The door slapped open at the exact moment. And it surprised Catherine to see him there. The man from earlier. She'd tried her hardest to keep a poker face on. She was a professional, after all, and she had seen worse. It would not phase her. His smile vanished, giving her a piercing look that had her freezing in her spot.
Did he remember her? She didn't have to contemplate that long for the answer since he took her grips and pulled her in. "Why the hell are you here?" he exclaimed.
"I'm a..." Catherine stuttered. She would've taken up the challenge had he not been rushing. He grinned, slashing her off as she peeled her palms from his grasp. His jaw was set.
"You work here?" Frowning, they both went into the table as Catherine brought back the brown manila envelope she'd forgotten from yesterday's meeting. "Yes, and can you please let me go?" She asked. She will not swerve like all the others. Catherine recognises him from somewhere else now that she can see him without the wind and rain obscuring his face.
She recognised him from someplace, but for the love of God, she couldn't remember where, when, or how. She was disappointed and a bit furious at herself for not recalling him.
Who was he? Sean David Walton, a 30-year-old millionaire who owns Lava Soft, was the man. The company his grandfather spent 18 years trying to succeed with now has over 28 branches and over 120 hotels and offices all over the world. She knew this because she had done her investigation while waiting for the papers in the copy room. And the truth is, he looks vaguely familiar in any case, and it was more terrifying than having to drink coffee without a lump of sugar in it.How could he be so perfect? She associated his physical characteristics with those of underwear model-kind-of-perfection. He was superb-looking and his general appearance was disarming. He's tall, has vast shoulders, ripped abs, a light dusting of chest hair complete with a happy trail, and well-endowed. His chiselled facial features were striking; a firm jaw, a smooth-sculpted nose, and a crooked smile, finished off with eyes a shade of blue-gray and a full head of dark copper strands.
He then moved closer, so close that she could smell the mixture of cologne and aftershave he was wearing.
Why doesn't she notice that earlier? "Well, sir!" she stammered as he smirked down at her.What do you think of me now, Miss-I'm-running-late? Did I get your tongue under your throat? "He asked, snaking an arm around her trembling waist and pulling her towards his solid torso as she was almost on the verge of slipping.
Catherine's eyes widened in shock as she felt her cheeks turning scarlet. "I'm sorry for hitting into you earlier on the sidewalk, Mr. Walton." She stammered again, cringing her face back to put some distance between them and their close proximity.
Mr. Walton ignored her attempt to move away and leaned in so that his lips were near her ear. "Where is that temper of yours, Miss-I'm-running-late-? Do I make you feel uncomfortable? Now that you know who I was?" He trailed off. He smirked.
"Or better yet, are you planning on writing your resignation letter?" He whispered as Catherine felt her throat go dry.
She scowled and opened her mouth to defend herself, but she remembered that he was, after all, the new boss, so she just nodded and turned around to leave. He grinned before dismissing her once again, leaving her so disturbed with his statement.
Two hours later, Catherine was swearing to every known god on the planet about the existence of a being called Sean Dickhead Walton. Not only was the guy rude and arrogant, but he was also the definition of the man who knows it all. Overbearing self-proclaims the god of all gods and goddesses. But well, it was hot as hell nevertheless!
The meeting was indeed tiresome, and she zoomed out almost half of it.