I walk them through everything, one item at a time. My only saving grace is the fact that I’ve rehearsed this speech at least a hundred times before. To myself, to my friends, to my bathroom mirror. I’ve practiced so often, I’ve had dreams of giving this presentation.
So I make it through, despite the fact that every time I so much as glance at Lark, he’s still watching me so overtly, not seeming to notice or care that Sheryl’s noticing his stares, too. More than once, under the table, his leg brushes against mine, in a way that’s far too slow and lingering to be accidental.
But I force myself to remain steady, to not react. Like I said, I’ve had enough of messy, and this has mess written all over it.
But my tension only seems to amuse him. At one point, when I ask if they have any questions, Lark leans over to pick up one of the lipsticks, his hand brushing mine ever so slightly on the way past. “As the male investor in the room,” he starts, his gaze jumping from Sheryl to me, “I did have one question.” Those eyes pull me in. Call to me to sink into them. “What does it taste like?” He grins, and Sheryl elbows him discretely.
My face flushes. But I hold his gaze and raise my jaw. “To be honest,” I reply, “I didn’t give that much consideration. I make my products for the women who use them; not the men who consume them.”
Sheryl laughs out loud at that, and the two of us exchange faint smiles.
“Well, we’ll have to put the paperwork together,” she says, shuffling through some sample contracts we’d pored over, “but I think it’s safe to let you know this, at least.” She extends a hand. “We’ll be investing. A significant amount.”
My stomach does a whole ass backflip. I swear I can feel my heart rising up into my throat as I reach across the table to her and grasp her hand again, tightly. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I start, but she waves a hand, cutting me off.
“Please. We’re happy to do it. At Anderson Investments, we prefer to invest in quality products. Products that we really think will do well in the market. Between our marketing know-how and your vision for your brand, I think we have a real hit on our hands.” Her eyes sparkle with genuine excitement.
“Congratulations,” Lark adds, reaching past her to offer me a hand as well.
I take it, reluctantly, and almost immediately have to stifle a gasp. His touch sends shockwaves through me, like static electricity, but deadlier. One touch, and it’s like we’re right back in his bed last night, with him grasping my hands, raising them over my head to pin me down while he stretched along me, his hard, firm body digging into my soft curves, his cock hard as a rock, slipping up between my thighs…
I clear my throat and let go of his hand as if it’s too hot to touch. In a way, it is. “Thank you,” I reply, not quite meeting his gaze.
“As I said, we’ll be in touch,” Sheryl calls. Then she beckons Lark with a fingertip, turning to head from the room.
He follows her, although not before he glances over his shoulder at me. Just before he leaves, he tosses something onto the table. “My card,” he says. His eyes flash with meaning. He knows I left this morning without giving him my number, or taking his in return. “In case there’s any more business you want to discuss.”
Then he’s gone, closing the office door behind him and Sheryl.
I slump back into my seat, all the wind going out of me.
This is what you wanted, I remind myself. What I worked so hard, for so long, to achieve. But now that I’m finally right on the brink of getting the investment I need, what happens?
I wind up embroiling myself in just the kind of personal drama I want so much to avoid.
Shit. For a long moment, I sit there, staring at the business card on the table. Part of me wonders if I should walk away. If I could. But I know the money’s too good, the chance too perfect, for me to do something that insane.
So, after a long, pause, I reach across the table and pick up Lark’s card.
4
Cassidy
I’m halfway out of the building, only barely recovered from the meeting, my head still swimming with possibilities, when the sound of my name stops me halfway down the street.
“Cassidy.”
Of course, Lark is still here. He must have waited for me—there’s no sign of Sheryl in sight, but I can’t help checking for her. Can’t help wondering how she must be feeling about all of this.
“Thank you again for the investment,” I tell him with a tight-lipped smile. “Although I suppose I should be thanking your… girlfriend, I guess, based on the lack of rings? Or are you one of those married couples who don’t do jewelry.”