The VIP Room (16 page)

B
lackwell Financial’s
new building was a massive 75,000 square foot space, taking up a block of prime downtown real estate. I stared up at it in awe, trying to keep from gaping in front of Annie, who stood poised and imposing right next to me. Her Louboutins clacked on the pavement as we approached the giant glass doors.

All I knew about the Blackwells was that they were an old, filthy rich banking family with their hands in too many cookie jars to count. Real estate, banking, charities, asset management, art…heck, even
wine
. If I thought Donald Trump was rich…well, he had nothing on the Blackwells.

This client was a big deal for Annie.
Huge
. And now, it was for me too.

Restless determination made my pace quicken towards the building. A security guard held open the doors for the both of us as we entered the lobby. Right away, I noticed the starkness, the empty space. The lobby itself was quite large, at least 3,000 square feet of odd angles and sharp corners. The reception desk was the main feature, with a thick ebony marble slab and a brushed steel base. Blackwell Financial’s logo was large and imposing on the wall directly behind the desk. Off to the left side of the space, there was an employee badge scanning system, which led off to elevators. The right side was where most of the potential lay.

My mind already went to work, cataloguing the dimensions, what would go best where, how nice that chandelier I’d spotted the other day would look right above it where the light could catch it. But I stopped myself. I didn’t know anything yet, how they wanted to use the space, if they wanted it as a waiting area, or more of a gallery.

Regardless, the walls would need to be painted. The front entrance and wall of the building was mostly made of glass and steel, flooding the entire lobby with natural light. But all the other walls were painted a pure white color.

Annie seemed to come to the same conclusion because her mouth pinched down into a displeased frown as she studied it.

Our heels clacked on the marble flooring—an underwhelming swirled grey and cream color—as we approached reception. The lobby was too large, a little lackluster. The flooring and walls would be the first things to change.

“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” the receptionist greeted with a soft, serene smile.

“Annie Irving from Irving Designs. And this is one of my designers, Noelle Travis. We are here to meet with Mr. Kemp for a one o’clock consultation.”

“Of course, Ms. Irving. If you’ll please wait over there, he will be right down.” She gestured over to the right side of the lobby, where a single pewter couch sat with a coffee table. “While you wait, can I offer you two a glass of lemon water?”

We both declined and walked over to the sitting area. Annie sat down, smoothing out her skirt, but I roamed the space, trying to get a feel for it.

“What are you thinking so far?” Annie asked in a low tone. Her cat eye glasses twinkled in the natural light.

“Walls and flooring first. Definitely.”

She smiled, looking down at the tiling. “Agreed. I’m thinking something dramatic. Eye-catching. Something like the tile you picked out for the foyer of the Wynne’s house.”

I nodded, “Especially since it’s such a large lobby.”

“Exactly,” she said, nodding in approval.

Mr. Kemp came down right on time. He was a plump older man in a navy blue suit and grey tie. He had an air of happiness about him that I immediately warmed to. Perhaps it was the laugh lines stemming out from the corner of his eyes or the broad grin on his face as he greeted us.

He shook our hands enthusiastically once we introduced ourselves. “So nice to meet you both. I’m Robert Kemp. Mr. Blackwell placed me in charge of overseeing all renovations and designs, so we will be working quite closely together, I imagine. If you’ll just follow me up, we can begin.”

The upper floors of Blackwell Financial were very much like the lobby. Minimalistic and rather stark. Evidence of a recent move was everywhere, from the still unpacked boxes lining the hallways to the completely bare offices. I was beginning to see why it would be an $850,000 job, possibly even more. There was a lot that we needed to fill and design for. And Annie Irving didn’t come cheap. Not that it would’ve mattered to the Blackwells. $850,000 was pocket change to them.

The next half hour was spent touring the building and bouncing ideas around. Mr. Kemp had quite a few himself, but based off the polite smile on Annie’s face, I knew she was calculating a way to push him out of the designs. We’d had clients like him before. They wanted to be involved in every step of the design process, micromanagers in their own right, but at the end of the day, the designers were in charge. It was what we were paid to do.

We met in the conference room—the most furnished place in the entire building from the looks of it—since Mr. Kemp’s office didn’t have any extra chairs. We spent a good chunk of time negotiating the budget, how much would need our attention, what areas ranked most important.

By the end of the meeting, my notebook was crammed full of notes and ideas for designs.

We were just wrapping up when the sound of footsteps and voices reached my ears. It sounded like a group of men were coming down the hall towards the conference room.

Mr. Kemp jerked his head towards the large clock on the wall. “Oh, two o’clock already.” He stood. “Mr. Blackwell has a meeting in here, so let me escort you down to the lobby. I believe we’ve covered everything. Contracts should be drawn up by the end of the week. Hopefully sooner.”

“On our end as well,” Annie said, with a smile, as we both stood. “If we need any other information, we will be in touch, Robert.”

He grinned, rounding the head of the conference table. “Of course.”

Just then the frosted glass door opened. The sound of the men’s collective voices grew louder as a group of eight entered…a familiar man among them.

The blood drained out of my face as my body froze in shock.

Dressed in an impeccably tailored black suit, with his dark hair neatly combed, and his jaw freshly shaved, stood none other than Tristan. My one-night stand. My Hot Stranger. The man who humiliated me just two nights ago. The man who kicked me out after the best sex of my life…

And he was standing in the conference room, tall and intimidating, amongst a group of equally intimidating looking men.

My brain stopped working. And all I could think was:
oh shit!

I’d really stepped in it this time.

T
ristan hadn’t seen
me yet. He was deep in discussion with a man to his left and I listened to the familiar cadence of his voice, trying to recuperate from my shock. I remembered to breathe. When I realized my hands were trembling, I clenched them into fists.

I didn’t want to think about what this meant. Tristan worked for the company I’d be spending a lot of time at this coming month…I inwardly cringed just imagining it.

Mr. Kemp interrupted the conversation. “I’m sorry, Mr. Blackwell. Our meeting ran over a few minutes. This is Annie Irving and Noelle Travis from Irving Designs. We were just discussing the…”

But I didn’t hear Mr. Kemp’s rambling words because Tristan’s eyes suddenly found mine. They were still the startling, mesmerizing green that I remembered, sensual with dark promise. I watched as they widened in recognition, even though the rest of his features showed no other outward signs of shock, as I’m sure mine did.

I saw what he was thinking:
what in the world is she doing here
? I relived Saturday night through his eyes. I saw the intimacy, the attraction, the heat. I saw my humiliation, my red knees, my vulnerable nakedness.

I heard his cold words.
You should go.

With a strange sense of detachment, I watched as he opened his mouth to speak.
Why is he speaking
? I wondered.
No…he can’t possibly be…

“It’s no problem, Robert,” Tristan said, breaking away from the man he’d been speaking to. He approached us, only a few steps but it seemed like miles. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Irving.” He shook her hand and then turned to me. “Ms. Travis.”

Automatically, I took his extended hand, felt the strength in his palm, the warmth. I remembered that hand stroking my bare flesh, eliciting such strong pleasure, wringing it out of me with practiced precision.

The last time he’d touched me, I was in the throes of an orgasm.

My cheeks burned.

He squeezed my hand and then released it, before tucking his own in his pockets.

“I’m Tristan Blackwell,” he said, his voice impossibly deep. “I’ve heard a lot about your company, Ms. Irving. I’m looking forward to seeing how you and your team will transform our new building.”

Oh my God.

Tristan
Blackwell
.

Tristan
flippin
’ Blackwell.

Discreetly, I placed my palm on the conference table to steady myself. My knees threatened to give way, so I focused on the cold, polished wood where my hand lay.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. In, out.

Through my panic and Annie’s polite response, I noticed that Tristan didn’t look happy. I’d always been particularly good at reading people, although I’d obviously missed the mark with him on Saturday night. Body language was everything, and his screamed displeasure.

I observed the slight downturn of his mouth, the small, almost imperceptible crease between his brows. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his slacks, but I could swear he had them clenched.

What was I going to do? If Annie ever found out that the heir to the Blackwell fortune and our newest and biggest client had recently slept with me, one of her designers…I’d be kicked off this project for sure. Annie had a strict no fraternization policy. No dating was allowed in the company. No dating clients, either. She claimed it projected a poor image. And appearance was everything, especially in this business.

I wouldn’t lose my job if this got out. Annie would understand that it was a one-time thing, a fleeting mistake. But I definitely wouldn’t be working on this project, which was completely unacceptable. This was the chance I’d been waiting years for, ever since I’d graduated college and started working full-time for Annie.

No, Annie could never find out.

I straightened my spine and pushed away from the conference table. I could do this. I would forget all about that night like it had never happened. I’d feign indifference. Because, whether I liked it or not, Tristan Blackwell was now my client. As such, I’d be the perfect professional and represent my company well.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be one of those easier said than done situations…

“And what do you think, Noelle?” Annie asked expectantly. My eyes flashed to hers. I saw Tristan gazing at me from the corner of my eye. “What do you think of what we’ve seen so far?”

Focusing my attention on my boss and client, I cleared my throat. My eyes caught Tristan’s and I said honestly, “I think it has great potential. It’ll be a lot of work, but completely worth it. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, his eyes burning into my own. His gaze was too intense so I averted mine to the group of men behind him.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Blackwell,” I said, nodding at him before taking a step towards the door. He had a meeting to conduct after all and I saw Mr. Kemp discreetly edging himself around the group of men.

I waited for Annie to make her goodbyes and we left the conference room, Mr. Kemp guiding us back towards the elevators. When we passed a restroom, Annie said, “Oh, do you mind if I go freshen up a bit? I won’t be more than a minute.”

I nodded, knowing that Annie was trying to be sneaky. One of her quirks was that she loved decorated restrooms. She’d probably try and weasel them into the contracts.

The conference door opened and then shut at the end of the hallway. Tristan appeared. His gaze zeroed in on Mr. Kemp and I and then he started towards us, his long legs eating up the hallway quickly.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Blackwell?” Mr. Kemp asked, furrowing his brow.

“No, not at all. But I was wondering if you could go call Brian for me and tell him to come up to the conference room. He’s late.”

“Of course. Right away.”

Mr. Kemp sped off into one of the nearby offices, too eager to please Tristan that he hadn’t even asked why he didn’t use the phone that was perched on the conference room table.

Painfully aware that I was now alone with him, I also realized that I didn’t want him to know it. He’d seen me at a pretty low point on Saturday night. This was my professional life, what I prided myself on, where I was successful. I wouldn’t let him get the best of me now.

Unflinchingly, I looked up at him. “Is there something you forgot to tell me, Mr. Blackwell?” My voice was like ice, completely detached, but I would’ve been hard pressed to keep the mocking lilt out of my tone. I mentally applauded myself.

A quirk of his lips. “You can call me Tristan.”

“I’d rather not.”

He stared down at me, probably attempting to use the intimidation techniques he undoubtedly used in the board room. “I hope this situation we’ve found ourselves in won’t become a serious problem, Ms. Travis.”

My lips tightened at the slight threat in his tone. “I don’t think I have any idea what you’re talking about, Mr. Blackwell.”

A grin appeared, the same one he’d used on me at
Valoir
. “Is that the game you’d like to play then?”

“Oh, there’s no game. But whatever you’re referring to must’ve not been too memorable. Because I seem to have forgotten it entirely.”

Bam! Take that.
I smiled inwardly.

Tristan’s eyes narrowed and he took a step closer until I could feel the heat coming off his body. “Want me to
refresh
your memory then, Noelle?”

I narrowly suppressed a shiver, even as a smile of victory appeared on my features. I’d just tugged on the tiger’s tail and hit a sore spot. He hadn’t liked that little dig. “It would be a wasted effort, I’m afraid.” I heard Mr. Kemp talking on the phone down the hall. I didn’t have much time before he returned and I needed to make something very clear. Lowering my voice, I said, “Look, I’m more than willing to forget all about what happened. As far as I’m concerned, this is the first time I’ve ever met you. I think it’s in both of our best interests, don’t you think?”

He studied me for what seemed like hours. And then, with an almost lazy smile, he said, “I haven’t decided yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked with a furrowed brow.

“I haven’t decided yet if I want to forget. In fact, I just might want the opposite.”

Speechless, I stared up at him. The tone of his voice implied…implied…

Jesus
, was he saying he wanted to sleep with me again?

He was crazy if he thought I’d do that. It was a mistake the first time. Now that I knew what an utter asshole he was, there was no way I’d let him get that close to me again! I would
never
risk my job now that he was a client, even for amazing sex. He had to know that.

Mr. Kemp appeared at Tristan’s elbow. “Brian said he will be right up.”

“Thanks, Rob,” he said, never taking his eyes off me. “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Travis. I’m sure we’ll get to know one another
very
well.”

With that, Tristan turned. I watched as he disappeared inside the conference room once more.

As I watched the door close behind him, one thing became very clear to me.

I was in trouble.