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He gives me an odd look. “In the winter?”
“Well, a few outdoor Christmas shots would be nice. Maybe to put with the monthly company newsletter? Have you done yours for December yet?”
George leans forward interestedly. “No, but I think that would be perfect.”
“There are some other shots we can do. Do you have any outdoor activities you like to do in the winter?” I ask.
He pauses. “I like to run in the mornings on the weekends.”
“Perfect.” I notice a wrought-iron spiral staircase off to the corner. “What’s that for?”
George’s eyes follow my gaze. “I have a small apartment I keep upstairs. Sometimes the days can be long, the mornings extremely early. It just helps to have an alternative on those types of days. I try not to use it too much, though. There have to besomeboundaries.”
Standing up, I walk over to the windows overlooking the city. The day has almost fully given way to the dark. “It’s beginning to snow,” I observe as I watch the flakes fall. “I love it when it snows.”
George comes to stand beside me. “It’s supposed to be a good one.” He looks at me. “What do you say to grabbing an early dinner?”
My stomach rumbles in response, having not eaten anything since breakfast. “That sounds good.” I glance down at my clothes a bit sheepishly. “I’m not exactly dressed for anything fancy.”
“Wait here,” George says as he bounds up the stairs. “I’m almost positive I have a pair of jeans tucked away in a drawer.”
When he returns, he is clad in jeans, boots, and a turtleneck sweater. I immediately feel more comfortable. His dark hair is mussed across his forehead, making him look so different…almost carefree. For a second, I forget that he is a powerful billionaire. In that moment, he’s just a man…a damned hot man!
Immediately, I look away, feeling my cheeks flush. I have to remember this is a business meeting. Nothing more. Thoughts like that arenotallowed! “You look very relaxed.”
George slides on the jacket he brought downstairs with him. “Honestly, I feel pretty relaxed. I’m not sure when the last time it was that I wore jeans.” He looks at me. “Ready? I know this great pizza place.”
“That sounds good,” I reply as I stand up.
He directs me over to a separate elevator. “Let’s take this one. I might raise some eyebrows if any employees see me in street clothes. The whole office will be talking by morning.”
I look at him curiously. “You have your own elevator?”
“When I had this building designed, I had a wish list. The apartment was a must, given the crazy hours I work and last-minute engagements. The elevator keeps me from being accosted by employees. You wouldn’t believe how many people will take an elevator ride as an opportunity to pitch an idea, complain…whatever. This is easier and more polite than engaging.”
“Aren’t you worried about seeming unapproachable?” I ask cautiously. “After all, you’re hiring me to help make youlookthat way. What if you actually tried tobethat way?”
“Fair point,” he says with a grin. “Baby steps, Miss Ivy. Baby steps.”
That makes me smile.
“What’s that grin about?” George asks as he pushes the elevator button.
“When you call me Miss Ivy, it makes me feel like a southern belle.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “With your raven hair and green eyes, I suppose you could be another Vivien Leigh fromGone with the Wind.”
The elevator opens to a private garage. George guides me to his car, a sleek silver Mercedes hard-topped roadster that is not at all what I would have expected. I smile slyly. He might just have a fun side to him after all.
The snow is falling steadily as we pull onto the street. George gives me a curious look. “So, tell me about yourself. All I really know is that you are Owen’s niece. Given the way he was behaving, I would have likened him more to a father.”
I laugh lightly. “He may as well be. He’s the only family I’ve known since I was seven. He and Cynthia took me in when my mother was killed in a car accident. I guess you could say we’re a mish-mashed family. They never could have children of their own. I didn’t have a mom….” My voice trails off.
“What about you?” I ask after a few minutes. “What about your family?”
George’s face becomes unreadable. “I was married…Carol. She was my college sweetheart. She developed a rare form of brain cancer and passed away ten years ago. My parents were killed in a plane crash three years later, so it’s just me now.”
I draw in a sharp breath. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine.”
