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Laurel had yet to come in, so Desirae checked through the messages on her admin's desk to see if there was anything pressing and picked up the contracts for Luanna Morgan's employment, which required her signature, before heading to her own desk.
She was met by the blinking light of her interoffice telephone message system flashing ominously at her and she wondered briefly if she had relaxed her guard too soon. Only one way to find out. Without prevaricating, Desirae took a deep breath and pressed the message button, then waited stoically through the clicks and whirrs that connected her.
A deep voice resonated through the first message. "Hello, Ms. Harper. This is Connor Griffin. I'd like to arrange a meeting to discuss the offer from The Blackwood Corporation at your earliest convenience. Thank you."
Desirae pursed her lips and wondered again just who Connor Griffin was and what he had to do with Blackwood, but she didn't have time to dwell on the matter as a second message kicked in.
"Good Morning, Desirae." John Williams' voice sounded tinny via the recording and Desirae caught her breath and decided to sit down. "Connor Griffin is bringing a couple of colleagues with him, regarding the Blackwood takeover. They're pushing pretty hard, so I guess we don't have a choice but to sit down and hear what they have to say. I've scheduled a meeting for 10 am, but I'd appreciate it if you could make it up here half an hour earlier."
Desirae pressed her outspread hands firmly against the mahogany desktop. Well, that answered the question about Connor Griffin. Clearly, he was some kind of emissary for The Blackwood Corporation. She let out her breath and slowly lowered her forehead onto the smooth dark wood as she rewound Friday's altercation with John from the perspective of a Blackwood representative and then groaned as she recalled her comments on corporate espionage and the old boys' network supporting complete morons for no other reason than their family connections.
Damn it all! She'd strived for over ten years to be very antithesis of her old impulsive, whimsical self, to knuckle down to a 'proper' job, to shelve her unrealistic dreams in the art world, to tame both her character and her appearance so that people took her seriously and she ditched the 'dizzy blonde' stereotype…and in one rash and heated diatribe, she may well have undone all her efforts. All because she'd been freaked out by the name Blackwood and that dickwad, Eric Oliver.
Yeah, and she didn't care if she called him a dickwad, either. It had taken Desirae a long time and some harsh realities to accept that, sometimes, there simply wasn't very much good in some people and to stop trying so hard to search for positives in those who didn't seem to have any, but she'd finally become a good deal more circumspect in her expectations of the human race. She had learned the hard way that some people really were just assholes and she no longer minded acknowledging that.
But Jeez! Would her past haunt her forever?
At nine-twenty-nine precisely, Desirae knocked boldly on the CEO's door, mildly surprised that his own PA was absent from his desk and that no one seemed to be authorising his visitors. As she waited with a moderate trepidation that no one would identify by her unrevealing countenance, she suppressed the urge to smooth down non-existent wrinkles in her understated bronze coloured suit or to check the perfectly sleek twist in her hair. She already knew she looked flawless and she'd paid extra care to her makeup this morning, but nerves had her pulse hammering at her throat and a slightly jittery feeling in her stomach.
John Williams pulled the door open himself, rather than casually calling her through, and the expression on his craggy face was sombre, putting Desirae even more on edge.
He cleared his throat and the awkwardness between them was palpable.
"I'll get straight to the point," he finally declared as he ushered her through to a seating area by the windows.
Desirae steeled herself for the worst and decided to remain standing, not wanting to put herself at a disadvantage by sitting as John paced the floor in front of her. She decided that gave her a better chance at a hasty retreat if it turned out she needed it, after all. She wasn't sure quite how she'd react if her job was taken away from her, and although it would have taken a unanimous decision from a meeting of the board of directors, she'd learned long ago never to take anything for granted. Steeling herself for the worst, she schooled her expression into an impassive mask and used every bit of skill that Joel's long ago lessons in silence and stasis had instilled in her to cast a façade of composure about herself to control the dread and the trepidation that would otherwise have her panicked.
"I owe you an apology." John stopped abruptly in front of her and caught hold of her icy cold hands in an unfamiliar display of affection and squeezed them.
"I'm sorry," he sighed sincerely. "I know better than to question your judgement or to coerce your decisions. I truly hope you can forgive me." His brows were knitted and his grey eyes were genuinely troubled as they implored her silently.
"And you're right, I should never have allowed my relationship with Desmond Oliver to influence anyone's decision to employ his son. Believe it or not, Desmond is a good man, but it was inexcusable of me to reflect a father's fine reputation onto his son."
Desirae squeezed his hands in return before pulling them away, slightly uncomfortable with the gesture and how much it highlighted her lack of physical contact. She had once been such a touchy-feely person, and even though she had effectively buried that part of her character, she sometimes yearned for that lovely feeling of security gained from an embrace and the chance to let someone else just wrap her up in tenderness, shoulder the burdens and keep the world at bay, even if just for a few moments. Desirae steeled herself, the couple of times loneliness and need had spurred her to take a lover had been so horribly disastrous that she had given up trying. If she longed for a little intimacy sometimes or the sexual gratification that came from a warm, caring man and not a battery-operated boyfriend, then she was the only person who knew. Just one more thing that Joel Blackwood had ruined her for.
"Apology accepted, John." She smiled graciously. "And I owe you one of my own." He shook his head to deny her words, but Desirae held up a hand and ploughed on.
"I was rude and unprofessional on Friday, especially with a guest present. I let Eric Oliver get under my skin, and I took my anger out on you."
John inclined his head in acknowledgement, then patted her arm and chuckled. "Well, now that we've cleared the air, let's go kick some corporate butt."
Desirae followed John to the boardroom, quietly discussing the company options as they walked along the plush, carpeted corridor. This initial meeting was going to be low key. Just the two of them and whoever Connor Griffin had brought with him from Blackwood.
Desirae felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck start to prickle as soon as she walked into the boardroom. At first, she wasn't quite sure what was causing the odd reaction. At the end of the room, John's PA was setting out papers, ready for the meeting, which explained his earlier absence. She recognised Connor Griffin lounging casually against the vast mahogany table chatting with two black haired men, both of whom had their back to her but who bore remarkable similarities in both colouring and build. From behind, they looked like they could be twins, and that fleeting thought sent a frisson of unease skating down Desirae's spine and had her pulse accelerating. The three of them were dressed professionally in expensively cut suits in differing shades of grey, and bending over in front of them was one of the women from the catering department who had obviously been asked to bring up refreshments. Desirae raised an eyebrow at the unnatural position the girl had twisted herself into in front of them, while setting down their cups, as if she was doing her best to afford each of the men a provocative view of her cleavage. She was practically simpering as she fluttered coy looks from under her lashes and Desirae wondered if the girl had any shame. The suggestive display made her want to shake some dignity into the woman and tell her to scrape her self-respect up off the floor before someone stepped on it.
"Gentlemen," John greeted, his hand outstretched as they moved into the room, and the two newcomers stood and turned.
Momentarily, their focus was on the CEO as they all shook hands, giving Desirae precious seconds to try and pull herself away from the edge of the huge, yawning chasm that seemed to have opened up in front of her feet ready to gobble her up. She didn't think anyone had noticed her tiny falter or the way her breath had clogged in her throat, and as much as she felt like she was about to fall head first into that vast gaping pit, she knew the sensations of vertigo and giddiness and nausea were only in her mind as she came face to face with the cousins, Jake and Joel Blackwood.
Her entire body and all her facial features were frozen as John introduced her to the room. On the inside, she felt as if she had combusted, felt buffeted by a tsunami of undeniable attraction and lust as her betraying body short circuited the logic of her higher brain function when it automatically registered and accepted the remembered pleasures of her former lover.
"Our CFO, Desirae Harper, will be at the forefront of any negotiations," she heard him say, as if from a distance, as he gestured towards her and two sets of striking cobalt eyes turned her way.
Desirae couldn't move, couldn't speak. With her mind mired in molasses, she vaguely pondered if she might get lucky, as she had with Eric Oliver, but she could see the very second that recognition dawned in Joel's beautiful eyes.
"Daisy?" he whispered in shock, his face slack and his mouth gaping.
Even though she didn't—couldn't—break eye contact with him, she was aware of several things in her peripheral vision. She watched it all as if from a distance, her mind somehow divorced from the reality playing out around her.
