Page 40 of Crash and Burn
He thought there was no way a famous designer would be interested in me because of my designs. No, it had to be because the guy wanted to sleep with me.
Even as I fumed inwardly, a small part of me worried about what Grant had said.
Was it true that this Carling guy was some sort of player? Was he really just using this as an excuse to hit on me?
Well, even if he was, I was here now. I was going to find out exactly why he wanted to meet with me. I'd keep my wits about me, listen to my instincts, and if I got a single whiff of creepiness from the guy, I'd peace out.
"Ms. Mitchell, it's so good to see you again."
I started as a familiar man in a grey suit appeared at my side, silent as a cat. I shot up, my back stiff as a board.
Cliff Carling was standing in front of me with a beaming smile.
My mouth went dry and my hands went cold.
Oh my god. This was real.
A part of me had seriously considered that this whole thing really was just one big joke, but it wasn't. This was real life.
I flapped my mouth uselessly as he reached out to take my clammy hand and gave it a few pumps. The handshake was purely professional, no weird or creepy lingering.
"Thanks for meeting with me," I managed to blurt out around a thick tongue.
"I'm very excited you called," he said. "You waited so long, I'd started wondering."
He began to walk and I followed after him like a scampering puppy, taking two steps for every one of his.
He made small talk as we walked through the offices and took the elevator up to the top floor. Did I have any trouble finding the address? Did it take me long to get here? I was still half in shock and responded with one and two word answers.
He finally led me to what had to be his office. I had almost expected the usual billionaire-CEO stereotype, with floor to ceiling windows and a large mahogany desk in the middle of a vast room.
Instead, it looked more like a mother's sewing room, with dozens of dress dummies standing tall on poles, bolts of fabric laying everywhere and a table covered with pencil sketches.
"I have a more traditional office for doing paperwork," he commented as I gawked. "But I thought this environment might be more appropriate for our meeting."
"This is where you do your work?" I asked.
"One of the places," he replied. "Come, sit with me."
He gestured to a living room style set up in the corner, with two cushy chairs, a loveseat and a sofa. I gingerly lowered myself into one chair — I was half-worried I was going to sit down and prick my butt with a stray needle — and he sat in the one across from me.
I smoothed my skirt down around my knees and waited for him to start, but he was silent, just staring at me.
A bead of nervous sweat ran down my back.
Was this the moment when he revealed the whole thing was a mistake, after all?
I resisted the urge to fidget, but my toes wouldn't stop wiggling in my shoes, making my feet jiggle up and down slightly.
"Feeling out of your depths?" he spoke up.
"You can tell?" I asked ruefully, ducking my head.
"You hide it well," he said. "But I've been in your position before. I know what it feels like."
I supposed even the most successful of people had to start somewhere.
"Honestly?" I began. "I was almost expecting this whole thing to have been a prank."
