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SAWYER
If the entire universe conspired to drive me out of my skull, it succeeded. Never have I been so close to exploding, my blood pressure dangerously high, my nerves strained to the point of shredding. I have to keep my hands folded on the desk or else risk using them to throw something through the window.
Ten minutes. It has been ten minutes since she arrived, five minutes since our meeting was scheduled to start. I'm roughly two seconds away from bursting out of my office and marching downstairs to find the girl myself when there's a gentle tap against my door.
It opens slightly, with Theresa poking her graying head into the room. “Mr. Cargill? Miss Anderson is here for you.”
I offer a brief smile meant to reassure her. “Thank you, Theresa.” Straightening my tie, I stand, my heart in my throat. This is it. I need to be at my best, my most charming, my most personable. Considering my level of anxiety, it’ll be a miracle on par with the parting of the Red Sea.
The door opens wider and Theresa ushers Willow inside.
I don't know what I was expecting. A polished, professional businesswoman, certainly. Considering she didn't express surprise or in fact any reaction at all to my offer of two hundred grand tells me she's no stranger to large fees.
What I didn't expect, what I couldn't possibly have expected, is how absolutely stunning she is. Instantly, the sight of her brings a smile to my face which I quickly temper into something more friendly and less... horny.
“Mr. Cargill.” Her sweet, slightly husky voice does things to me most women haven't been able to do with both hands. She crosses the room, moving with grace, her heels tapping against the floor before she extends a hand. “I'm Willow Anderson.”
I can't help but note how small her hand is, how slender her fingers. But then she’s slender from head to toe, except where it counts. Her bust and hips are just big enough to give her an hourglass shape accentuated by what's clearly an expensive suit.
All of that passes through my head in a flash before my attention can focus on her brilliant, hazel eyes. You can tell a lot about a person by their eyes, and hers radiate intelligence when they meet mine. The corners of her full, glossy lips tick upward as we shake hands, and soon I realize why. I haven't said a word yet.
“Ms. Anderson,” I finally manage to choke out. “Thank you so much for meeting with me, especially on a weekend.”
“And especially last minute,” she adds, punctuating her statement with a gentle laugh that for some reason leaves me twitching in my shorts. Oh, this is unfortunate. The woman holds my future in her hands, and all I can think about is getting her out of that suit and across my desk.
At this rate, I'll be lucky if she doesn't run out of here screaming harassment. Like I need things to get any worse.
Get it together. She's not the only attractive woman you've ever met.I'm sure there are half a dozen gorgeous, sexy women capable of holding a conversation in the dining room at this very moment. This woman is not unique.
“I'm sure it doesn't hurt that I'm more than willing to pay for the inconvenience. Please, have a seat.” I gesture toward the leather chairs positioned opposite my own. She perches gracefully, crossing her legs—smooth, lean, practically begging to be touched.
When was the last time I got laid? Clearly, it's been too long if I can't control my thoughts. All it takes is a flash of kneecap and I’m panting like a wolf in one of those old cartoons.
“Did Theresa offer you anything to drink? Maybe you'd like something from downstairs in the dining room.”
“No, thank you. I'm just fine.” There's something almost humorous in her voice, or maybe it's the Mona Lisa smile she wears. I can't quite tell what's going on in her head.
She sweeps lustrous, dark waves over her shoulder before folding her hands in her lap. “What can I do for you, Mr. Cargill? You didn't get into specifics in your emails.”
What can she do for me? What a loaded question. I can think of a lot of things I’d like from her, and none of them have anything to do with public relations.
“Putting it mildly, I screwed up. I was frustrated after an unsuccessful meeting with the town’s officials. I'm in the process of getting approval to expand our dining room. It would mean building an addition onto the current structure, and there is a lot of red tape involved.” She only murmurs in understanding, but doesn't say a word.
“Anyway, I was having a drink down at the bar with a friend of mine, and after a couple of whiskeys, my tongue got a little loose. I started to complain out of frustration. I insulted quite a few people—not by name,” I'm quick to add in case she has any questions about that. “But in general. Little did I know, someone was recording every word.”
“Cell phones can make venting in public a tricky thing.”
“That's putting it mildly,” I agree with a grimace. “As you can imagine, it's a nightmare. The video started to spread on social media, people got wind of it, the board is furious with me. I need to make things right.”
She nods slowly, and nothing about her expression gives away what she's thinking. “I'm sure this can't be the worst thing you've ever dealt with,” I point out, offering a sheepish grin.
“Not even close,” she agrees with a soft chuckle. “But to you, I'm sure, it feels like the world is ending.”
“You're not far from the truth,” I admit, because what's the point of pride? I won't gain anything by trying to save face in front of her, even if the idea of admitting what an idiot I am in front of a beautiful woman leaves me gritting my teeth in discomfort. I need to remember this isn't just any gorgeous woman. And I can't afford to be distracted by the unfortunate fact of her beauty.
“Which platforms has the video been shared on?”
“Twitter and Facebook, mostly. And really, it's not like it went viral or anything, but it doesn't need to. All it took was a few shares with the right—or wrong—people for word to spread that I look down on everybody in town.”
