The phone rang and the woman slid her acerbic glare away from Merina. She waited as the other woman answered a call, spoke as slowly as humanly possible, and then returned the receiver to the cradle. The woman folded her hands, waiting.
Even with her nostrils flared, Merina forced a smile. There was only one way past this gatekeeper. She called up an ounce of poise—an ounce being the most she could access at the moment. "Merina Van Heusen to see Reese Crane."
"Ms. Van Heusen," the woman said, her tone flat, her eyes going to the doorknob in Merina's hand. "You're here regarding the changes to the hotel, I presume."
"You got it," Merina said, barely harnessing her anger. How come everyone was so damn calm about dismantling a town landmark?
"Have a seat." Crane's bulldog gestured one manicured hand at a group of cushy white chairs, her mouth frowning in disgust as she took in Merina's dishevelment. "Perhaps I could fetch you a towel first."
"I won't be sitting." She wasn't about to be put in her place by Reese's underling. Then her prayers were answered as the set of gleaming wooden doors behind the secretary's desk parted like the Red Sea.
Jackpot.
Merina barreled forward as the woman at the desk barked, "Excuse me!"
Merina ignored her. She wouldn't be delayed another second…or so she thought. She stopped short when a woman in a very tight red dress, the neckline plunging into plentiful cleavage, her heels even higher and potentially more expensive than Merina's Louboutins, swept out of the office and gave her a slow, mascaraed blink back. Then she sashayed around Merina, past the bulldog, and left behind a plume of perfume.
Interesting.
Reese's latest date? An escort? If Merina believed the local tabloids, one and the same. Paying for dates certainly wasn't above his pay grade.
Before the doors closed, she slipped into Reese's office.
"Ms. Van Heusen!" came a bark behind her, but Reese, who stood facing the windows and looking out upon downtown, said three words that instantly silenced his secretary.
"She's fine, Bobbie."
Merina smirked back at the sour-faced, coal-eyed woman as Reese's office doors whooshed shut.
"Merina, I presume." Reese still hadn't turned. His posture was straight, jacket and slacks impeccably tailored to his muscular, perfectly proportioned body. Shark or not, the man could wear a suit. She'd seen the photos of him in the Trib as well as Luxury Stays, the hotel industry's leading trade magazine, and like every other woman in Chicago, she hadn't missed the gossip about him online. Like his more professional photos, his hands were sunk into his pant pockets, and his wavy, dark hair was styled and perfect. Clearly the woman who had just left was here on other business…or past business. If something more clandestine was going on, Reese would appear more mussed. Then again, he probably didn't muss his hair during sex. From what she gleaned about him via the media, Reese probably didn't allow his hair to muss.
The snarky thought paired with a vision of him out of that suit, stalking naked and primed, golden muscles shifting with each long-legged step. Sharp, navy eyes focused only on her…
He turned to face her and she snapped out of her imaginings and blinked at the stubble covering a perfectly angled jaw. What was it about that hint of dishevelment on his otherwise perfect visage that made her breath catch?
Thick dark brows jumped slightly as his eyes zoomed in on her chest.
She sneered before venturing a glance down at her sodden silk shirt. Where she saw the perfect outline of both nipples. A tinge of heat lit her cheeks, and she crossed her arms haughtily, glaring at him as best she could while battling embarrassment.
"Seems this April morning is colder than you anticipated," he drawled.
And that was when any wayward attraction she might have felt toward him died a quick death. The moment he opened his mouth, her hormones pulled the emergency brake.
"Cut the horseshit, Crane," she snapped.
The edge of Reese's mouth moved sideways, sliding the stubble into an even more appealing pattern. But she wasn't here to be insulted or patronized.
"I heard some news," she said.
He didn't bite.
"Your father purchased the Van Heusen," she continued.
"He added it to the family portfolio, yes," he responded coolly.
Portfolio. She felt her lip curl. To him, the VH was a number on a spreadsheet. Nothing more. Which could also mean he didn't care enough about it to continue with these ridiculous changes.
"There's been an error. My mother is under the impression that many of the nostalgic and antique fixtures in the building will be replaced." She plunked down the heavy doorknob on his desk. A pool of rainwater gathered on his leather blotter.
Reese sucked in a breath through his nose and moved to his desk—a block of black wood the color of his heart—and rested one hand on the back of a shiny leather chair.
"Have a seat." He had manly hands for a guy who spent his days in an office and spare time eating souls, and they were about as disturbingly masculine as the scruff lining his jaw.
She didn't want to sit. She wanted to march over there and slap the pompous smirk off his face. Then she remembered her compromised top, refolded her arms over her breasts, and sat as requested.
You win this round, Crane.
Reese lowered himself into his chair and pressed a button on his phone. "Bobbie, Ms. Van Heusen will need a car in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir."
So he'd deigned to carve out fifteen minutes for Merina. Lucky her.
"I don't want a car."
"No? You're planning on walking back?" Even sitting, he exuded power. Broad, strong shoulders filled out his dark jacket, and a gray tie with a silver sheen arrowed down a crisp white shirt.
"Yes." She wondered what time of day he finally gave up and yanked the perfect knot out of that tie. When he surrendered the top button. Another flare of heat shot through her. She hated the way he affected her. She was just so damn aware of him.
It was unfair. She frowned.
"You were saying something about horseshit," he said smoothly, and she realized she had been sitting there glaring at him in silence for a long while.
She cleared her throat and plowed through what she needed to tell him.