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But I digress. Mr. Thompson’s secretary wasn’t exactly “nice” when I approached her. She too shot me a suspicious look from behind her desk, but after double checking on her computer, she gave me a short nod.
“He’ll be right with you,” she said in a clipped voice before directing me to a waiting area. “Please take a seat.”
Now, I’m here in an ill-fitting skirt suit, wishing that the floor would simply open up and swallow me whole so I won’t have to see Stone again. After all, I love my job but realistically speaking, I deserve to be fired for my unprofessional behavior last night. Not only was I using company property during off-hours, but I was being lewd and vulgar too. My shoulders slump. Yep, I deserve what’s coming my way, and I’m just lucky Stone didn’t fire me on the spot. Hell, maybe that would be easier instead of prolonging the torture.
I sigh, rubbing my temples to soothe the headache that’s already beginning to pound at the base of my skull. Maybe I’m overreacting. Who knows, maybe sexy stripteases are a common occurrence here at the Corinthian because the shows they put on every night are pretty risqué, if I do say so myself. Heck, maybe I’m not the only member of the staff who’s been caught doing the nasty on company property, so it’s not that big of a deal. Thunder Strike is a male revue after all, and those guys aren’t exactly angels, so I’m sure much worse has happened on site before.
But I don’t have time to think over the possibilities because at that moment, Stone opens the door to his office. The CEO’s even more gorgeous today, dressed in a dark suit that highlights his broad shoulders, with a white shirt that emphasizes that deep tan.
“Miss Grimes,” he drawls with an amused look in those blue eyes. “Please, come in.”
I take a deep breath and then smooth down my skirt before standing up. To my embarrassment, I wobble a bit in the high heels, and Stone’s mouth quirks up at the corner as he takes in the slight sway.
“Thanks,” I say in a slightly embarrassed voice. “It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Thompson.”
He nods as I walk past him into the office, and my eyes widen as I enter because this space looks like a spread from a design magazine. The expansive office is probably triple the size of my apartment with polished marble floors and discreet shelving tucked into one wall. A huge mahogany desk is set away from huge floor-to-ceiling windows, and in front of me is a seating area with tufted coffee-colored sofas, as well as two arm chairs and a side table.
“Oh wow, this is beautiful,” I breathe, my eyes wide.
Stone grins while striding over to the desk.
“Come have a look,” he invites. “I’ve got a great aerial view of the Strip.”
I move over to where he stands, and it’s true. I can see multiple hotels from our vantage point, from the Eiffel Tower bedecking the Paris, to the ornate fountains of the Bellagio. The desert spreads out in a vista behind it all, the golden sands sparkling in the harsh afternoon sun.
“The view must be even more incredible at night,” I breathe with wonder.
Stone winks.
“It is,” he agrees in a deep voice. “I’ll have you up here again to take it in. After all, Vegas is extraordinary and deserves to be called the Eighth Wonder of the World.”
I giggle.
“You think?”
The huge man nods, as that movie star smile flashes again.
“Yeah, definitely. What could be more wondrous than creating a man-made paradise in the middle of arid land? It’s like the Garden of Eden rising from the sand.”
I giggle.
“Okay, the Garden of Eden is going a little far because that’s the work of God, but I get what you’re saying.”
He grins.
“Then you agree that Vegas is wonderful.”
“I do,” I say in a soft voice as he guides me over to the seating area. “This city is amazing.”
We both take a seat then, the huge man across from me, and again, I’m taken by how handsome he is. Those blue eyes seem to see everything, and his features are very patrician. Mr. Thompson has a high forehead, a Roman nose, and lips so sensuous that they’re criminal on a man. How would they taste if I pressed a kiss to them?
Stop right now, the voice in my head interrupts. You’re here to be fired, not to kiss the boss.
I smile weakly.
“Um, so about last night,” I stammer. “I’m really sorry about that, Mr. Thompson. It was totally an aberration and I swear it’s never happened before.”
“No apology needed,” he says in a smooth tone. “It was a surprise, but I’ll say that it was a nice surprise actually.”
