Chapter Four: The Serpentine
Sienna
I had my assistant reach out to Lincoln to meet at my office. After our last encounter, I wasn't going to do another coffee shop of any kind. I normally don't like to do meetings in my office, as it can get a bit stuffy and too formal for my liking, but for Lincoln Nash...the more formal the better.
He arrived right on time as he said he would. My assistant popped her head into my office to alert me of his arrival, so I gathered the materials for the meeting and slid out the door toward the main lobby.
My office building is incredibly large with huge ceilings and bright, open windows against red brick walls overlooking Midtown South. All of my employees are scurrying around managing their daily tasks as Rachel, my assistant, follows behind me with coffee in hand for me and our client. We ride the elevator down to the first floor, and when they open, Lincoln is leaning up against the reception desk in another suit, this one being navy blue rather than gray. I keep my eyes focused as we both approach, attempting to ignore the fact that he definitely just checked me out.
I keep telling myself that I decided to wear a nice dress today because I'm trying to practice my self-care more and not because Lincoln Nash would be visiting, but Carmen's voice keeps echoing in my head about using him, and as much as I try to push it out, his offer has been floating in my mind ever since our first encounter.
However, if you're looking for a good time...
No. I will not stoop as low as to fuck Lincoln Nash, the most arrogant man I've come into contact with. Besides, he offered that before he knew we were supposed to be working together. Surely the offer doesn't stand anymore.
Not that I want it to.
"You didn't bring a third party?" I blurt out, realizing how incredibly unprofessional that sounded. "I mean, hello, Mr. Nash, good to see you." I reach my hand out to shake his and he grasps it gently, his touch feeling like a burning fire against my palm.
He raises a brow, a cocky grin already in place. "Was I supposed to bring someone else? Your assistant didn't specify."
God, why does he have to look like that? He didn't get to me like this the other day, but now...what is different now? Nothing has changed, and yet I can't tear my gaze away from those crystal blue eyes of his, so blue that they look almost...clear. His black hair is slicked up into place now, not a strand in disarray, and when he glances at his watch I realize I still haven't responded to him. I've never been this person. I've never been at a loss for words or faltered with my speech, and Lincoln Nash isn't about to be the reason I start now.
Snapping my brain into business mode, I straighten my posture and glance toward Rachel. "It's fine if you didn't bring someone. Would you like a coffee?"
"Please," he says and gratefully takes the cup she passes over to him, staring at me over the rim as he takes a long, deep sip and extends his free hand out in front of him. "After you."
It's going to be a long damn meeting.
I lead the way back to the elevator, feeling his gaze burning into my behind every step of the way. I'm in a red fitted knee-length dress that has a gold zipper trailing down my spine, and as my black heels clack against the concrete floor, I honestly can't decide whether or not my heartbeat is louder.
Thank the heavens Rachel came down to deliver the coffee, otherwise, the elevator ride with just the two of us would be pure hell.
"Beautiful office," he says when we step off the elevator, "is it new?"
I nod. "Thank you. We moved into this building a few years ago. The old one was getting cramped."
Stepping into my office, he gracefully slides into the leather chair opposite my desk, appreciating the view of downtown that sits directly behind it out a floor-to-ceiling window. I'm cursing myself for choosing this place to host this meeting because although my office is more than spacious, I think I'd need a football stadium's length to stop the tension I'm feeling towards him. Just the realization that all that stands between us is a desk has the heat forming between my legs all too quickly.
Is it my time of the month? Is that why I'm unbearably horny? And did someone turn up the heat? It's so unlike me to get this turned on by someone, let alone a client. I haven't felt like this since...
I wince, immediately blocking the memories as I focus on Lincoln once more.
"Do you mind if I take my jacket off?" he asks.
Okay, so maybe it's not just me.
"Go ahead. Is it hot? I can have Rachel turn up the air conditioner if you'd like."
He clears his throat before he utters, "Quite."
Slinging his jacket on the back of his chair, he sits back down again, and the very minute I lock eyes with him, I wish I hadn't. Large, muscular arms flex underneath his white dress shirt, a tease of just how much this man must work out, and then...
And then...
Black ink is poking slightly over the collar of the shirt. It looks like a serpentine's head, a snake of some sort. I can't make the figure out completely, but I'm...utter putty. I've lost all sense of rational thought staring at this man when he is a client. I need to focus.
Lincoln looks at the desk, then me, then the desk again.
Focus.
Focus.
Focus.
Pulling out a stack of papers, I clear my throat and say, "Okay, so I've had time to look over a lot of the reports, but what stuck out the most to me was your customer analysis." I stick another copy in front of him to look over. "Most of the guests staying in your hotels are millennials. They're the ones going to concerts, visiting friends, traveling...and yet..." I place their current logo and some printed pictures offline of the interior of his hotels. "The inside of your hotels look like they were made in the seventies."
He snorts. "Way to be blunt."
"Sorry, but it's true. You need to update not just the logo, but the interior of the hotels too to see the kind of turn-around you're after."
"Which all costs money," he adds, "and if it doesn't work then my company is screwed."
"Then attack your busiest hotels first. Atlanta, Hollywood, this very one right in New York. I did my research, and one of the main reasons your company is going under is because you're not keeping up with the times. Young people want selfie walls, cute photo opportunities for Instagram, and you have the prime locations, you just need to do something with them."
"You say this like you're in your fifties," he says with a laugh. "Aren't you one of those girls who likes to take pictures in front of a selfie wall?"
I shrug. "Mr. Nash, I've learned from a very young age to be mature when it comes to business. You wanted answers, this is it. Now we just have to put the work in."
Leaning back in the chair, he folds his arms behind his head and I almost moan at the sight. "How did you become so successful, anyway?"
I shoot him a pointed look. "I think we're here to talk about your business, not mine."
"If I'm investing my money in someone, I think I should know a little bit about their background and how they came to be, right? Or am I wrong?"
Letting out a sigh, I meddle with the pens on my desk and say, "I always seemed to have ideas when I was younger about marketing things. The first thing I ever marketed was lemonade."
One of those lazy, sideways grins lights up his face. "And how did you market lemonade, Ms. Stone?"
My name on his tongue makes me fidget in my seat. "Well, I wanted to do a lemonade stand and asked my parents if I could. I decided to make flyers, and even back then I didn't even realize that I was doing customer analysis at the age of ten. I wrote a list of all the jobs in the area where employees worked in the heat all day, and then I made flyers and dropped them off at every construction site, roofing company, and lifeguard station I could find."
His smile still hasn't faltered. "And?"
I look around my office and send him a grin. "And it was the best damn lemonade stand my town has ever seen."
"Seems like you busted your ass to have accumulated all of this by twenty-five," he says.
"Well, to be a self-made billionaire, you have to bust your ass. There's no other option."
His eyes pop up to mine. "Billionaire? For a marketing firm?" He clears his throat and holds a hand up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound like an ass, I just...wow."
"You know just as well as I do that a successful company is only one piece to the puzzle. It's about investments, real estate, cryptocurrency... You know, the stuff that gains value over time."
Normally I don't open myself up to people about my wealth, but I know that Lincoln is a billionaire himself, so I figured that if anyone would understand, it would be him. Instead, he gives me a tight-lipped smile and replies, "Yeah."
That's it.
Nothing else.
I purse my lips, realizing that we've gone completely off-track from what he really came here for.
His company.
Not me.
"Enough about my life story," I declare, "let me finish showing you the rest of my ideas."
***
After another two hours of going through the different projects I had put together, the mood Lincoln seemed to be in earlier vanished, and was replaced with the flirtatious and roguish man that, despite my best efforts, I have been unable to look away from. He offered to order lunch to be delivered to us at my office as he looked through different logos my team had come up with, and together we ate Chinese while attempting to keep the papers clear of any sauce.
"So, what do you think?" I glance around at all of the papers sprawled out on the desk in front of us.
"I think it's more than I asked for," he answers. "In a good way. I'd be a fool not to hire you."
A smug grin falls onto my face as I sit straighter in my chair.
"Did I really have a choice in the matter though after our horrendous first meeting?"
My smile falters, regret seeping in. As much as I couldn't stand him yesterday, he's been much better today, and a lot more professional, despite the looks he's sent me every so often that seem as if he's undressing me right then and there, and the most annoying part about it is that I'm not sure I want those looks to ever stop coming my way.
"I didn't mean to threaten you," I explain, " I just have this thing that irks me about men when they try to act like they're coming in to save me or something. I don't need a man, and when you started asking about marriage and kids, I just...I don't know. There's more to me than marriage and kids. More to women than marriage and kids. Not that those things aren't important, but...so are goals and aspirations."
"And normally I wouldn't come right out and ask about that kind of stuff, but see—" He sighs, running a hand through his gelled hair. That damn piece flops onto his forehead again. "Since the beginning of the year, my mother has been obsessed with trying to find me someone to marry, and I'm not ready for that yet. Not in the least bit. She refuses to hear my side about it though and sets me up with these blind dates once every two weeks. I got the date mixed up, and I thought you were one of those blind dates.
"The women my mother chooses are the furthest from my type, and I try to do everything in my power to never see them again so I—"
"Act like a dick," I finish.
"Yes, and had my secretary given me your name a few days ago when she set the meeting up between us, maybe then I wouldn't have been so confused. She told me that you were the best marketing manager on the East Coast. That's it."
"She's not wrong," I admit, "but all is forgiven, Mr. Nash. Mistakes happen, and it's not my business what goes on outside of our meetings."
His eyes meet with mine, an ocean blue attempting to stare right into the depths of my soul as he glances down to the desk again, then back to me. "I think we can be on a first-name basis now, don't you? Or would that make you uncomfortable?"
I gulp loudly as he slides his jacket back on, the serpentine now hidden. "I think first names are fine. I'll email the logos over to you after my meetings are finished today."
"Good," he says with that famous, sly grin of his, "I look forward to that email, Sienna."