Chapter 5 She was about to turn

She was about to turn around and go back to the elevators when a voice spoke out of an intercom near the door. The sound was so sudden that she jumped in response.

"When the light turns green, you can come inside," the crackling voice said through the intercom.

That voice was familiar, despite the distortion from the intercom's speaker.

It's him. It's Cullen.

Her heart instantly began galloping like a panicked horse let loose within her chest.

A second later the red light turned green and there was the familiar click that signaled the door unlocking. She grabbed the cool handle and pulled the door open.

She blinked instinctively as she entered an office so large that it defied description.

The place was big enough to live in, and perhaps he did live there.

Plush wall-to-wall carpet covered the floor. Large couches were placed in various locations, along with leather chairs, and a floor-to-ceiling fish tank with colorful fish swimming around coral reef chunks was set against the far wall.

Tall glass windows stretched along the perimeter of the office, giving whoever was in the room a view overlooking the Charles River and the bridge spanning Boston and Cambridge.

Against that backdrop, atop a slightly elevated platform, sat Cullen Sharpe behind his massive black desk. The desk was of the same onyx, reflective material that the conference table had been made of.

The CEO was studying the enormous dual computer monitors that sat on his desk. His gaze was intent and focused, and she felt a bit of relief that he wasn't yet watching her.

"Ivy Spellman," he announced, still watching his monitors.

"Uh...you wanted to see me?" she said, and her voice sounded so slight and frail that she cleared her throat.

"I did," he replied, finally turning his head to glance at her. "Come closer." He gave one brisk wave with his left hand.

She walked forward until she reached a pair of black leather chairs. "Should I sit?"

"If you like," he said, his lips curving into the slightest hint of a smile.

Those lips. So pink, so soft. So unlike his cold, steely eyes.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, immediately regretting the question.

"That's what we're here to discuss," he said, his voice and expression betraying nothing.

"Oh," she replied numbly. Her belly felt leaden and her mouth was parched.

Cullen sat back in his chair and watched her. "We need to address what happened earlier when you brought me my morning coffee."

She dropped her gaze, embarrassed, as she felt her cheeks flush. "I'm so sorry about that. I was trying so hard not to spill the coffee that it happened, of course. Self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Ivy, look at me," he said, his voice taking on a hard quality.

She instantly did as he said, looking at him and seeing that he was displeased. He rose from his chair, his suit still just as unwrinkled and impeccable as it had been earlier. He walked around the desk and towards her.

Ivy felt her breath catch in her chest as he approached.

As if sensing her fear, he stopped a few feet away and looked down at her. "Do you know why you actually spilled that coffee?" he said.

"I just told you," she said. "It was a mistake-"

Cullen held up a hand. "No," he said. "There are no mistakes."

She felt herself rebel against this notion. "I didn't want to spill coffee on you, if that's what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything," he said.

This is why he brought me here, she realized. He wants to yell at me for spilling coffee on him, to harangue me and make me feel like a fool.

The realization both frightened and angered her.

I don't have to put up with this, she told herself. And I won't much longer.

"I've already apologized," she said. "What else can I do?"

"Apologies don't interest me. They're meaningless." He stepped down off the platform and then walked to within a few feet of her and sat down in the matching leather chair.

His knee was practically touching her knee as he swiveled to face her. Up close, he was even more shockingly good-looking than she'd previously realized. His skin was smooth, slightly tanned, and flawless. His eyes were like two blue sparkling diamonds, flat and cold and gorgeous.

She could smell his cologne, and under that, his musky masculine scent that sent her quivering internally.

He made her deeply uneasy, afraid...but he also made her feel something else, something indefinable.

What was it?

What was the word that summed it up?

Desire.

She realized this as she inhaled his scent and noticed his perfectly manicured fingernails, his long fingers. But his hands weren't wimpy, despite the obvious fact that he took good care of his fingernails. To the contrary, everything about Cullen Sharpe looked strong and invulnerable. His body was fit, muscular, filling out his suit as if he'd been created to wear expensive clothing rather than the other way around.

"If you don't want an apology, then what do you want?" she asked, surprised at her own forwardness.

For the first time, his expression changed. That slight little grin disappeared and his nostrils flared. "I want to teach you," he replied.

"Teach me what?"

"Discipline." His hand snaked to his suit coat and unbuttoned the top button, loosening the coat slightly.

Discipline.

The instant he said the word, Ivy felt her nipples stiffen in response, and she was worried that perhaps Cullen even knew it. He was sitting so close, and the light in the room was bright against her white blouse.

She wanted to look down and check, wishing for a sweater to cover herself.

It was humiliating to get turned on this way, and for him to possibly know that her nipples were hard made it a million times worse.

She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. "I don't think I understand what you mean."

"Would you like to know more?"

"I guess."

"You guess?" He made a face of disgust and stood up, as if needing to distance himself from her now. "You shouldn't have to guess. It's a simple question, Ivy."

"Yes, I want to know more. I just have no idea what we're talking about." Her voice had taken on a whining, frustrated tone.

Cullen stared down at her, his cheekbones high, his expression seemingly chiseled in stone. "You're going to learn how to please me. And once you do that, the things you refer to as mistakes will stop happening."

She shifted in her seat, her brow creasing. "Everyone makes mistakes, though," she insisted.

"I don't." His lips twitched. "And perhaps you don't need to either."

"But why? Why do you want to teach me...whatever it is you're going to teach me?" She threw her hands in the air, befuddled. "I'm just a temp."

He turned his back to her and walked toward the window overlooking the city. Against the backdrop, he looked like an image from a slick magazine-Vogue, perhaps, or The New Yorker.

If only I had a camera, this would make a great picture.

"I have an eye for talent," Cullen said, after a long silence. He turned back towards her. "When I started this business, they thought I was insane. I hired people that the business world assumed were the wrong choices. Everyone on Wall Street insisted I would fail within the first year."

"But you didn't fail," she whispered.

"No," he said. His eyes connected with hers and for the first time, she thought she saw something behind the cool diamond hardness of his gaze.

What was it? What did she sense behind his eyes? Someone vulnerable, someone who actually had real human emotions like her?

As quickly as the feeling arose, it passed, like the moon being obscured by clouds. His eyes were just cold and watchful once more.

Ivy folded her hands in her lap and licked her lips. "So what happens now?"

"What happens now is that we start our work together," Cullen said, his voice becoming more formal. "How does that sound?"

"Okay, I guess-" she caught the words too late.

His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. "You guess," he said. He shook his head and sighed. "Let's go back to this morning when you brought me my coffee. Why did you spill it?"

"I don't know."

"That's a lie, Ivy. Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying," she said, her voice petulant.

"You don't think you're lying, but that's only because you lie to yourself." He crossed his arms and watched her. "Now tell me why you spilled the coffee."

She felt sweat breaking out on her forehead and beneath her arms. The cool room was becoming hotter now, as if someone was turning up the thermostat. "I got nervous. I was so focused on doing everything just right..."

She thought about how catching sight of his smile that morning had distracted her-the sight of his perfect lips up close had caused her to fumble the tray enough to allow the cup to fall on its side. But she couldn't admit that to him.

"I got distracted," she said, keeping her answer vague.