The Bachelorette. Kate Little

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ some rough spots. Can’t Anita or Peter help you?”

      “I called Frank first,” Jayne said. “When I told your boss who the client was, he said to call you. Specifically, you, Meredith.”

      “Who’s the client?”

      “Adam Richards,” Jayne replied solemnly. She spoke in a whisper, so Meredith guessed that Mr. Richards—whoever he was—stood within earshot.

      “Am I supposed to know who that is?” she asked, laughing despite herself.

      “No offense, Meredith but…what planet do you live on?” Jayne asked sweetly. “Adam Richards? Owns Richards Home Furnishings? One of the company’s top private clients? Spends loads of money here every year? Just your average, self-made millionaire,” she added.

      “Oh, that Adam Richards,” Meredith said lightly. “I find it hard to keep up with the self-made millionaire list lately…. What’s he doing now?”

      “Pacing around the showroom. In an irritated tycoon sort of way. He’s chosen a few items he likes, and he wants to speak to a designer about customizing the designs. I’m going to bring him into room number three and serve him coffee. You’d better get down here right away. I think he knows Frank personally,” she added.

      Meredith had always gotten along well with her boss. He had taught her so much and encouraged her own creative talents to blossom. But Frank Reynolds still didn’t cut any slack for her, though she was probably his favorite. If Frank said she had to go, she had to go.

      “All right,” Meredith conceded with a sigh. “Tell your average, impatient tycoon I’m on my way.”

      Meredith hung up the phone, then grabbed her smaller sketchpad and her coffee. As she headed for the door, she thought to check her appearance, maybe swipe on a bit of lip gloss or check her hair again. But then she shrugged off the impulse. Big deal. Adam Richards. So the man had money—a great deal of money. Material success had never impressed her, and she rather disliked people who believed they were due special treatment just because they were wealthy.

      She’d be courteous and professional, of course. With any luck, she’d get rid of Mr. Imperious Millionaire quickly and still have some time to review her presentation.

      The elevator to the ground floor left her at the end of the long corridor that ran behind the showroom. Meredith soon caught sight of Adam Richards in room number three. He stood with his back turned toward the doorway. The first thing she noticed about him was his broad shoulders and lean build, covered by a charcoal-gray suit. An extremely well-tailored suit, she noticed, which covered his athletic build without a single gap or wrinkle.

      He was also quite tall, an inch or so above six feet, she guessed. Meredith always noticed a man’s height, since at five-ten in her stocking feet, she was well above average for a woman. She didn’t often meet men she could look up to, but here was one. Literally speaking, at least, she thought with a secret smile.

      As she drew closer to the doorway, she felt her chronic shyness move over her like a soft, heavy blanket. A smothering cloud. She took a deep breath and willed herself to go forward, to act the part of an efficient, able employee. Wisps of her wavy, reddish-brown hair had come loose from her clip and softly curled around her face. She tried to smooth back the tendrils with her hands, but to no effect.

      The sooner started, the sooner done, Meredith reminded herself. Her head down, her sketch book clutched under her arm, she strode purposefully into the room…and nearly walked right into him.

      He turned when she entered and quickly stepped to the side. He stared down at her with a dark, steady gaze, apparently startled by her clumsy entrance. He had brown eyes, a rich coffee color, greeting her with a mixture of warmth and curiosity. Meredith met his gaze briefly, then shyly looked away. She could feel her pulse race and her cheeks grow warm.

      He was younger than she’d expected. Maybe around forty, she guessed. Weren’t self-made tycoons older than that? Older…and balding and paunchy…and far less attractive?

      Finally she looked up again. He was still staring down at her, watching her in a way that made her feel even more self-conscious.

      “Mr. Richards.” She thrust out her hand. “How do you do? I’m Meredith Blair, one of the designers here.”

      “One of the best, I hear.” He took her hand in his larger one and briefly shook it. His grasp was firm and warm. His voice was deep. Deep and definite. The compliment made her blush again, but she tried to ignore it. “Thank you for coming down to see me. I realize now I should have made an appointment. I hope you weren’t called away from anything important?”

      “No, not at all,” Meredith wasn’t deceptive by nature, but the little white lie seemed necessary under the circumstances. As in, “The customer is always right.” Especially this customer.

      “Please have a seat, Mr. Richards.” She gestured for him to take the chair opposite hers at the small table in the center of the room.

      “Please call me Adam,” he suggested with a smile. He had even white teeth and deep dimples creased his lean cheeks. The change in his expression, the small lines that crinkled at his eyes and etched his wide, supple mouth made something within her tingle with awareness.

      Awareness…and alarm.

      He was either a very nice guy, she decided, or so phony, he was able to fake it flawlessly. Meredith knew she was suspicious of men and their motives. Especially good-looking, older men. But she couldn’t help it. Experience had been a cruel but able teacher.

      She took a moment to arrange the objects on the table. A necessary task that gave her a moment to collect herself. The table was set up for viewing jewelry and had a dark-blue velvet mat in its center. A magnifying lens and a high-intensity lamp with a long bendable neck stood to one side.

      She rearranged the lens and lamp to her liking, then pushed up her glasses, which had slid down her nose a bit. Her hands felt strangely shaky, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

      “I’ll try to be brief and not take up too much of your time, Ms. Blair,” he began. “Here’s the problem. I’d like to give some gifts to my employees at a company banquet that’s coming up in a month or two. It’s part of our national sales conference, and about five hundred employees usually attend,” he explained. “A few retirements will be announced, and the firm always gives an engraved desk clock. But I’d like to give something different this year. A stickpin, perhaps. Or a gold key chain with some sort of medallion or inscription,” he suggested. “Then there are awards for outstanding achievement. Especially in the sales force. The employees are receiving a bonus, of course. But I’d like to give them a gift, as well. I’ll need about one hundred items in all. Do you think they can be ready by say…the first week in December?”

      Meredith watched his face as he spoke. He had a very expressive face, she thought. Her artist’s eye appreciated his broad, smooth forehead, the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw, his wide, supple mouth. She thought she would like to do a sketch of him sometime. She also liked the way he looked right into her eyes, meeting her own in such a direct, unguarded manner.

      But once he had finished and his gaze remained fixed on hers, she realized that she’d been so distracted, studying him, she’d barely heard a word he’d said.

      “The first week in December?” she echoed vaguely.

      “Not СКАЧАТЬ