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"Vladimir thinks I am his slave. I will soothe his damn ego as soon as I can. I just cannot worry about him right now."
*****
She would not be intimidated by being the only one in the large conference room. Jerry’s assistant had set up the room before they arrived, and in one corner, the table was covered with all sorts of delectable pastries, a large coffee pot, and tea for those who prefer that kind of beverage, as well as orange juice.
Jerry had been fussing since he came in five minutes ago and ensuring everything was all right.
“You have your reports.”
“You have asked me that question three times already. Relax.”
“How can I?” He threw his hands into the air dramatically. Jerry Gallagher was traditionally gay, and it is evident by the fastidious way he dressed and his affectations. He was slightly built, with thinning honey-blonde hair and light blue eyes.
His skin was pale, his nose prominent in a sallow face. He was an unimpressive man who had had the company thrust on him and had somehow managed to make something of it.
He lacked imagination and was unwilling to move forward, something that had caused the publishing house to fall behind. “Shelly, darling-“ He hurried over to the table laden with refreshments. “Paper plates? What are we hosting? A child’s birthday party? Get rid of these at once.”
His assistant removed the offensive items with a roll of her dark brown eyes.
“Please hurry.” Jerry glanced at the ostentatious timepiece on his right wrist. “They are going to be here any minute now.” He lapsed into silence as the board members ambled in and took their places.
“Gentlemen, thanks for being on time.”
“Are we losing our place on the board?” A crotchety James Lane asked as he shuffled over to his chair.
“That’s up to Deacon Manchester.” Jerry ran a hand over his pristine striped gray and red jacket nervously. He was about to say more when his assistant hurried in with the word that the men were coming in.
“Places,” Jerry muttered as he looked around the room again to ensure everything was in place. “Do you think I should sit at the head of the table?”
“Aren’t you still the person in charge?” Delores mused wryly, impatient and not impressed by his nervous ramblings.
“You are right, of course.” He went to stand behind the table just as Deacon Manchester and his entourage came walking into the room. She had seen the man several times in various magazines and on the internet, but nothing prepared her for his magnetic personality.
He was topping six feet in height, the impeccably styled black suit sitting well on his broad shoulders, and he had an impressive physique.
His face was too harsh to be called handsome, but his silver eyes were startlingly direct, surrounded by surprisingly long and thick lashes. His mouth was stern yet sensuous, his chin strong with a deep dent in the middle.
His hair was so dark that it was almost blue-black and immaculately styled.
“Mr. Manchester, welcome, welcome.” Jerry gushed, almost bowing obsequiously as the man entered the room. “I was not sure where you would like to sit- “
“Here is good enough.” The deep baritone had Delores starting for a few seconds. Pulling out a chair next to the head of the table, he jerked his head, indicating the men with him to find empty chairs.
“Okay then.” Jerry clapped his hands as if he had won a prize. “We have refreshments if you- “
“We will get to that later.” Flicking back the cuff of his shell-pink shirt, he pointedly glanced at the thick gold watch on his wrist. “We are pressed for time as it is.” His silver eyes wandered around the table, stopping for a few beats on the only woman in the room. “We will start with you, Ms. Pennant. What do you have to report?”
Delores felt the nerves traveling along her spine and forced herself to relax. She had expected that introductions would be made and he would start with Jerry. But she realized that a man like Deacon Manchester had done his extensive research and knew everything there was to know about everyone seated around the table.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she glimpsed the relieved expression on Jerry’s face and quelled the spurt of annoyance and contempt.
Straightening her shoulders, she rose and walked towards the screen and brought up the detailed reports of the books in production, the list of bestsellers, the ones acquired by the various networks to be turned into scripts, and the manuscripts she was working on now.
She kept eye contact with the men in the room, especially the silver-eyed one watching her with an expressionless look on the hard, attractive face. They listened to her without interruption as she launched into her report.
“ARC would be?” The deep baritone had her pausing in her dissertation.
“Advanced reader copy. We have sent out several of those, including what we consider is going to be our biggest seller yet. ‘Mountain Glory.’ Copies have been sent to the various magazines and are plastered all over the internet, and the response has been more than we expected.”
