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“I’m not down,” I deny.
Daniel gives me a disbelieving look. “And then he contacted us again. And I figured, well, I’ll meet him. I think it’s a good opportunity. He asked to see you, to meet you, but if you aren’t interested I’ll fob him off?—"
“No, I’ll meet him. It’s fine.”
“How about now?” Daniel flashes a smile. “He’s down the hall in the executive conference room.”
I give Daniel such a stunned look that he laughs.
“Or not. You don’t have to see him.”
A tremor passes through me. I send my hand through my hair and stare at my open door, at the hallway that leads to the conference room.
“It’s okay,” I say.
There’s a jarring laugh that echoes down the hall, and I shake out of the strange, otherworldly feeling.
“All right,” Daniel says, nodding toward the door to my office.
I walk with him down the hall, nodding at the people we pass. The white of the walls and the blond wood blend into a blur as Daniel tells me more about Aaron.
He’s from a small island in the Caribbean. He’s been breaking records since he was a kid. He’s a dad, and his two kids travel with him when he completes a swim.
I take it all in, building a picture in my mind of Aaron McCormick. I imagine he’s bulky, wide-shouldered, like most swimmers. Short. Shaved hair, I’m sure. I picture him older since he’d retired once before. Sun-weathered. A stoic man. Although he’s probably friendly since he swims for charity, but, honestly, you can never be sure. He’s clearly business and PR-savvy since he’s here, meeting with Daniel.
And then we’re at the executive conference room.
It’s the showpiece conference room where we take important visitors and hold our annual meetings. It’s where the chairs are soft brown leather, the long table is glossy mahogany, a crystal chandelier hangs over the table, and a wide glass window looks out over the mountains. There’s a hushed, beautiful elegance to the room.
Daniel opens the wooden door and the cool air and bright sunlight greets me.
And the picture I built of Aaron McCormick disappears the minute I lay eyes on him.
He’s at the conference table, sitting in one of the leather chairs, his hands crossed, head tilted down.
But when the door clicks open and whooshes over the wood floor he looks up.
I stop in the entry, arrested by the look on his face.
He’s not at all what I imagined.
There’s a magnetic force that swirls around him—a pull that has me taking another step forward. A spark lights on my skin, then another, until my whole body is lit from within.
Aaron searches my face, his gaze seeking, wanting, questioning. The force of his attention strokes over me. He stares into my eyes and I feel as if I’ve plunged off dry land and fallen into a deep, turbulent sea.
I drag in a cool breath of air, breathing in the lemon wax used on the mahogany table, the leather of the chairs, the coffee set out on the table. And then a more subtle scent—one of the sea. But that’s not actually there. It’s more like the memory of it.
Aaron stands then, pushing back his leather chair. It scrapes against the hardwood. As he unfolds I see he’s taller than I realized. Six feet at least. His shoulders are wide and athletic. He’s in jeans and a dark blue sweater, and I smile, because I can’t imagine him in a suit, and I’m glad he didn’t wear one. His hair is a thick, glossy black, longer, almost down to his collar.
And his face. He has a beautiful face. Not the kind of beauty in magazines or movies, but the gentle kind of beauty that comes from laughing and smiling and living a kind life.
I smile then, and his gaze roves over me, as if he’s drinking me in after years without water. I tingle and spark at the weight of his gaze.
“Aaron?” Daniel says, stepping forward into the conference room. “This is my sister, Fiona Abry, CEO of Abry Watch Company. She designed the piece you admire. Fiona, this is Aaron McCormick.”
Aaron’s waiting for something. Some cue from me, some acknowledgment. I can see it in the way he stands, the way he looks at me. As if with one word he’ll step forward and take me in his arms.
Kiss me.
