The Bachelorette. Kate Little
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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 enough time, you think?” He shook his head. “I always leave these things to the last minute,” he admitted. She was surprised at his tone, which was almost…apologetic.
Weren’t these rich guys supposed to be much more irate and demanding? Wasn’t he supposed to pound his fist on the table or stamp his foot or something?
“Probably. I mean, maybe. I mean, it depends on what you want, specifically, of course,” she stammered, staring down at her notepad. “I do know that we’ll try to do our best to meet your schedule, Mr. Richards.”
She quickly raised her eyes to his and saw that he was grinning. Laughing at her babbling. Oh, Lord. She sounded like an idiot. And felt like one, too.
“It’s Adam,” he reminded her. “May I call you Meredith?”
She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat the size of a large jelly doughnut. She didn’t know what was happening to her. Meredith was typically nervous meeting new people—especially men—but she was usually able to hide it much better. This man was really getting under her skin for some reason, and she willed herself to get a grip on her frazzled nerves. And runaway pulse.
“You’re right. I haven’t been very specific, have I?” he said, obviously trying to put her at ease. “I found a few things I liked in the display area. I believe Ms. Randolph left them here on the table so that we could discuss them.”
“Yes, of course. That will give us a start.” Meredith picked up a dark-blue velvet bag that was sitting in front of her on the table and hurriedly opened it.
“Let’s see, what do we have here—” she murmured. She withdrew the various items one by one and laid them out on the velvet cushion. As she moved into her working mode, Meredith felt herself relax a bit. It was easier for her to deal with clients once she had something tangible to focus on and could begin the design process.
She picked up the first piece, a 14K yellow-gold stickpin with