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Piper accepted the handshake, the sensation of his damp palms giving her a slightly queasy feeling.
Something wasn’t right here. As a matter of fact, something felt very wrong.
“The others couldn’t make it.” Pitched low, his tone still grated against her senses.
He wasn’t much taller than she was. At five-seven, Eldon Vessante was so skinny he was bony. There was an effeminate air about him that the overly long white-blond hair did nothing to dispel.
His face had a skeletal appearance, with high, sharp cheekbones and a long blade of a nose. The photographs she had seen of him had definitely given him more of a substantial air.
God, he reminded her of a rat.
Where had his reputation as a playboy come from?
“I see you brought your portfolio.” He glanced to the large, square design folder she carried.
“Yes, I did.” Gripping the folder with both hands now, she wondered at the sick feeling of panic growing inside her. “I assumed your assistant and the other designers with your company would be here.”
She wished they were.
She hated the feeling of being trapped, alone with him.
“We don’t need them, my dear,” he drawled, the slight, feminine pout of his lips more apparent as he smiled slightly.
He might not need them, but she did.
“Come, shall we sit and discuss our new venture?” With a wave of his hand he indicated the sitting area on the other side of the room. “I wasn’t really considering another designer this year.” He turned as though her acquiescence were a foregone conclusion. “One must be certain to choose carefully. To ensure the market doesn’t become overly glutted, you understand.”
Piper followed, but she did so warily, listening to the precise, self-important tone of his voice rather than the words themselves.
“You’re not contributing to the conversation, my dear. That’s quite rude of you.”
Eldon paused in the middle of the sitting area, one hip jutting forward as he lifted his left hand, palm upward, as though giving her the floor.
“I was listening,” she excused her nonparticipation, still watching him carefully as she moved into the sitting area.
“Have a seat, please.” He gestured to the sofa with an outstretched hand. Piper perched on the edge nervously as he remained standing.
“Would you like coffee? Or perhaps tea?” he asked, still standing with one hip jutting slightly forward, the position, as well as her own, ensuring her a perfect view of his thighs, should she want to look.
She didn’t.
“No, thank you.” Clearing her throat and glancing around the room she wished she could push back the panic attack still threatening to shorten her breathing.
She hadn’t had one for years, not since arriving in Kentucky, actually. Now her insides were shuddering, her throat tightening, the unreasoned fear rising inside her like a fast-moving sickness.
“Why not?” The hand he had been extending went to his hip in a classically feminine gesture of irritation that did little to ease her apprehension.
Blinking back at him, she fought to come up with an answer other than the fact that the thought of anything in her stomach made her want to throw up as the panic built inside her.
“Tea,” Eldon stated, finally shifting his stance and brushing the thin strands of white-blond hair back from his rodentlike face. “You look like the tea sort.” Shifting his attention from her to the door, he yelled, “Broecun!”
The door opened.
His expression as impassive as moments before, the bodyguard, butler, whatever the hell he was, stepped just inside the room.
“Mr. Vessante?”
