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When Nathan Thompson wants my company to cater his upcoming party, I don't expect him to be anything more than a spoiled billionaire rich kid, but he manages to surprise me in ways I never dreamed possible.
The lobby of Lormoor Industries is every bit as intimidating as the outside of the building, but I try not to notice. I nod to the security guard standing by the door and march to the front desk, holding my head high.
"I'm here to see Mr. Thompson," I tell the receptionist. "I have an appointment at 2:30."
The receptionist smiles and nods, clicking a few things on her computer before looking back up to me.
"Welcome to Lormoor Industries, Miss Blake," she says cheerfully. I wonder how old she is. Surely not more than 22 or 23. I wonder if she actually has a degree or if she landed the job for her insanely tiny figure."
"Thank you," I say politely, waiting to hear where I'm supposed to go. "Shall I take a seat?"
The lobby is large, but almost completely empty, save for a small row of large, comfortable-looking chairs. I turn my body expectantly, waiting for her response, but the girl shakes her head. Her red curls bounce happily as she points toward the elevator.
"You can go upstairs. Mr. Thompson will see you now. Twelfth floor."
"Thanks," I turn and make my way to the double doors. Once inside, I push the "12" button. The doors close almost immediately, then I'm on my way. I try not to fidget as the elevator moves toward my destination.
Gripping my folder, I wonder whether Nathan Thompson is going to be a huge jerk. As the owner of a small, local catering business, I’m used to big shots who want their party to have food provided by a locally-owned company. It makes them look good. It makes them look less selfish. That doesn’t mean these guys aren’t arrogant pricks who only care about the final purpose of their events: money.
When I step off the elevator and into the huge office, I’m pretty sure my initial suspicions were correct. This guy is going to be just like all the rest. The first thing he’s going to do is ask if one of my assistants can be at the event as the face of my company.
Though Positively Sweet Catering has been around for five years and has catered hundreds of local events, many professionals don’t like the fact that I’m a healthy, curvy girl. At size 16, I feel comfortable in my own skin. Other people who are used to being around supermodels who never eat are much less happy with this. While it hurts to have people comment on my size, I’m used to it. I brace myself for the comments before I even spot Nathan, standing at the bookshelf.
“Mr. Tompson,” I announce my arrival as I step off the elevator and into his personal office space. He turns quickly and smiles widely. To my surprise, it appears to be genuine.
“Miss Blake,” he walks forward, hand outstretched. I take it and offer up a firm, determined handshake. I might not be what he expected, but I’m going to make sure that his party is one to remember. “Thank you for coming. Please, have a seat.”
I follow him toward his desk and slide into one of the oversized chairs. I find myself sinking into the comfortable seat, reminding myself not to fall asleep in this lush upholstery. I’m here to discuss business and only business.
But when Nathan Thompson slides into his own seat, I actually have the chance to take in this billionaire picture of perfection. He’s in his mid-30s. I know this from scouring his Wiki page last night. He’s also the head of this company, which was started by his late uncle. Now, I stare into his piercing green eyes, wondering how this guy is not married off by now.
“Word on the street is that you’re in need of a caterer,” I start off with a friendly smile, trying to gulp down my quickly rising sexual excitement. I’m sure this guy has had his share of lovers, but I would ride him so much better than any of those skinny bimbos ever could. Besides, I’ve got the full package: brains and boobs.
He grins and nods.
“Yes. I’m organizing a party for my uncle’s birthday.”
I cock an eyebrow. His uncle has been dead for four years. At least, the last time I checked.
Nathan seems to catch my confusion and he quickly explains.
“I always threw a party for my uncle when he was alive. Even though I know it’s sort of unconventional, I throw a small celebration each year on his birthday. It’s my way of honoring his memory with his closest friends.”
I nod.
“Of course, Mr. Thompson. How many attendees are you expecting at your celebration?”
“A hundred and fifty, possibly two hundred. I’ll have a more accurate count once the party is closer.”
