He was dressed in a dark suit – something exquisitely tailored and
very
expensive-looking – so it was a little harder to see his body, but what I
could
see made my stomach flutter. His shoulders were broad. His chest pressed but didn’t strain at his crisp, white shirt. He was wearing a blue tie, one that matched his eyes beautifully. He had loosened it and unfastened the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing a powerful, chiseled neck, more of that tan skin, and the upper edges of well-defined pecs. A few dark chest hairs peeked above the top fastened button.
His thighs looked like they were muscular under the expensive pants, though it was hard to tell. He had on these trendy, kick-ass shoes – probably boots of some sort, with a kind of rock ‘n roll embroidering, if that makes any sense. They would have gone as well with a $500 pair of jeans in a night club as they did with his $5000 suit.
And I
swear
I don’t care about these things, but… I couldn’t help notice that his shoes were pretty big. And so were his hands: well-crafted, masculine, and large, like Michaelangelo’s
David.
(No wedding ring, by the way.) I also stole a brief, very brief look at his… ahem, below his beltline, and while I’m not very well-versed in judging these sorts of things with all the clothes on, let’s just say that I wouldn’t be surprised if he filled out his underwear pretty well in the front.
I shouldn’t have said that. Oh God. But, hey, I
thought
it at the time, so there you are. Can’t take it back now.
If you want the short-hand version, he looked like a model in an ad for a highbrow, extremely expensive brand of scotch. The kind of guy who would have hung with Sinatra in the 50’s, or with George Clooney or Kanye West now. Hell, the kind of guy
they
would call to hang out with. The kind of man who would have kicked Don Draper’s ass in
Mad Men.
A Young Turk on a break from conquering the world. The kind of man that every guy wanted to be, and every woman wanted to get to know.
‘Get to know’ is a euphemism, in case you hadn’t figured that out.
As I walked up, Stanley and the stranger were finishing talking about sports – the Lakers or something. Then Mr. Movie Star looked over at me and his eyes lit up. He got that gleam I described earlier, and the corners of his eyes crinkled as he grinned.
“You must be Lily,” he said, and held out his hand.
My heart was already pounding, but when he said that, it did a triple flip in my chest. Hearing that voice on the phone? Super sexy. But not even half as good as hearing it in person.
The difference was like homemade banana pudding versus the stuff in a packet. Don’t get me wrong, I really like the stuff in the packet. But I
loooove
me some banana pudding made from scratch.
Okay, that’s kind of goofy (and now you know more than you ever wanted to about my dessert preferences). A better analogy would be real sex versus phone sex. Phone sex can be incredibly hot – but it doesn’t hold a candle to real sex.
Um… just to be clear… at that point in my life, standing in that lobby at 6PM on a Friday, I’d never
had
phone sex.
Yet.
One other thing: as I held up my arm to shake his hand, I smelled his cologne.
Ohhhhhh God.
I read somewhere that our deepest and most primal memories are connected to smell. If you think about it, as a baby, you probably responded to scents – your mother’s, your father’s – before you could figure out what the hell sounds they were making, or before your eyes even focused right.
Even now, when I think of Christmas, I smell baking cookies in the kitchen and that clean, pine scent of freshly cut Christmas trees.
Other memories are just as vivid: burning leaves on an autumn day. Clean laundry fresh from the dryer.
When I think of him now, I
smell
that cologne.
Masculine and heady, with the basic layers of musk and sandalwood, and just a tiny bit of sweetness thrown in.
It wasn’t overpowering at all. Just a hint. A tease. I mean, I was right next to him, and I caught the barest whiff.
It smelled classy. Expensive. Exotic, and yet… comforting, somehow.
And
damn
sexy.
Because I was completely tongue-tied (what with the voice and the scent), I looked over at Stanley. He nodded reassuringly like,
Dude’s okay.
Which was good. I trust Stanley. If he gets a good read off of somebody, I accept his intuition.
“M-Mr. Brooks?” I stuttered as my hand clasped his.
Ohhhhhh God.
His skin was so warm. His handshake was really strong, but unlike a lot of jerks who try to push women (and other men) around, he didn’t try to crush me. He just let his hand envelope mine. Firm but inviting.
I melted a little bit more.
“Good to put a face to the voice,” he said as he hung onto my hand for a second or two longer than was absolutely necessary. (I didn’t mind. Not at all.)
“Yes,” I agreed, because that was all I could think to say at the moment.
Then he dropped my hand and got down to business. “Okay. Call your boss for me.”
The unpleasant prospect of having Klaus chew me out over the phone pumped a shot of adrenaline into my system. And
that
temporarily overrode all the sex hormones flooding through my veins.
“Ohhhh… I don’t really know if – ”
“Relax, Lily,
you’ll
talk to him first, and it’ll be on
your
phone, so I won’t even see the number. Besides, he’s probably not even out of the parking deck yet, is he?” Connor smiled.
And, no, the truth was that he probably
wasn’t.
I sighed, pulled my cell phone out of my little black purse, and hit ‘KLAUS’ on my contacts list.
This was
not
going to go well.
But how could I say ‘no’ to what was actually a pretty reasonable request?
And, even more importantly, with those gorgeous blue eyes twinkling at me?
“What,”
Klaus’s perpetually pissed-off voice answered.
“Um… I have Mr. Brooks here, and he’s pretty insistent about – ”
“WHAT THE HELL?! What part of your brain shut down when I left, Lily?!”
And then he went off on a mini-tirade of profanity and insults that was worse than usual.
Just as my blood reached the boiling point (which was really only 1.5 seconds in, after Klaus dropped the first F-bomb) and I was on the verge of saying something that would get me fired, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye and caught that smell again. That sexy, intoxicating scent.
I looked up to see Connor’s hand extended towards me, palm outward, right about my shoulder level.
He was looking at me with a bemused expression. Like puppy-dog eyes, but if the puppy dog knew you weren’t a very good owner and he had to explain to you how to walk him and feed him, but he still loved you anyway.
“May I?” he asked with that sexy-as-hell smile.
Meanwhile, Klaus’s torrent of profanity was still pouring full force into my ear.
What the hell,
I thought, grinned wryly, and handed the phone over to him. Connor glanced at the phone screen and then held it up to his face.
“KLAUS!” he shouted in a backslapping,
Hey, buddy!
kind of way. “Connor… Brooks here from LMGK. How’s it going?”
First impression: Connor just
commanded
the conversation right from the beginning. He reached out verbally, took hold of Klaus by the neck, and steered him in the direction he wanted him to go.
Second impression: he paused slightly after his first name. At first I thought he was being friendly by saying ‘Connor’ alone, then realized Klaus might not know who he was, so he included the last name as a formality.
Turns out I was wrong, which I found out later that night.
The torrent of profanity ended abruptly. There was a long pause, and then a single word on the other end:
“Hello.”
He didn’t say it in a friendly voice, but it was a hell of a lot friendlier than what he’d been subjecting
me
to a second ago.
“Here’s the thing, Klaus – I’d like to call you back on my phone so I can conference in somebody else. He’s expecting my call. You okay with that?”
There was the muffled, Charlie Brown’s teacher
wah-wah-wah-WAAAAH
of Klaus’s voice complaining on the other end.
“Thirty seconds, Klaus, and I’ll get right back to you. Be sure to pick up, bud – you’re gonna wanna hear this!”
And then Connor hung up on Klaus without waiting for a reply.
Ohhhh CRAP.
Mr. Movie Star had pretty much just signed my death warrant.
Connor saw my face and laughed. “You should see what you look like right now.”
“You did
not
just hang up on my boss,” I almost shouted.
I’d gotten my voice back, which was good. Basically, my overwhelming fear of losing my job – and my irritation at
Connor
losing it for me – overrode all the physical attraction that was keeping my tongue tied.
He held out the phone to me and grinned. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, you know that?”
I snatched it out of his hand. “How are you even going to call him when you – ”
And then I knew. When I had initially handed my cell to him, he’d glanced down at the screen.
And seen the number.
CRAP.
He saw that I’d figured it out and winked as he pulled out his own cell. “Yes, I saw it – and yes, I remember it. I have a good head for numbers – 3.1415926, 186,000 miles per second…”
And here he glanced up and down my body with a devilish look.
“…34, 24, 35.”
Then he winked at me with that grin.
I blushed fire engine red.
Those are my measurements. Well, the 34 and the 35 are. He was being excessively nice about the size of my waist.
I guess I should have started ranting and raving about sexual harassment. If anybody else had done it, it would have been creepy and slimy as hell.
But when the guy you’re secretly panting over lets you know he’s mentally undressing you… well, I guess I chose to interpret it as flirting.
Extremely
sexual
flirting.
Also, if you haven’t guessed it, I’m a little nerdy. So his putting me in a class with
pi
and the speed of light kind of turned me on, too.
He wasn’t just hot, but
smart.
There was another thing, though, that passed through my mind:
He wasn’t just spouting off the regular 36-24-36 cliché. If this guy can peg my measurements by looking at me… what is he, a fashion designer? And if not that, then exactly how many women has he been with?!
But by the time I was thinking that, he was already talking into his cell.
“Hi there, Dave, it’s Connor. Can you hold one sec? Thanks.”
He pulled the phone away, swiped the screen once, then tapped out a number.
As it rang, he looked over at me, grinned, and put the phone on speakerphone.
I didn’t realize why he did that until a few seconds later.
He was letting me eavesdrop on the call.
“Hello?!”
Klaus’s angry voice rang out.
“Heeey, Klaus! Connor again. I’ve got Dave Westerholtz on the line.”
My jaw dropped on the floor, I’m sure of it.
David Westerholtz. CEO of Everton Consulting.
The company where both Klaus and I worked.
And Mr. Movie Star had him on speed dial.
Even Stanley’s eyes bugged out.
“M-Mr. Westerholtz, h-hello,”
Klaus stammered.
“I’ve got you both on speakerphone, hope you don’t mind, but my hands are occupied at the moment,” Connor said with another wink at me.
Which was an outright lie. His hands weren’t doing anything but holding the phone.
But ohhhhhh I wish I could have suggested a few places on me to keep them occupied…
Westerholtz’s voice wasn’t one-tenth as sexy as Connor’s, but it was still pretty darn commanding.
“No problem. Klaus, I want you to give Mr. – ”
“Connor,” he interrupted. “Just call me Connor, Dave.”
For some reason, ‘Dave’ sounded pretty happy to be calling Connor by his first name.
“Sure, Connor. I want you to give Connor any help he needs, Klaus – anything he asks for. Understood?”
Klaus’s whiny voice kicked in.
“Well, Dave, I – ”
“Mr. WESTERholtz,”
interrupted the CEO.
Connor gave me a hilarious fake-shocked little ‘o’ mouth, like
Oh no he diii-in’t!
I almost laughed out loud at his reaction, and had to cover my mouth with my hand to stifle it.
“Yes, Mr. Westerholtz, sir, you see, I’m actually out of the office – ”
“Then go BACK to the office, Klaus. Whatever Mr. – ”
“Connor.”
“Right – whatever Connor needs, you make sure he gets it. Is that clear?”
Pause.
“Of course,”
Klaus answered, sounding exactly like a horrible brat who’d just been ordered to apologize by his parents or go without dessert.
“Fantastic!” Connor beamed. “Well, Dave, I know it’s late there in New York, so I don’t want to keep you too long, but thanks for your help.”
“It’s my pleasure, Mr. – ”
“Connor, Dave, it’s Connor!” he laughed.
Westerholtz laughed in return.
“You got it, Connor. It was a real pleasure talking to you this afternoon, and I’m looking forward to working together in the future!”
“Absolutely, Dave,” Connor said. “Take care!”
“You too!”
“Goodbye, Mr. Wester– ”
Klaus tried to say, but Westerholtz had already hung up.
Point, set, and match, Connor Brooks.
This had been an incredible treat, listening in as my despised jerk of a boss got his butt handed to him by the CEO of the company. But I knew Klaus, and I knew what was coming next.