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His gaze flickered. “Oh?”
I wanted to clear my throat so badly, but I didn’t want to show any sign of weakness. He needed to see me as an equal. All my plans to make him see reason slid away. I wasn’t exactly sure he’d give a fuzzy puppy a chance, let alone a woman playing the needy card.
I wasn’t needy.
But I wasn’t exactly sure he’d see it that way.
I licked my lips and played up my confidence. It was just like selling to a very rich, very entitled asshole. And now I was going to lie for all that I was worth.
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God help me.
I crossed to him and held out my hand. “Grace Copeland.”
Just before he took my hand, he frowned. “Copeland?”
“Yes.” His hand was firm, dry, and huge. The man was big everywhere. I’m petite, but I was wearing four inch heels, and he towered over me.
You can do this.
His brow smoothed. “Your name is not on the list.”
“You need an assistant, don’t you?” Before he could open his mouth, I released his hand and sat down in the dove-gray chair across from his desk. I folded my hands in my lap to hide the tremble. I was just going to have to wing it.
He was a man who liked his power, if his office was any indication. I tipped my chin up to meet his gaze, making sure to be slightly submissive. We were not equals, as far as he was concerned. “If your lobby is any indication, then you need more than that.”
Forgive me, George.
He sat behind his desk. “Oh, really?”
“Your lobby is stark and unapproachable. Your desk security needs training.”
“Obviously, since he let you upstairs without an appointment.”
“Don’t blame George.”
“George?”
“That’s his name. George. Your seventy-ish-year-old security guard of one of the most security-conscious glass companies of our age.”
His fingers drummed against the glass before he sat back and steepled them together. “I know who my security guard is, Ms. Copeland. I want to know why you do.”
“Because I talked him through the login of his iPad.”
He tapped his two forefingers together. “And you weren’t on the list. And still you’re sitting in my office. Why shouldn’t I call said security and have you escorted out?”
“Because you need me.” I leaned back in my chair, mirroring his stance. Well, except for the fingers thing. Only hot guys with long fingers could pull that look off without looking like Smithers from the Simpsons.
“Is that right?”
“Is it your standard practice to have your reception area manned by Mr. Hollister—who is probably one of your top executives,” I prompted.
He touched his lips with the side of his fingers. “CEO.”
“Exactly. Your CEO is not supposed to be fielding your assistants for an interview. In fact, your CEO’s assistant should probably be handling that.”
He dropped his hands to grip the arms of his chair. His fingers were distracting. “And what qualifications do you have? Since you aren’t with an agency, do you have a résumé?” He inclined his head. “You seem to be a stickler for the rules, and yet you’re breaking every single one.”
