“Were you scared?” She lifted one eyebrow in challenge.
“No way.” He tilted his head. “Then again, they did remind me of a team of lawyers I used to employ,” he said, deliberately shuddering.
Her warm laugh tugged at the center of his chest. He could get used to that sound, especially if he was the one to draw it out of her. When was the last time being around a woman was this effortless?
“I can’t see you being intimidated by lawyers,” Crickitt said, standing from her seat. “You,” she gestured to him, “are Shane August, saver of lost entrepreneurial souls.”
He grinned, flattered. “Funny, I just ordered a plaque with that on it.”
He let her go ahead of him, following her down the narrow staircase toward the exit. He raised his palm but stopped short of pressing it against her back. Side by side, they entered the lobby, her hand brushing his as she crossed her arms over her chest. She mumbled an apology, her cheeks going a pretty tinge of pink.
Had she done it on purpose?
He found himself wanting to take her hand like he did earlier today, just to feel the warmth of her skin…but that kind of intimacy crossed the line from professional to really-bad-idea.
He balled his hand into a fist and returned it to his side, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to reach for her, bad idea or not.
Chapter 10
Townsend flew in from Miami to his Columbus headquarters named, fittingly, Town Ventures. Crickitt had learned that his newly acquired company, MajicSweep, wasn’t his first rodeo. Which, according to Shane, was good news for August Industries. Repeat business was a rarity.
“So,” Shane said, ushering Crickitt into the air-conditioned lobby, “this could be huge for us.” He worked the buttons on his jacket through their holes with the fingers of one hand. “Ready?” If he was nervous, it didn’t show. He was pressed and poised, not a hair out of place. She allowed her gaze to slide down his jacket and pants, taking in the sleek lines and the way his body filled out his suit.
“Ready,” she said, dragging her eyes from his broad shoulders and trying to mimic his Fonzie cool.
On the eighteenth floor, they stepped out of the glass elevator. Shane introduced himself to the receptionist, a pleasant-looking blonde who returned his smile and directed them to the conference room. When Shane thanked her and turned, the woman perused the length of his body with hungry eyes. She noticed Crickitt watching her but only offered an unapologetic shoulder shrug as if to ask, Do you blame me?
And, no, she didn’t. Shane’s attractiveness was undeniable.
A young man wearing a brown suit gestured for them to go into the conference room where light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along one long wall. Townsend’s staff each gave them an acknowledging nod before turning back to murmur among themselves, their voices echoing off the high, bare ceilings.
“Mr. August.” Townsend entered and his staff cut their conversations off midsentence. Townsend extended a palm, standing a few inches over her Shane’s six three. His tanned skin contrasted dramatically with his white, cropped hair, and his suit looked as if it’d been stitched together while he wore it.
“This is my assistant, Crickitt Day,” Shane said.
“Nice to meet you,” Townsend said with a scowl suggesting the contrary. Crickitt kept a smile on her face and echoed his greeting, determined not to be intimidated by his powerful presence.
With staff introductions out of the way, Crickitt followed Shane’s lead and took a seat at the long mahogany table. Henry’s six staff members waited until Townsend took his seat before collapsing into their chairs like dutiful soldiers. Already this felt more like her divorce hearing than a team meeting. Didn’t Townsend’s employees know they were all on the same side?
Mr. Townsend opened the meeting by pointing in Shane’s direction. Shane handed over a leather portfolio filled with plastic-protected linen pages and began the informal presentation. Henry stared him down, but Shane remained unflustered. He outlined the plan for MajicSweep, referencing the charts and forms when necessary.
“Do you have a wholesale supplier for MajicSweep’s cleaning products?” Shane asked.
Townsend looked to the woman on his left. “Carrie?”
Carrie blinked from behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and did her best to answer, all the while quaking like an overcaffeinated chipmunk. Crickitt offered her a reassuring smile, but the woman sank into her chair, trying her best to blend in with the upholstery.
Crickitt felt the frown dent her brow and quickly hid it. There was no reason for the man to be so brusque, but she wasn’t all that anxious to be on the receiving end of his steely glare, either.