Chapter 6 Paige
Paige
I shut off the vacuum and with the back of my hand, I wipe the light sheen of sweat coating my forehead.
There’s time for a shower before Zach gets here.
I rushed home from work to clean my house, all the while wishing we were meeting somewhere else.
Just then my phone rings and Zach’s name flashes across the screen.
“Hello,” I say, out of breath.
“Hi, what are you doing?” His voice is low and husky, and I ignore the flip-flop in my stomach. “You’re breathless, do I excite you?”
“What? Not excited. Not at all.” There’s nothing sexy or exciting about sweating from housecleaning but I’m not about to tell him that. “I’m exercising.” That’s not far from the truth.
“That’s something I’d like to see. I’m sure it’s a breathtaking view.”
I suck a rush of air through my teeth at his provocative comment. “Who is this?” I pull the phone away and double-check the name on the screen.
“It’s Zach Rothwell.”
“Oh, I thought it was a prank caller because Mr. Rothwell would never say such a thing.”
“That isn’t fair to say.” There’s a hint of humor in his voice. “You don’t really know me. Yet. And I think watching you work out would be sexy as fuck.”
A burning need coils low in my belly and I bite back an unexpected moan. Why is he being flirty and naughty? He said we were business. And why am I getting turned on by him?
With a steady breath, I dig deep to find balance. “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re not missing anything. I’m far from pretty right now.” It isn’t a put-down, I’m just saying it like it is and ending his game. “I’m sweaty and sticky.”
“Keep talking,” he murmurs and I involuntarily quiver.
“Zach, was there a reason for your call?” Other than making me another kind of hot.
“I’m not going to make it to your place tonight.”
The wild fluttering in my stomach dies sharply and my shoulders deflate. As much as I didn’t want him in my home, I was eager to talk some more about our arrangement. The idea of going to this dinner without coming up with a cover story is terrifying and bound to be a disaster.
“Oh?”
“I have a last-minute conference call that’s going to be long and another one at nine. A car is on its way to pick you up.”
“A car?”
“You’re coming to my office.”
“You want me to come to your office?” There is a fairy godmother or a granter of wishes because mine just came true.
“Yes. We’ll have dinner here. We can talk. I’ve got a couple of hours in between calls.”
“I’m not ready though,” I say more to myself than to him. “You don’t need to send a car. I can—”
He cuts me off, “Paige, be ready in twenty minutes. See you soon,” and then ends the call.
The following twenty minutes are a flurry of activity. Shower, dry shampoo my hair, dress, and refresh my makeup. I’m applying my lipstick when the doorbell rings. Right on time.
The drive to Zach’s office is quick and I’m unexpectedly nervous riding up in the elevator to the thirty-third floor.
Staring at myself in the mirror of the elevator, I question the denim maxi skirt with its faded distressed look.
I couldn’t bring myself to dress more formal or business appropriate when I’d been in heels all day.
Before I can second-guess my outfit, the doors open and Zach’s assistant greets me.
“Ms. Hayes, good evening. So lovely to see you again.” Her smile is warm and welcoming. “I wasn’t sure if you knew the way to Mr. Rothwell’s office.”
“Hi, Karen, I’m glad you’re here. I’d have gotten lost on my own.”
Zach stands at the entrance to his office in a three-piece custom navy suit and I swear my panties wet instantly. I never knew a suit could do that to me. Mind you, I’ve never been with a man who wears a suit on a daily basis.
“Hello.” His eyes blaze a path from the tips of my toes upward, his smile growing with each inch of my body he burns, until his eyes meet mine. He stares for longer than is comfortable.
“Hello.” I sound breathy and maybe the suit isn’t the only thing to excite me.
Zach nears, his masked expression unsettling, and my steps falter.
He is gorgeous, and this time I don’t find his classic handsomeness off-putting.
Black hair, thick and wavy, and mussed enough to see he’s been running his fingers through it.
A strong chiseled jaw, darkened with scruff, highly defined cheekbones, and a straight nose pointing to those lips. Damn, his full lips.
The corners of his mouth tip up into a smile, or maybe it’s a smirk, as if he can hear my thoughts. His laugh lines accentuate the vibrant blue of his irises, framed by thick, black lashes.
Now standing in front of me, he grasps my elbows and his touch is electric as he bends to plant a quick, soft kiss to my lips.
Sweet mother of Christ.
Clearing her throat, Karen smiles at me and he pulls back, eyes still on me. “Karen, we’ll have dinner now and that will be all. Have a good evening.”
“Yes, Mr. Rothwell, I’ll call the dining room.” She picks up the phone. Taking my hand, he leads me into his office.
At the far end of the room, an oval conference table that I somehow didn’t notice the last time I was here is set for our meal.
A young man dressed in a waiter’s uniform slips discreetly into the room from a door on the other side.
He wheels a cart like hotels have for room service over to the table.
“Would you like salmon or roast beef?” Zach pulls my chair out.
“Salmon, please.”
When we’re both seated, the waiter places silver-domed covered plates in front of each of us.
“Wine?” Zach gestures to the bottles on the table.
“White.”
The waiter makes quick work of pouring our wine and then removes a few things from the table, including a tiny bowl with a white substance.
“Is that horseradish?” I point to the dish in his hand.
“Yes.”
“Is it all right if you leave it?”
“Certainly.” He rests the bowl in front of me before turning to Zach. “Do you need anything else, sir?”
“No, that’s all.”
The waiter simultaneously removes the silver domes from our dishes and silently leaves. Zach waits until the door closes to speak.
“Horseradish and salmon?” He quirks an eyebrow, watching me spoon some of the condiment onto my plate
“Yes. It’s good. Do you want to try?”
He nods, keeping his gaze on me as I scoop a dollop onto his plate. I sip my wine and watch him taste the unusual pairing. “Wow, it does go well together.”
“I can’t have salmon without it now.” I smile. “This is really good. Thank you for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Glad you like it.”
“Was this ordered in?”
“No. We have an executive dining room two floors up. We could have eaten there but this is more private.”
I quirk a brow and give him a suggestive look. “More private? Why, Mr. Rothwell, it sounds like you have plans for me.”
His intense gaze and the hard set of his jaw cause me to question if it’s smart to copy his flirty mood from earlier tonight.
“Yes, I have plans and my office affords us the privacy to discuss our backstory.”
This is business, not a date. Not that I thought it was—but with the way he looked at me, the wine, and dinner—it’s easy to think it means more.
This man is catered to and every aspect of his life is executed seamlessly.
Dinner is no exception. Where it might feel special to me, it’s an everyday occurrence to him.
“Of course. Where do we start?”
Pushing his plate aside, he clasps his hands together, all the while staring at me. “Friday is our board dinner. It will be the first time I’ve ever brought a date. There will be questions.”
“Board? I thought Rothwell Enterprises was a privately held company.”
“It is.” He pauses, smiling in a way that suggests he’s impressed with my knowledge of his business. “While we’re a family-run business, we don’t want to be myopic in our thinking. That can easily happen when you shut out the outside.”
There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor and if I hadn’t been staring at him, I wouldn’t have seen it.
Sitting before me is the CEO, not the man, Zach.
“We want objective feedback as to our strategic direction and other corporate matters. It never hurts to get another opinion and while we don’t always agree with their input, it has certainly helped with our continued profitability. ”
“Okay, so the board members, how many are there?”
“Six. I’ll tell you more in a minute. Let’s talk about how we met and our relationship because even though this is a business dinner, they are bold and not above sticking their noses in where they don’t belong.”
He already sounds irritated with the thought of the dinner and knots form in my stomach. What have I gotten myself into?
“Let’s stick to the truth. Less chance of contradicting each other or worse, getting caught in a lie. Why don’t we tell them what I told your grandmother? I had a legal problem, you helped me.”
“Fine, that’s simple enough. We’ve been seeing each other for six months,” he says. “Any shorter than that and they’ll have a hard time believing I would invite you into the inner sanctum.”
I nod, not sure why he is inviting me into his inner sanctum, as he puts it, so soon. It seems like an awful lot of risk—he doesn’t know me—for, how did he put it, getting a chance at a business opportunity. It still isn’t clear what he gets out of our deal.
“Is that it? Do we need to give them anything else? I mean, it’s our relationship so it’s really none of their business.”
“True, but Nan will want more.”
“More? Like what?”
“She’ll want to know what we’ve done together. What we have in common.”
“Is she a romantic at heart?”
“Not a romantic. A control freak,” he says dryly.
“Okay. You’ll have to tell me where you’ve taken me because I can’t even begin to guess what you do with your dates. I don’t know what you people do.”
“You people?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean, the filthy rich.” My tone is dry. Surely, he has to see our differences.
Ignoring my comment, he names dinners and events that we supposedly attended together. Nothing too complicated and not so many that I can’t keep it straight, but I take notes on my phone about our three faux dates, nonetheless.
“Wait a sec. Can we get called out for any of these dates and events?”
“What do you mean?”
“Were any of the board members or Nan at any of these functions or did you take someone else?”
“No. And for the most recent, the MoMA Gala is in New York City.”
Right, we supposedly went to New York City for the evening. Silly me.
“All right, I think I have it. Now for your end of our agreement. What’s happening with your lawyers and my landlord?”
Striding to his desk, he flips through folders and pulls out a black one, motioning for me to join him.
“These are for you to review and if you have no changes or concerns, sign them.” I scan the papers as he continues, “One is a notice for termination of your rental agreement and the other is a letter stating you will uphold your end of the agreement for the remaining sixty days and he must do the same. If he violates your privacy, like he has done in the past, or breaks any other part of the agreement, we will take legal action.”
Uncertain if I should read them now or later, Zach makes the decision for me by getting to work on his laptop, paying me no mind. Okay, then. For the most part I’m able to follow along although I’ll never understand why lawyers can’t use plain language.
“I don’t have any changes.” I sign the papers and hand them to him.
He slips the documents into a file folder before turning his attention to me.
“There’s one more thing.” A grim pall stretches across his features.
“We looked into Joel Hummel.” He pauses, letting that tidbit sink in, and it isn’t lost on me that he’s able to rattle off my landlord’s name without so much as a glance at his computer or a file.
The bane of my existence has landed on Zachary Rothwell’s radar, one very powerful and wealthy man.
That can only mean one thing. He’s discovered something concerning.
“And?” Fear and anxiety course through my veins.
“He’s done this before. Harassed another tenant.”