Chapter Fourteen
Ethan
I checked my cell phone and set it back down on the conference room table. Still no call back from Kayla. It had been hours since I left that message on her cell about the launch party. Why hadn't she returned my call?
"I see you've got important business to get back to. Just a few more questions, please," the reporter said, mistaking my actions to mean I wanted to get out of the interview and back to work.
He was only half right. I did want to stop answering his lame questions, but Chet Charleston hosted one of the top-rated shows on television and this would make great free advertising for the new bike.
He had come to my executive headquarters and we were filming in my brightest conference room with the All-American propped on a kick-stand in the corner. Chet decided to seat me by the window where it was sunniest, insisting that it made me look friendlier and less intimidating. He looked like a clown with his blond hair dyed nearly white and his skin tanned to an unnatural shade of orange. His bright blue suit was hard to look at, but easier on the eyes than his red, striped tie. I was glad I'd settled for a simple, gray Giorgio Armani with a black tie. The colors were dark, but so was my mood, so I thought it was fitting.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm just expecting an important call and I don't want to miss it. Please go on."
I tried to smooth the tension between us over with a grin. I didn't have Keith's natural charisma with the press, but it seemed to do the trick.
Chet returned to his list of pre-written questions provided by the head-writer for his show. He leaned right into the camera that was positioned behind my left shoulder and said, "The first bike you created, The Rebel, became an overnight success. Why did you call it that?"
"Well, I was a young man then. Fresh out of college and working my first real job for a huge corporation. Although I was stuck in a boring, bean-counter job keeping track of warehouses, I had a lot of creative vision inside me. I had always loved to ride, and I invented a motorcycle bikers would love. I just hadn't realized all the red-tape and corporate politics I would have to wade through to get it made and out in stores where customers could buy it.
“So, I quit that corporation and built it on my own. I felt like I was rebelling against the establishment when I did it and providing a means of freedom for others like me who loved to ride, but couldn't find the bike that fit their needs. The Rebel was popular because it was that bike."
"That's a great story, but there's a dark side to it, too. The hearings were closed on the lawsuit waged against you by a corporate owner claiming you invented The Rebel while under his employ, making it his intellectual property. He claimed the bike was never yours to sell and that all the profits you made from it belong to him."
"I've heard all the rumors floating around on the subject and none of them are true. I have all the company memos documenting that rejection of The Rebel's design as a viable motorcycle up for production and sale by the owner of that company. The judge agreed that he had legally given up his right to claim my design as his property with that memo and I was free to take the bike with me to develop, produce, and sell it as my own after that — which was what I did. If anybody doesn’t like it, they can see me personally and I'll be happy to explain it again."
My eyes burned like coal as I glared angrily into the camera behind Chet, making the timid television host squirm in his seat.
"Spoken like a true rebel. It explains the name of the bike, but how did you come up with the name for your company, Speed Motorcycles? It seems rather generic for a rebel of your creative spirit. Why focus on the high miles-per-hour your bikes can achieve, instead of coming up with a name that speaks more to your creative spirit?"
"Well, I'm afraid I'm out of time. I really do have a lot of business I need to get back to today," I said suddenly, hoping Chet couldn't see the racing of my pulse through the veins in my neck.
"Certainly, Mr. Colson. Just tell me really quick, it will be a perfect way to wrap up the interview. How did you come up with the name Speed Motorcycles? Is there some significance to the name? Does it mean something special to you?"
"I really am out of time. Thanks for coming in. My assistant Angela will show you to the elevator." I stood up, making it clear the interview was over. I was no good at lying, and there was no way I could tell the truth on television. My image as a CEO and owner of the country's biggest motorcycle company would be heavily tarnished, and some of my more fragile business sights wouldn't survive the scandal. I'd lose a lot of investors, especially in the Midwest, where a lot of my factories and distribution centers were held. It had the potential to ruin me, and I just wasn't ready for the media frenzy. It was better to keep it brushed under the run, like it had been all these years.
"Did you call me, Mr. Colson?" Angela stuck her head in through the doorway. She was looking as stunning as ever in a bright green dress that brought out the color of her eyes. It hugged her curves like she'd been dipped in a liquid vat of shiny silk, leaving nothing to the imagination. I knew she'd put it on for me, even though I'd lost interest in her lately. The only woman on my mind anymore was the one who still hadn't called me back.
"Yes, Angela. Mr. Charleston and his crew are ready to leave. The interview is over. Can you show them to the elevator?"
"I can do anything you want me to." She draped her arms around me and kissed me sensuously, making Chet's eyes pop out of his spray-tanned skull.
"Not now," I whispered harshly in her ear and removed her arms from around my neck quite pointedly. "Any messages for me while I was interviewing?"
"No calls I couldn't handle, but Miss Kayla Brandt is waiting in your office."
"Kayla is here?" I couldn't believe Angela was being so nonchalant about keeping this from me. I wanted to slap her, but I had to keep my voice cool and even — especially in front of a reporter and his camera crew.
"Yes, I told her you were busy, but she strode into your office and insisted on waiting until you returned. Shall I have security remove her?"
The glint in Angela's eyes told me she was dying to do just that. Damn her and her jealousy. I needed to make it clear to Chet Charleston that there was no animosity between me and my cover model or the scandal would be all over the television before the end of the day.
"No, of course not. I invited Miss Brandt here to discuss arrangements for the launch party tomorrow. I'll be escorting her myself."
"As her date?" Angela was fiercely angry, but I didn't care. We'd made no commitments to each other, and she'd gone out of her way to make Kayla look bad to the reporter and make it clear that she and I had been intimate. Well, I wasn't going to let some office assistant with an over-willingness to spread her legs dictate my image to the press.
"Yes, as my date," I stated matter-of-factly. Then I turned to Chet and shook hands with him and then each of his crew in turn. "Thank you for the interview. Make sure my assistant gives you special press passes to the launch party on Friday. It's going to be one hell of a bash. Unfortunately, she won't be there. Only executives, investors, and special guests, no support staff. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a meeting with our newest cover-model. She's going to be the next big star — trust me. She's got what it takes to make it all the way to the top."
I could feel Angela's eyes burning into my back like lasers as I walked away from the conference room to my office, but they were nothing compared to the ones shooting at me from Kayla's blue eyes.
She was sitting in a chair across from my desk and when I came in, she stood. She looked incredible. She was wearing an ice-blue dress the exact shade as her incredible eyes.
Unlike Angela's overt sexuality, this dress was simple, made of soft, flowing cotton that billowed around her like the petals of a spring flower. The scoop neck flattered the curves of her neck and shoulders, and hugged the sides of her full breasts, gently squeezing them together to form a perfect nest of cleavage that I was dying to kiss. The skirt came down just above her knees, showing off just the right amount of her shapely legs and making me wonder what she had on underneath. Gold strappy sandals completed the outfit and complimented the delicate gold hoops that hung from her ears and the gold bangle bracelet on her dainty wrist. She'd left her blonde hair down long so it fell over her shoulders in gentle waves with a single, blue barrette pinning it back on each side.
She was the perfect picture of girl-next-door innocence, but her nipples were straining through the bodice of her dress and there was no panty line visible on her skirt, giving me dirty imaginings of a naughty side just under the surface of her pure exterior. Instantly, I became aroused as I imagined the devilish delights I could show her if only she'd let me — maybe here, maybe at home, or maybe even at the launch party.
As I locked my office door, however, I could feel the rage from her filling the room like a heavy toxin and I knew whatever she had come for, it wasn't going to be fun.