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April invited Cormac to join them and he ordered another round of drinks and they drank and talked. It turned out he was a surfer and a snowboarder. He lived in Southern California near the beach and when he wasn’t surfing or snowboarding he was traveling, and working, and his ideal situation was when he could combine the two, which had happened recently when he’d gone to Brazil for a conference in Rio de Janeiro, and had been able to get some surfing in, hitting a couple of different breaks and his favorite was one Pecado.
Whitney asked if he’d grown up surfing. He hadn’t. He learned in college when on vacation in Hawaii with some friends, and he loved it so much he went to graduate school in Southern California so he could surf every day.
Nowhere in the conversation did Montana come up, or where they all worked, and at the end of the evening when Cormac asked Whitney for her number, she gave it to him. She wasn’t sure he’d ever call, but he did, the next day. She was just about to walk into a meeting and asked him if she could call him back in an hour or so. He said great. She hung up, gathered her files and notebooks and laptop and headed to the large conference room with its wall of glass and took a seat at the long table. Seconds later Christine Miller, the president of Sheenan Media’s Home Design Division entered the boardroom with Cormac.
Whitney still hadn’t put two and two together until Christine introduced Cormac as Cormac Sheenan, Founder and CEO of Sheenan Media, Sheenan Cable, Sheenan Broadband, as well as the other half dozen companies he’d acquired as part of his mini media empire.
Everyone laughed at Christine’s playful words “mini media empire,” and even Whitney had cracked a smile, but she was also shocked, because Cormac Sheenan was ruthless in his acquisitions and mergers. He slashed staff and downsized companies, reducing not just ‘bloat’, but really good people as he reshaped each organization. Yes, it was fiscally responsible operating with a lean team, but sometimes he let the wrong people go. In fact, he frequently let the wrong people go. She knew first hand by his slashing of staff at Colorado Living, and then his whittling of the Bridal team.
Cormac had caught her eye during the introduction but his expression gave away nothing. Was he surprised to see her at the table? Would he be different with her now?
She spent the hour trying not to let her nerves, or her imagination, get the better of her. She told herself to be calm and patient and wait to see what happened after the meeting.
Cormac didn’t look at her as she left the boardroom, nor did he stop by her desk on his way out.
She told herself not to be disappointed. She told herself she wasn’t interested in a man like Cormac Sheenan. He wasn’t her type. He wasn’t anything like the men she dated. It was better she found out who he was now, before things progressed and soured.
And then he called.
He asked her to meet him for drinks after work. They agreed on a place just a couple blocks from her office.
Whitney arrived, heart already racing, torn between worry and curiosity. What would he say? How would this go?
He was already at a table when she arrived. He stood as she approached. His smile was crooked, even a little bit lazy. “I had no idea that my Creative Director was so young,” he said as she sat down.
She watched him drop back into his seat and extend a muscular arm along the top of his booth. He moved with an easy grace, clearly comfortable in his body.
She didn’t know if it was nerves or stupidity but she blurted, “And I had no idea that the founder of Sheenan Media might just be a likeable guy.”
He looked at her a long moment, and then gestured for the cocktail waitress. “Do you like wings?” he asked her, as the waitress approached.
Whitney wasn’t sure she knew where he was going with this, but she did like wings, even more than she liked ribs, and she nodded.
“And drinking?” he prompted.
“Their pale ale. It’s from their own micro-brewery.”
He ordered a pint of the same and then his focus returned to Whitney as the waitress walked away. “Not likeable?” he questioned, sounding more amused than annoyed.
She shrugged. “You have a reputation.” She saw the lift of his brow and added, “As CEO of Sheenan Media.”
“Because I turn struggling magazines around?”
“Laying off dozens of employees in the process.”
“It’s my job to make the magazines profitable.”
“You have a history of laying off the wrong people.”
“Because I let you go four years ago?”
Now she was surprised. He must have done some research. “You saw I worked for Colorado Living.”
“And Colorado Bridal. First editorial then design. You have an interesting resume.” He hesitated, studying her. “And you’ve risen to the top very fast.”
“You’re concerned it’s too fast?”
“No. I believe the great ones do rise fast.”
The great ones.
She told herself not to be flattered. She told herself not to trust anyone with that much power and wealth.
Or good looks.
But he leaned against the booth, so very relaxed, his broad shoulders at an angle, the corner of his lips lifted, his smile slightly wry, and her heart did that tumble again, falling low and fast before surging up again.
She liked him. And it had been a very long time since she’d liked anyone this much.
She took a deep breath and exhaled even more slowly, aware of the heat in his gaze, and wondering if he had any idea of his effect on her. She suspected he did, which made her pulse race even faster.
Just sitting here with him was thrilling, but also dangerous. Yes, he was smart, gorgeous and interesting. But he was also the boss. As in, the absolute top of the food chain. The Sheenan in Sheenan Inc. The Sheenan in Sheenan Media. “So what did you want to talk about?” she asked, unable to bear the suspense.
“You didn’t call me after the meeting.”
She frowned, not understanding. “I didn’t call you?”
“You said you were walking into a meeting, and you’d call me after. You didn’t.”
Whitney’s brow cleared. “Ah. Yes. The meeting where you turned out to be the Founder and CEO of a rather significant media conglomerate.”
“It changes things.”
She wasn’t sure if that was a question or a statement. “Doesn’t it?”
“I’ve never dated anyone that worked for me.”
“So it obviously changes everything.”
“But you don’t work directly beneath me.”
For some ridiculous reason she felt herself blush at the words beneath me. She was quite sure he didn’t mean beneath as in, beneath him physically, but her imagination was running amuck, and she
thought she’d very much like to see what he looked like with his shirt unbuttoned. She was a visual person. She’d majored in communications but her minor had been graphic design. Her designing eye was telling her he’d have great shoulders and an incredible chest, with lots of hard, taut muscle-covered warm, sun-kissed skin. “No.” Her lips twitched. “I most definitely don’t work beneath you.”
And then his eyebrow had lifted and his eyes warmed, and she felt the craziest flurry inside her chest. Hope, excitement, desire.
“I would hope it’s never work to be beneath me,” he said gravely and yet his eyes were gleaming with silent laughter.
Wicked, she thought, holding back her own laughter. She loved how smart he was. Loved the verbal word play. He might be her type after all.
Their drinks had arrived and she lifted her beer. “If that were the case, I would blame you.”
He clinked glasses with her and smiled into her eyes. “As you should.” And then his smile gradually faded. “But in all seriousness, I’ve made it a point to keep the personal out of the office, and vice versa. Business and pleasure don’t mix. Inevitably something, somewhere goes wrong, and you’re truly talented and I respect what you’ve accomplished—”
“You must be known for hideous breakups.”
His features tightened and his lips pressed grimly. “I’m a Sheenan. We’re not the settle down type.”
“There’s more of you?”
“Four more brothers.”
“All single?”
“Yep.”
“Where are you in the lineup?”
“Second to youngest.” He ticked the names off his fingers. “Brock, Troy and Trey, me, then Dillon.”
“And none of you have ever married?”
“My oldest brother, Brock, did, but he was widowed early on, when the twins were just six months old. And he’s never remarried.”
She shook her head, the only child in her family, unable to imagine a family with five boys. “Do they all look like you?”
“No. I’m the only towhead.” He lifted his beer, took another sip, even as his gaze locked with hers.
