“Now, Ms. Baird.”
She looked up, hearing something in his voice that told her he expected attention. Those steely eyes were focused on her to the exclusion of all else. “Y…yes,” she said, the word barely audible.
“Tell me about the current situation with the Hamilton land negotiation. It’s obvious the potential buyers want the site of the old factory. It’s equally obvious Saxon & Archer needs the capital. What’s the holdup?”
The file opened in Charlotte’s mind, her visual memory acute. She could hear her mental voice laying out the facts in a clean, crisp manner, but nothing came through her vocal chords; instead, her fingernails dug into her palms. Panic fluttered in her chest, a trapped bird with a sharp beak that pecked and pecked at her.
2
THERE IS GROWLING
“LET’S TABLE THAT QUESTION for now,” Gabriel said when it appeared Ms. Baird was about to hyperventilate. “It’s Saturday night, and you’ve already pulled a full day.”
She gave a jerky nod and gulped down some water, her eyes anywhere but on him.
Gabriel was used to inciting a reaction in women. The tall, confident, sexy ones flirted with him. The not-so-confident ones smiled shyly at him, and even women put off by his physique generally changed their minds after speaking to him for a few minutes and realizing he wasn’t all brawn and no brain.
He knew many of the women who hit on him weren’t actually interested in him as a person. A few just wanted “a bit of rough” in bed, while others were after a trophy sports-star husband—enough to overlook the fact he was no longer on the playing field. Then there were the ones looking for a wealthy CEO who could keep them in diamonds.
The fact he was young and in good shape was a bonus to the fortune hunters; it was his money that was the draw. As long as they had access to a healthy bank account, those women would coo sweet nothings into the ear of a toothless old man of ninety-eight. So while Gabriel knew he was attractive enough and had never had trouble finding a woman with whom to heat up the sheets, it wasn’t as if he thought of himself as God’s gift to women. However, neither was he an ogre.
Except Charlotte Baird, whose personnel file he’d looked up after meeting her, seemed to strongly disagree with the latter. Petite and pretty, she’d been sitting so petrified through dinner that anyone would think he’d attacked her rather than the other way around. Her fear roused his temper, which only made her fingers clench tighter on her cutlery, until the fine lines of her bones were outlined against creamy skin dusted with gold—which further exacerbated his temper.
Realizing she’d starve if he didn’t allow her to leave, he motioned the waiter to their table. “Box Ms. Baird’s meal to go. Add the blackberry cheesecake.”
Her eyes flicked up, hazel and clear behind her glasses, her lips parting. “No, it’s okay,” she said in a rasp of a voice even as the waiter cleared away her meal.
“I’m paying for the damn meal, Ms. Baird. You might as well enjoy it.” He didn’t care about the cost; what he cared about was that the woman across from him had eaten exactly two tiny bites in fifteen minutes. It wasn’t as if she had flesh to spare—though she wasn’t skin and bones. No, she was just small, her weight in perfect proportion to her bone structure. So she ate. Just not with him.
Having shut up at his snarl, skin paling, she didn’t say another word until they’d left the restaurant.
“Where’s your car parked?” he asked, not wanting her on the streets alone given the high number of sports fans who’d poured into the city while they were in the restaurant. Most were fine, in a cheerful mood, but it was obvious a few had started drinking early.
“I catch the bus,” she said, shoulders hunched under that hideous brown coat that swallowed her up. “I only live just past St. Lukes.”
Gabriel’s first instinct was to offer to drive her to the suburb. It was what he’d have done with any other woman in this situation. However Ms. Baird’s bones might well chatter themselves out of her skin if he suggested she get into a confined space with him for longer than a few seconds.
Leading her to a taxi stand instead, he said, “Take a cab and file an expense report on Monday.”
“I didn’t—”
“Take the damn cab.” It came out through gritted teeth. The idea of any man hurting a woman made Gabriel see red. The fact Charlotte seemed to think he’d hurt her scraped against his every nerve.
Flinching, she didn’t argue again when he pulled open the back door of the cab and told the driver she needed to go toward St. Lukes.
“Ms. Baird,” he said once she was seated, “don’t forget that expense claim. I’ll be checking on it personally.”
Huge hazel eyes locked with his for a second. Beautiful eyes, he thought, clear and striated with gold and green behind the transparent lenses of her spectacles. Her eyes went with the soft blond curls she’d tied into a ponytail, a few wisps having escaped to kiss her flawlessly clear skin.
A petite but tempting morsel. Too bad she was terrified at the sight of him.
CHARLOTTE DIDN’T SAY THANK you to Gabriel Bishop for the cab, instead sitting frozen in her seat until he shut the door and the driver pulled out. Probably not the best thing to do if one was trying not to get fired, but her nerves were shot. One more minute in his company and she might just have burst into tears.
Pathetic, Charlotte. You are a pathetic excuse for a woman.