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Plus, if I hear ‘I’ll just have a salad’ one more damn time I might just get up and walk out. My mother said never trust a woman who won’t eat pasta.
“Keith, are you ok?” Kelsey asks gently, snapping me out of my reverie.
I grin.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking how my mother always said ‘Never trust a woman who won’t eat pasta.’”
Kelsey giggles.
“I think your mother is a very wise woman.”
“Yes, she was.”
Her eyes go round with shock.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize she passed.”
I shrug.
“No, it’s fine. It was a long time ago when I was ten.”
“Was it just you and your dad growing up, then?”
I grin sardonically.
“No, my dad remarried a couple of times and each ex-wife took him for every dime they could. It’s pretty insane. My dad had a solid career at first, but by the time I was in high school, we were broke. As a result, I started customizing sneakers and selling them out of the trunk of my car to help pay the bills. After a few months, I realized that women spent way more money on shoes than men and focused solely on women’s shoes. Keith Commons was born, and the rest is history.”
Kelsey tilts her head at me in the cutest way.
“So you always knew you wanted to sell shoes?”
I shake my head.
“Not exactly. I always knew I wanted to be my own boss, that’s what I was certain about. My dad worked hard his entire life for other people. He was a smart man, and often more intelligent than many of his bosses, but because he was a blue collar guy, he was often passed over for promotions by some young college graduate without a lick of experience. I knew I didn’t have the temperament to be able to swallow that. The shoes were a means to an end.”
Kelsey nods slowly, digesting this information. Then I eye her luscious form again.
“Speaking of shoes, you have a good eye, sweetheart. I liked those groupings you did by style. I wouldn’t have thought to throw Ibiza Getaway in there. Speaking of which, what are your goals, Kelsey? I’m sure you don’t want to be a personal assistant forever.”
She smiles.
“Thanks. Yes, I’ve always loved fashion and style, but I’m not sure I’d be into it forever. I don’t know, really? I think I’d like to have my own public relations firm, but I have enjoyed working for your company.”
I smile. This girl is smart because she knows better than to tell the boss she has no interest in his business. But then Kelsey continues, cocking her head in the cutest way again. “Can I ask what this trip is for by the way? Tahiti is an amazing location. Is it a photo shoot? Also, is anyone else from the company coming? I heard you always bring legal with you.”
I sidestep her question because there’s no good way to answer it right now. Instead, I focus on her career goals.
“Kelsey, you realize that Keith Commons has its own internal public relations department, right? I’m the boss, and I’d hate to lose you to those PR guys, but if you’d like to transfer at some point, I can make that happen.”
Her eyes brighten and she sits forward eagerly.
“Really? I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Mr. Commons.”
I nod.
“You don’t need to make a decision right now, but just think about it. By the way, now that we’re up in the air, would you like a tour of the plane? Have you ever been on a private jet?”
She shakes her head and giggles.
“I’d love a tour, and no, I’ve never been.”
Getting up, I show her the amenities we have in the main cabin. Right next to the buttery recliner seats, I hit a button and a hidden television pops up out of ledge. There’s a curved sofa in the corner that can be stowed for take-off, and also a few paintings on the wall, almost as if we’re in someone’s living room. Kelsey’s girlish delight is adorable as she coos over these small pleasures. I grin.
“Every plane needs a bar and I keep this one stocked with my favorites. How about another mimosa?”
Taking a position behind the bar, I grab the orange juice and Dom from the fridge and fill two champagne flutes. Kelsey sits on one of the blue velvet stools and leans forward on her elbows. She looks stunning in her flirty pink sundress and it’s hard not to be distracted by the tiniest bit of matching pink lace peeking out of her low-cut neckline. Does she want me to see? Do her panties match?
After enjoying our drinks, she smiles at me again.
“Where to next?” she asks with a big smile.
“Come on, I’ll show you,” I say, coming out from behind the bar. “This is the dining area. It seats eight comfortably, and right behind it is the kitchen galley where the food is prepared. If you get hungry, just let me know. Gabriel’s up front with the pilot right now, but he’ll be putting together our meals and snacks.”
