you have any idea what they’ll do for a one-of-a-kind window that lets them see out, and leaves the world dying to know what they’re doing?”
I hid a smile when Mr. Carson’s fingers fisted again. I decided silence was probably a better idea than an “I told you so.”
I tucked my laptop into the drawer and plugged it in. I was going to look for an outlet for the charger when I saw the little green light go on. My boss really was the most organized man ever.
Jack came around my desk and dragged me into a hug. He lifted me off the ground. “Genius.”
I squeaked and couldn’t help but laugh. “Put me down.”
“I’m a security guy. I would never have thought to make the stupid glass pretty.”
“Stupid glass?” Mr. Carson asked incredulously. “That stupid glass bought you a house in Hawaii and that asinine collection of old trucks that you love.”
“This is true.” Jack wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “But now I can buy more trucks because this is going to be money, buddy.”
Mr. Carson tipped his head back and seemed to be counting to ten. “Both of you get out of here. I need to crunch numbers.” He pointed at me. “You, I need here before seven tomorrow. It’s going to be a very long day.”
I nodded. A long day with him tomorrow? Yeah. I was absolutely losing my mind, but I nodded, anyway. “Yes, Mr. Carson.”
He stalked to his office and started rolling back his sleeves. Before I could get a good look at the sepia-toned ink climbing his forearm, he was hidden behind his glass.
Dammit.