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She swallowed, feeling very off kilter, and she dropped her aloof professionalism into place like a shield.
Fuck this guy. Just because he was stupidly hot didn’t mean she’d let him laugh at her.
“Your associate was just showing me your . . .” She waved his purple-inked sheet of paper.
“Plans?” he finished for her.
“Yes. Shall we get started?”
He took a sip from the to-go cup she hadn’t realized he was holding—some fancy coffeehouse across town. Getting to their meeting on time had been less important than going for designer coffee? Nice.
“Any questions?”
“Definitely.” She hesitated a moment. “It’s hard to tell without an actual blueprint, but I think there’s going to be some problems with this layout, Mr. Ellis,” she said, opting not to drop the formality and call him Will. She didn’t want to get overly familiar with this man. “You have the restrooms tucked into a strange corner of the club. They will be hard to find. And the bar should be more prominent, to encourage people to buy drinks when they come in.”
“I don’t want to encourage that.”
“Also, what are all of these divided side rooms for? Usually, storage areas are more open concept.” She registered what he’d said. “You don’t want people to buy drinks?”
“No. It’s not really a drinking club.”
“Um . . . okay. Well, what about the dance floor? You don’t have much open space . . .”
“It’s not that kind of club either.”
She sighed, getting frustrated. “Well, we can discuss all that later. However, I can see at least three fire code violations here—”
“I’m sure there are ways to fix that without changing much of my design.”
“Mr. Ellis, I’ve been doing this a long time—”
“You don’t look old enough to have been doing anything for a long time, but Konstantin recommended you, so I assume you must be very good at your work.”
“Well, yes—”
“Then I trust you to figure this out.”
She narrowed her eyes. For all the disorganization of his office, he was most definitely the boss. When it came to her work, she was used to being in charge. The way the man was taking control of the conversation, steering her, raised her hackles.
After a deep breath, she smiled politely. “I’ll do my best to meet your needs . . .” Shit. Had that sounded like an invitation? His gaze on her was half interest, half amusement.
“ . . . but we do still have to deal with reality, Mr. Ellis. There are regulations that need to be followed.”
He pointed to the paper. “This is what I want. I expect you can find a way to do it. Money isn’t an issue. Make small adjustments to my plan if you have to, but that’s the general idea. That’s what I want. Make it happen.”
This man . . . She ground her teeth together. “What, exactly, is this place?”
He moved to the window and opened the blinds. No wonder he kept them closed—they were barred and looked onto the parking lot.
Sighing, he turned and leaned his back against the wall beside the window. “Catacombs is a private BDSM club. You do know what BDSM is, I hope?” He watched her carefully.
Heat crept up her neck, spreading to her cheeks which she was sure, with her complexion, were bright red. It took a moment to find her voice. “Um. Yes, I know what it is.” She didn’t live under a rock.
His lips quirked as though he found her amusing. “Is it a problem for you?”
Her ears were hot, and she could feel her face turning from red to purple. She cleared her throat. Considering what her take-home would be from this project, she wouldn’t even care if it was a brothel. “No, Mr. Ellis, it won’t be a problem.”
Since he didn’t invite her to sit, she moved a stack of papers off a hard wooden chair and perched them on the edge of the overflowing desk before helping herself to a seat.
