Page 20 of Crash & Burn
I press my knuckles to the door and knock lightly a few times. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I’m usually open and bubbly, not as much as Dakota but I have a wit about me, and I can usually always produce something to say, but my thoughts are mush right now and I really don’t know if this is a promising idea anymore. I'm a mess. Ugh.What am I doing?
“Come in.” I hear his voice from behind the closed door. I turn the knob apprehensively.
There he is, on the phone. He’s wearing a white silk dress shirt, buttoned all the way to the top, with a light pink tie hanging from his neck. He looks up at me from his phone call with a smile and waves his hand, gesturing for me to close the door and have a seat.
I pull the chair out from the desk, and almost get knocked over by the smell of him. Of all the things I could find attractive about him, it’s not the expensive watch on his left wrist or his dark hair slicked back, his waves peeking through only a bit. And it’s not the way that his arms flex as he grips the phone in his hands or his wicked amber eyes watching me watch him. No. It’s the sensual whiskey and tempting oak mix tangling in the air and settling in my core. I’ve never smelled anything like him. It’s all Callan, sexy and mysterious.
“Yes, Jett. I’ll have the work done on that mustang by the end of day tomorrow. You got it.” He hangs up the phone call, and jots down a couple of notes, giving me a chance to glance over his facial features a bit more. My God, he is wickedly handsome.
“Good morning, Miss Cooper. I see you’ve made it in safely.” He flashes a devilish smile my way, knowing he caught me staring.
“Yeah, I’m sorry for being late.”
“No need, Gerald filled me in. I’m sorry that happened to you.” He glances at me momentarily before focusing his attention on his computer screen.
“Just my shitty luck,” I manage to say under my breath.
“You look great,” he says very matter-of-factly, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to make me feel better or if he hit me with an actual compliment, but either way, my body heats up involuntarily.
He tugs at the sleeves of his shirt as he turns in his chair to look at me and I feel my self-control slowly slipping away.This is not going to work.
Think straight, Sterling. You’re just nervous.
“So, let’s talk dress code.” He leans back in his chair a bit and even the way he adjusts himself is hot.
“Snap out of it,” I whisper to myself.
“What was that?” he asks.
“Hm? What?” I try to play it cool as I stare at my fidgety hands in my lap, but I’m probably making this even more awkward than it already is. We sit in silence for a few seconds while he finishes typing.
He shifts in his chair again, and his arms flex as he lifts himself up to gain access to his back pocket. He pulls out a brown, tattered wallet – it’s just like a man to have all the money in the world and never find it in him to buy a new wallet – and grabs a matte black card from it, sliding it across the desk in my direction.
“What’s that?” I question, finally able to look at him.
“Expense it,” he says. “You can buy whatever you need for your business wardrobe, just put it on my business card.” He waits for me to take the card, but I don’t. I don’t understand.What?
“What do you mean?” I’m clearly confused. Like, what possessed him to pull out his card and offer to pay for whatever I need?Is this normal?We haven’t said more than a few words to each other, why would he pass me his credit card?
No, it’s not normal, Sterling, but he can probably tell by the way that you’re dressed that you need an entirely new wardrobe.My thoughts flood my head as I start to feel self-conscious about my appearance.
As if he can read my mind, he stills himself in the chair and he looks at me.
“I didn’t mean to assume. But I figured, since noticing your job experience was scarce, that you wouldn't have the attire needed for this job. Buying new clothes for a job is a business expense,” he explains. “Take it if you’d like and use it.”
“You want me to just take your credit card and swipe it to buy myself clothes?” The question comes out, but I don’t give him time to answer, before adding another one. “What if I decide to take off with it and you never see me again?” Again, I beat myself up mentally at my choice of words. Something about being in the same room as this man has my mouth running a conversation of its own without checking with me first.
Callan sits up straight and tilts his head, eyes widening as he makes a mock-serious face.
“Miss Cooper, you’d really do that to me?” He cocks one perfect brow at me, his stoic eyes opening to a bright hazel. A light dusting of freckles runs along his nose and cheeks, just made visible from this angle. Ugh, his perfect face with his perfect jawline.
He brings his elbows to the desk, laces his fingers with each other and rests his chin on his hands.
“You can always pay for your own clothes and bring me the receipts. Whatever is easiest for you. The dress code is business casual, except for important events. Then you’d be required to dress up in formal business attire.” He swipes at his brow as he talks to me.
What a joke. He knows he’s sexy, he’s obviously got money, and thinks he can use that boyish smile to charm me. I want to rattle him.I need to shake this feeling, whatever this feeling is. It’s unwanted and inappropriate.
“Mr. David, do you always spend the first day with new employees insulting them by insinuating that they’re too broke to buy clothes?” I seek an answer, realizing I’m probably projecting my own insecurities. But how can he not see that this could be somewhat offensive? “Or do you throw your credit card at every woman you meet?” I decide to add.