Page 6 of Open To Negotiation

“You are a saint, I’ll make my way up.” This wasn’t the first time I’d been stuck with this, and she always had a sympathetic look as I walked out of the office with an old man looking at my ass.

I hung up and pushed back from my desk. Grabbing my purse from my drawer I decided to look on the bright side. At least I was going to get lunch on the company. It was a fancier place than I would eat on my own.

So what if I had to sit with privileged men who thought they owned the world?

At least since this one was someone’s son, he probably wouldn’t be as old as some of the other lunch companions I was forced to have.

4

Quinn

Iwalked down the hallway to get to the reception area where Margret sat on the left side of the lobby. She was sixty years old, wore these big red glasses, and was extremely organized. I’m pretty sure this place would fall apart without her here.

There was a wall of wood slats partially blocking the couches and chairs where visitors could wait, the other side of the wall held a beverage center.

I could see the broad shoulders of a man through the wood and two others sitting in the chairs across from him but I couldn’t make out their faces.

Putting a smile on my face, I walked around the slats and into the lobby. “Mr. Knight?” I asked brightly.

I pulled to a stop and watched as one of the men looked up from his phone and pushed up from the chair. His eyes locked on mine, clearly surprised by my presence.

Honestly, the feeling was mutual.

He was well over six feet tall and if we were standing any closer, I would have to tilt my chin up to look at him.

I scanned him, from his eyes that were such a light blue that they almost looked grey, to the light dusting of scruff on his chiselled jaw that led to a thick head of dark hair. His hair was shorter on the sides, slightly longer on the top and effortlessly pushed off his face with a slight wave to it. It looked perfect for running your hands through.

He pulled down on the sleeve of his crisp black suit, a white shirt underneath. I could see the top of what looked like a very toned chest since the top few buttons were undone and he wasn’t wearing a tie.

Looking back up, I found his eyes waiting for me. One eyebrow raised with what seemed to be amusement, almost like he was fighting off a smirk.

I flushed in embarrassment at being caught staring, but this man was mesmerizing.

“That’s me,” he finally replied as I tried not to melt even though his tone was low and rumbly.

The man had a goddamn British accent. It was almost adding insult to injury for a man to have an accent and look like he should be on a magazine cover, not meeting me in my drab office.

Two other men stood up behind him, I’d kind of forgotten they were there but they broke whatever spell I was under. I shook off my attraction to Mr. Knight as I forced myself to take a few steps forward, holding my hand out.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Knight.” He slipped his large hand into mine and held it, rather than shaking. I tried to ignore the tingles that shot up my arm from touching him. “I’m Quinn West, I’ll be taking you to lunch today.”

I couldn’t get a read on him as our eyes locked. He gave off an intense energy and his blue-grey eyes almost looked angry.

A throat cleared, causing us both to pull our hands back. “You were not who we were expecting,” one of the guys behind Knight said, his accent was also thick.

“Sorry, were you told someone else would be meeting with you?” I frowned, moving my attention from Knight to the man who spoke.

His blond hair was slightly longer, much less controlled than Knight’s. His suit was tailored to him perfectly, which seemed to allude to the fact that these men had money. He was also in a black suit, but the blue shirt and black tie made him look more approachable somehow. Unlike Richard, the blue pulled out the deep color in his eyes and didn’t wash him out.

“You just aren’t who we normally get sacked with.” The blond stepped forward and offered his hand. “Noah Hutchinson.” We shook hands and I smiled back at him. He had an open, charismatic energy that put me instantly at ease.

When he winked at me Knight elbowed him in the stomach, just as the third man stepped forward. He had golden brown skin, hair that was shaved short, and like Noah, he was clean shaven. His hazel eyes were soft and welcoming. He was in a charcoal grey suit with a white shirt and matching grey tie.

“Oliver Thornton,” he provided with a smile.

Another British man.

Was there some sort of meeting for attractive men in town this week?