Two Weeks in Geneva Page 2

  “We’ll be here for the time being. I want to brief you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the statement.

  “Well, Mr. Montague, your name aside, I have no idea who you are and what you do here, but I was informed that I’d be discussing ARc and what we have to offer with the legal and design representatives of MI in connection with a potential investment or acquisition. As such, shouldn’t I be speaking to someone in legal, or at least architecture?”

  Her crossed arms and rigid stance made it clear she was close to rebelling and probably hightailing it straight back to the airport. He didn’t want that to happen, but he knew that ARc was in desperate straits and that he had room to maneuver.

  “As I told you, I am Alexander Montague, lead architect and member of the board of directors of Montague Industrial Sàrl. I am also the person who will determine whether your company receives the investment we both know it so desperately needs.” That part wasn’t entirely accurate, but he embellished for effect. “I would very much like to work with you, but that requires your cooperation. So please, if you’re able, let’s get to work,” he said as he stood in the conference room doorway and gestured her inside.

  ••••

  As annoying as it was to admit, Alexander was right. But he didn’t need to be a jerk about it, she thought mutinously. She supposed the Golden Rule—he who has the gold, makes the rules—was right. They did need the money, and she wasn’t going to let Alexander Montague bait her into screwing this up.

  “Fine,” she said in defeat as she entered the room and deposited her bag on the floor, her mother’s many admonitions against pouting ringing in her ear. “What do you want?”

  He moved to the other side of the fairly small room and settled at the head of the conference-room table. “You have a presentation prepared, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “Okay. Pretend I’m the board and I hate you and your company. Sell me on this deal.”

  Based on his behavior since they’d arrived at the building, that wouldn’t be a stretch, though, she still hadn’t figured out how or why the nice guy who’d driven her here had turned into Hans Gruber while she hadn’t been looking. But it didn’t matter. She had work to do.

  Using the seconds it took her computer to boot up to gather her thoughts, Quinn once again considered the folks who were relying on this deal and pushing her annoyance and tiredness aside, she launched into the presentation. She’d committed it to memory during the flight, but hadn’t had a hand in preparing it. If she had, she would have used a much different approach to highlight what made ARc special. But, powerless to change it now, she presented the facts and figures as they were written, though she chose to ignore the sad attempts at humor Rich had sprinkled throughout.

  It was terrible. She knew it was terrible, and Alexander, whose features betrayed nothing, knew it was terrible. Hell, she, a person whose future was directly tied to the success of this transaction, was bored to tears giving the presentation, so she couldn’t imagine how a group that had no investment at all would react. But ever the trooper, she smiled and concluded, “And that’s why Montague Industrial would be served by building a partnership with ARc-light Design.”

  Grim silence greeted her. And then it stretched longer and longer, though Alexander’s placid face and flat eyes remained infuriatingly unreadable. She looked at him for those drawn-out moments, feeling the anxiety crawl up her nerves, wishing she could fly back home, or even just look at something besides him, so impassive and so handsome—something she shouldn’t have been noticing at the moment—deciding her fate. At the last moment, she managed to suppress a smile that wanted to peek out. There was no laughing matter here, but the non-jet-lagged, fun-loving side of herself couldn’t help but be amused. And she was certain she’d find this even funnier later when she wasn’t standing in a strange country, the fate of her company in her hands, waiting as though she was going to be sentenced to death for the high crime of bad PowerPoint. Her lips curled a bit at the thought, but she looked directly at Alexander, which was enough to kill any stubborn giggles.

  More moments passed and then, when she thought she’d burst from the tense silence that had built around them like a fortress, he said, “Give the presentation again.”

  His words were even, displaying no emotion one way or another, and she found the request odd. But she didn’t care. Just about anything was preferable to the tortured silence that left her mind free to wander from thought to thought about how her inadequacies would kill the deal. And besides, maybe he hoped the mess of the first try was just a fluke. Yeah, that was it. She was tired, a little rusty, but she could give a damned presentation! She was one of the best architects at her firm, which was one of the best on the East Coast. They had cash-flow problems—who didn’t after the recession?—but it was no Mom and Pop shop, and she was no babe in the woods or a frightened know-nothing. She was a skilled professional who had a real future if she played her cards right.

  She could do this!

  Or not.

  While not the disaster that the first presentation had proven to be, the second round was still far, far below anything that she’d consider reasonably adequate. Nothing that would seal the deal. The frustrated sigh she released rang loud in the silence of the conference room.

  She, her company, her coworkers, her friends, were well and truly fucked.

  ••••

  Alexander could see her energy flagging, from the slight slump in her shoulders to the increasingly frequent, distant, faraway looks and beginnings of the dark circles shadowing her eyes. In truth, he was impressed, disastrous presentation notwithstanding. He’d taken the transatlantic flight himself and knew how brutal the jet lag could be, and though Quinn tried to muddle through, the flight and the excitement of the day were clearly catching up with her.

  “That’s enough for today. I’ll see you to the hotel, and we’ll start again tomorrow.”

  She jumped at his words before responding.

  “No, Mr. Montague, let’s keep at it.”

  The response was automatic, listless, and there was no real emphasis behind the words.

  “It’s okay. You need to rest so that you are prepared tomorrow.”

  She nodded and began gathering her belongings.

  “Can you have someone call a cab? Oh, and I’m not sure where the hotel is or how to get there.”

  “I’ll take you. It’s a short drive.” He said the words before he even realized the thought had formed, but it was too late to revoke the invitation. Besides, it was the least he could do he supposed. He’d tossed her straight into the fire today.

  He could see the beginnings of her protest, but apparently she changed her mind and simply said, “Fine.”

  They walked side by side down the hallway toward the elevator, offices now virtually deserted, and rode the elevator down to the lobby and on to the garage in silence. After they’d settled in the car, her momentarily perking up to tell him how disappointed she was that the Swiss didn’t drive on the “wrong” side of the road, he took a moment to observe her. He wouldn’t call her conventionally attractive, but her heart-shaped face was appealing, friendly, a trustworthy face with prominent cheekbones, her pulled-back hair not blocking her cheeks and the lovely structure of her strong jawline, lush lips that burgeoned on full, but weren’t quite, and a button nose. The most prominent—and he’d say best—feature of her face were her huge, long-lashed eyes. Their brown color was ordinary, but her eyes sparkled with intelligence, humor. Life. Even now, when she was so clearly exhausted, her gaze flitted around, taking in the new and foreign sights. The shadowed night and her seated position didn’t allow him to fully evaluate her body, but he’d taken some surreptitious peeks throughout the day, and had seen that her delicate, narrow-shouldered frame had a collection of curves piled on top of each other, starting at graceful neck and continuing down to the full rise of her breasts, her sturdy waist, full hips and thighs, and solid calves that topped th
e delicate ankles he’d glimpsed, all wrapped in smoothest, softest-looking brown skin he’d ever seen.

  Appealing. Cute. Those were the perfect words to describe her. She had a bubbly, airy personality, warm and engaging, as he’d seen on the drive from the airport. And she’d maintained that warmth, even while clearly angered at various points during the often-tense meeting. Her obvious intelligence only enhanced her appeal.

  For the first time in a very long time, he felt the stirrings of arousal, imagined those eyes sparkling up at him as he revealed those curves, as he tasted her flesh, as he slid home into her welcoming heat.

  He’d been too focused on work and had been without female attention for far too long if he was reacting so strongly to this woman. He preferred sophisticated, urbane women, opposite of Quinn in most every way, so there was no accounting for this reaction.

  He was equal parts relieved and sad when they reached the hotel a few moments later. He considered getting out of the car, but by the time he’d given the notion a second thought, Quinn was out of the car and headed around to the trunk. She retrieved her suitcase and then walked to the driver’s side as he rolled down the window.

  “Seven o’clock tomorrow. I’ll have someone pick you up.”

  “Eight. And I’ll get myself in. Good night, Alexander,” she said, her tight smile only emphasizing the stinging insincerity of her words, though her eyes still held their characteristic sparkle.

  He watched her walk through the brightly lit doors, her stride strong and sure despite her weariness. He sighed and pulled off, his own weariness catching up to him. He’d work on the proposal for a few hours more and keep thoughts of Quinn Jeffries firmly out of his mind. At least until tomorrow.

  ••••

  Quinn didn’t think she’d ever been happier to see a hotel room. And while it was true that she’d never been in one as nice as this, the mere thought of finally, finally, lying down after this long, trying day made her surroundings a bit less important. She was still impressed, though. The room was large, done primarily in shades of cream, beige, and white, with green pillows for a pop of color, and had a sitting area with a sleek, European-style TV stand and midsize flat-screen television. Across from the sitting area was a huge, fluffy-looking king-size bed with tall mirrored nightstands of either side. The bed, its crisp white linens folded with precision, called to her, begged her to jump into it, but she resisted. Best take care of the necessities before giving into the siren call of rest. She’d have to be up soon enough, and she couldn’t imagine Alexander Montague would look kindly on tardiness. Unbidden, an image of the man popped into her head, and twin shivers of anger and attraction pulsed through her as she settled her suitcase on the rack. She’d all but forgotten it during the course of the day’s events, and she was grateful that at least he’d been thoughtful enough to look after it as he’d promised. Alexander the driver, she was sure would have, but after meeting Alexander the architect-executive, she couldn’t say the same.

  Wandering over to the windows, she took in the view of the city as thoughts of Alexander continued. He was one of the most appealing men she’d ever seen in person, but she didn’t appreciate being jerked around, not even by someone as overwhelmingly masculine as he, and her defenses were raised. This deal was vital to ARc, but she’d initially gotten the sense that MI was less eager. But they must be playing coy because Alexander’s reaction suggested this deal was far more important to MI than she’d believed. Which only proved she didn’t belong here, she thought with a sigh as she turned away from the windows and started to hang her clothing. She knew the work cold, trusted her skills implicitly, but she was no businesswoman, no negotiator, and she certainly had no business trying to convince the likes of him. Pride aside, she knew he would eat her lunch, at least when it came to business, so she’d have to stay focused, keep her head in the work.

  Although, based on this room, he might be better at more than mind fucking Americans. He, or his firm anyway, had designed the hotel and it was impeccable. She didn’t see a thing she would have done differently and that was a rarity. There were thoughtful little design gestures throughout the space, the placement of the small water heater and air compressor opposite the bed to dampen sound, the high-quality windows, more expensive than some, and thus an item clients seldom agreed to pay for, but also efficient and easy to clean and well worth it in the long run. The bamboo flooring, in addition to being a good choice because of its low maintenance and relative allergen-resistance, was something she often incorporated during the planning phases, as it was relatively inexpensive, efficient, and thin enough that it left floor and ceiling space for HVAC components that would be a tighter fit with different wood. Speaking of the HVAC, she wondered…

  Her ringing cellphone stopped her train of thought, and she grabbed the device to see, unsurprisingly, her best friend Verna’s face.

  “This call is going to cost one million dollars, Vern,” she said when she answered.

  “You can afford it. Besides, hearing my voice is worth any price, right?”

  She laughed in spite herself. “Of course, what was I thinking?”

  “Well, keep it short, but tell me everything.”

  “I’m here—”

  “How was the flight?”

  “The flight was good. I—”

  “Have you seen any hotties? Have you done any work? How’s the food? The hotel?” Verna spit out her questions without taking a breath, the enthusiasm a far cry from her friend’s normally more reserved demeanor.

  “Yes. Yes. Don’t know. Pretty awesome,” she said on a laugh.

  “Ohhhh, I wanna hear about the hotties! But the clock’s ticking and I gotta go open the café soon. Stay safe, okay? I love you and I miss you. Bye!”

  The phone clicked before she could respond, and she laughed, full and out loud, and would probably be taken for a lunatic by anyone who happened to pass her door. She was heartened though. Verna had been as excited about the trip as she’d dreaded it, and if there was anything she could do to bring a bit of brightness into her friend’s life, she would and worry about the phone bill and speed-round questioning later.

  Exhaustion hit her hard after she hung up the phone, as did hunger. Sleep won out, so she pulled out nightclothes, took a shower in the luxurious bathroom, which was almost, but not quite, enough to reenergize her, and fell, exhausted, into the heavenly bed.

  Thoughts of what Alexander Montague had planned for her the next day led her into sleep.

  Chapter Three

  Morning came way earlier than it should have, and Quinn had to fight the desire to stay burrowed under the covers. But, between the grumbling of her stomach and the call of nature, she gave up the ghost and climbed out of bed. The clock revealed that she had a couple of hours before she needed to head back to MI, so she decided to order room service and relax. Half an hour later, her “American breakfast” as the menu had proclaimed, arrived, and she settled in to enjoy her fluffy scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, and the best toast she’d ever eaten as she flipped through the channels, not that she understood a word of what was said.

  Satiated, at least in terms of hunger, she grabbed her laptop and quickly checked her e-mail. A message from Rich sat at the top of the list and dread filled her as she clicked it. A scan of the note revealed that Rich had been in touch with MI, and though he didn’t specifically say who, she gathered it was Alexander. From what Rich said, things were progressing well and unlike they’d originally planned, legal and other architects would be available via e-mail and conference call because both ARc and MI had decided there was no need to have additional folks fly to Geneva.

  Translation: she was on her own.

  No pressure at all. Yeah, right. There went her peaceful morning. But she decided to welcome the challenge. I am capable. I can handle this. Energized by the mantra that she repeated in her head, she showered and dressed, deciding to walk to the office. She arrived at seven fifty and the receptionist lead her to t
he conference room without saying a word. Surprisingly, Alexander was already there, looking devastating in his sharp black suit.

  He looked at his watch. “You’re early.”

  “Good morning, Alexander,” she said brightly.

  “Good morning,” he responded, a hint of a smile playing around his lips. “Let’s get started.”

  Three hours later, Quinn looked around the room, desperately searching for a window to toss herself out of.

  Alexander, who’d been prowling about all morning, lowered himself into the seat opposite hers and leveled a stare at her.

  “Give the presentation.”

  The words were like fingernails on the chalkboard that were her nerves. She’d awoken this morning hopeful and excited about the project and eager to show her skills. Instead, she faced Groundhog Day.

  Quinn looked around, rolled her eyes, and tried to evade the command. “Like I said yesterday, Alexander, I was told I’d be presenting to the board. Unless I’m mistaken, you aren’t the board.”

  “You will present to the board when, and if, I decide you’re ready. I won’t let anything, or anyone, wreck this transaction.”

  The unspoken accusation of incompetence hung in the air, but Quinn suppressed, or at least she hoped she suppressed, her anger. But she did straighten her shoulders and slightly narrow her eyes. She pulled her laptop out of her bag, having been answering Alexander’s questions and alternately giving portions of the presentation from memory, and settled it on the table, gazing around the room for a wall outlet. The she turned her gaze on him, hoping her face was a mask of businesslike distance.

  “Well, let’s get on with it. I need coffee and water. Oh, and an adapter for my computer plug,” she said as she looked down at the screen.