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I put her wardrobe out of my mind and reach for the stack of papers. “My presentation, I presume?”
“Yes,” Amelia says. “I used standard Ashford Marketing fonts and colors to reflect that this is an authoritative presentation coming from within the company. But I played with some other branding elements to create a sleeker look.”
“Like?” I say, flipping through the deck.
“Your policy of not using publicly available stock photos because you don’t want another company using the same image as you,” Amelia says. “That makes sense for ad campaigns where we’re doing our own photoshoots, but for internal presentations like this, it leaves us working with generic dated images you shot decades ago.”
I start to nod, then stop myself, because I’m supposed to be giving her as little information as possible. I don’t know her well enough to trust her professional discretion.
Except, inexplicably, my body trusts hers. Normally when I’m in a work meeting, there’s always a part of me that’s on guard. Waiting for the problem, the attack, the thing I need to fix. But sitting across from Amelia feels different.
Every emotion she feels is written across her face, and she seems fundamentally incapable of biting her tongue around me. It’s weirdly relaxing.
Seductive, even.
I squash the thought and bite my own tongue to re-establish my boundaries. Which means keeping her in the dark as much as possible.
“I never said this presentation was for internal use,” I say, misdirecting.
Amelia stiffens. “Are you saying this is for a public presentation?”
I drink my coffee, impassive.
“Why didn’t youtell me that?” she asks, her stress rising exponentially.
Her vehemence catches me off guard. Setting aside her occasional flirtation with serial killer fantasies, it seems out of character for her.
“It doesn’t change anything,” I hedge.
“Ofcourseit changes things,” Amelia says, frustrated. I notice the dark half-moon shadows under her eyes. “If you’re sharing this publicly, it could end up on the internet forever. It could end up with your competition. That shifts us from offense design to defense design, especially if you’re going up against your dad and his cronies.”
She half moves to bury her hands in her hair, but she stops and smooths them flat on the table.
When she speaks again her face is calmer, but her voice cracks. “I don’t havetimefor this.”
“Hey,” I say, tapping my fingers on the table to get her attention and break the mental spiral I sense coming. “It’s an internal presentation I’m giving to a few board members in private, and then formally at a board member meeting. You were right.”
Clearly my usual project boundaries aren’t going to work with her. She cares too damn much about getting the details right
I expect Amelia to relax now that I’m being transparent with the details.
Instead, her nostrils flare, like a dragon who wants to breathe fire. “Then why did you just say—”
“Let’s order lunch,” I interrupt her as I signal the waiter. “You can eat while I review this.”
One thing I’ve learned about this woman—she’s easily distracted by good food.
Amelia sits back in the booth, still looking harried, but she nods. She flashes the waiter a quick smile and orders a turkey, gruyere, and pesto sandwich.
She never smiles at me like that.
Not that I care. Why would I care who my graphic designer smiles at?
I order the steak frites and go back to reviewing Amelia’s work.
It’s good. But it’s hard to focus when she keeps fidgeting in the booth across from me. She’s tapping on something and muttering under her breath.
I look up to find her biting her lip and frantically tapping at her phone.
