Monday dawned bright, clear, and cold, even for an October morning. Evan
ran his usual route around the west side of his newly adopted town, relishing
how strong he felt and looking forward to his workday – the one where he had a
tight grip on his own destiny for a change. After a long hot shower, two huge
cups of coffee, and an apple, he grabbed his presentation thumb drive and
laptop and headed out.
One of the things he’d inherited from his father was a love of classic
English cars. He had sold two of the three Jags, kept his favorite and bought
an MG Spyder, not giving a shit at how much it cost to keep the damn thing
running properly. As he sped in his sports car across Interstate 96 on his way
to the far-flung Northern Detroit suburbs to sweet talk, finagle, and wow the
big-time distributor, he was on top of his own personal mountain. Nothing would
spoil the day. He refused to allow it.
He pulled into a visitor’s parking spot, tucked his Ray-Bans over the
visor, and smoothed his hair before jumping out and striding to the glass front
doors. “Dawson” was etched in the glass, nothing more or less, as if it were a
boutique law firm or ad agency. Nothing out front indicated that it was one of
the most successful craft beer and domestic wine distribution companies in the
Midwest.
Tucking away a shiver of intimidation, he pushed the door open and saw a
small shrine to Michigan craft beer. The front receiving area was full of faux
six packs, cases, kegs, and displays representing every brand, including some
that were nationally known. A single desk sat near another set of doors.
Through its clear glass he could see a bustling group of people, men and women,
all dressed in top-notch suits, getting ready to go out on their sales day. The
place oozed professionalism, even a bit of snootiness that surprised him.
But he shook it off, walked up to the stunningly attractive blond woman at
the front desk. She sat frowning at a large computer screen. He stood for a few
seconds, thinking she would acknowledge him. Finally he had to clear his throat
to make her look away from whatever had her mesmerized.
“Oh, hello. Sorry about that.” Her smile made her already gorgeous face
light up and left him slightly breathless. Looking back, he figured he must
have looked like a complete ass as he stood there, unable to form coherent
words, his brain awash in sensations he had not allowed himself to experience
in a damn long time. She arched one perfect eyebrow. He gulped, knowing he
should say something.
“Uh, so, I have an appointment?” He winced at the upturning of his sentence
as if he were asking her a question. Clearing his throat, he started over,
pasted on his best “Evan Adams, Charmer” smile and held out a hand. “Evan Adams,
owner of Big House Brewing in Ann Arbor, here to see Mr. Dawson. I’m a little
early.”
She tilted her head, then shook his hand matter-of-factly. But he had to
stop himself from stumbling backwards at the thoughts coiling up in his lizard
brain at her touch. His mouth dried out and an odd yet familiar roaring sound
fired up between his ears. She frowned. “You okay, there, Evan?” Her lips
caressed his name, making him repress a shiver.
“Yeah, sorry. So, anyway, I’ll just sit… over here… until Mr. Dawson is
ready. You know, since I’m, uh, early.” He winced, marveling at the depth of
his dorkiness. She put her elbows on the desk, eyeing him closely. He observed
that she seemed a little overdressed for a receptionist but figured this place
must have a strict dress code.
“Sit here,” she said, patting the seat nearest her desk. “Keep me company
for a while.”
“Um, sure,” he said, flushing red to the tips of his ears, then moving
closer to her while trying to look cool, casual, not ready to jump up and
escape.
She smiled. “So, tell me about your company. You know, while we wait for
Mr. Dawson.”
He relaxed and launched into the tale, thankful to have a reason to talk
and not sound like the world’s oldest high school geek trying to flirt with the
prom queen. She asked a lot of questions, kept him talking. And after about a
half hour, he was laughing with her at his tale of trying to empty a brewing
vessel full of wet grains and dumping about ten pounds of the stuff all over
himself.
At one point she brushed her hair back, and his breath caught in his throat
at the glimpse of her long neck and the small indent between her collarbones.
He had no idea what that was, that soft spot that seemed to pulse with her
heartbeat. But he wanted to put his tongue there very, very badly. Allowing his
eyes to flicker over her profile, the striking angles of her face, he gulped,
looked away.
Getting a grip, he pulled a business card from his portfolio and handed it
to her. “I’d love to talk with you more,” he said, trying to ease his voice
down from its high-pitched nervous whine to a sexier, more natural tone. “But
since I don’t even know your name…” He looked at the nameplate on the desk. It
was blank.
She leaned back, propped her high heels on the desk in a strange move that
had him instantly on edge and practically panting with horniness.
“Uh, so,” he glanced at his watch, his nerves dancing up and down his spine
once more, “if you are interested, maybe we could, you know, go out. Have a
beer? Keep chatting?” He closed his eyes, unable to bear his own flop sweat
another minute. “Never mind.” He slumped back in his seat. Where the
"Master Dom" Evan Adams had hidden he did not know, but damned if the
guy was staying there and leaving this ridiculous, stuttering loser in his
place.
The silence spun out about a minute longer than was truly polite. He
finally looked up at her. She was staring at him over the tops of her shoes,
her head tilted to the side as if wondering why the hell he was even cluttering
up her space. Finally, the doors to his left opened and a tall, good-looking
guy in a suit stood there, surprise clear on his face. “Julie,” he said. “We’ve
been looking all over for you. Your nine o’clock appointment isn’t here yet
but…”
The woman held up a hand, silencing the man but keeping her eyes pinned on
Evan’s. His heart sped up and that familiar, yet nearly forgotten, roaring
sound started up in his ears once more.
Julie Dawson. J. Dawson. The person he’d been communicating with through
his… or her… secretary.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
He stood, furious that she’d sat there and let him babble on like a bloody
idiot for nearly forty-five minutes. “Well, that was fun,” he said, staring her
down, or attempting to. But his skin was both on fire and cold at once.
Something about the woman made him have to hang on to his laptop case tight,
just to keep from stepping close and kissing those full red lips so hard she
would be his in an instant. “Or not. Thanks for your time.”
“No, no, don’t go,” she said, getting to her feet in one fluid, sexy move.
She was over six feet tall in her shoes, curvy, womanly, and sending out the
sort of signals he had not intercepted in a long time – too long, if the way he
was overreacting was any indication. “Really, I want to know why you think my
company would be in any way interested in yours.”
He processed her barb, clenched his jaw, and poured out the reasons behind
why Dawson would benefit from jumping on his bandwagon now, in the early days,
so they could grow the brand in a key market together. She listened, standing
behind the stupid receptionist’s desk, her assistant wildly typing notes on his
tablet.
Finally, she held up a hand again. “How very… creative.” She walked around
to the front of the desk, giving him an eye-popping full view of her. She was
like sex on two perfect female legs, the exact body type he craved – full
breasts and hips, cinched in but not obnoxiously small waist, long hair, and
legs that went on and on… and on. “And, um, Evan?”
He jumped back, hearing his name again.
“Yeah, my eyes are up here. But never mind. I’m used to being ogled, and by
way more successful brewery owners than you.” She held his business card
between thumb and forefinger, as if it were made of dog shit. “Tell you what,
why don’t you let me ponder your… proposal. And assume that your eye-fucking
session won’t happen again.”
She turned from him and walked away without a word. Her assistant shrugged
and followed her back in, leaving Evan breathless, furious, and never more
aware of his neglected libido.
