Rolling over in the plush confines of my cozy hotel bed, I look out at the view of New York and notice the sun is bright and high in the sky. Panicked, I check the clock on the nightstand, and sure enough, I overslept.

Grabbing my cell phone, I press the unlock button but notice the battery is dead.

Shit, that’s why my alarm didn’t wake me.

I fidget with the cord hoping the phone will turn back on when I plug it in. I need to email or call to let the company I’m meeting with know I’m running late. But watching the dead battery flash on my screen, I know it’s not going to boot right up, and I need to get going.

Rummaging through my suitcase, I yank out my clothes, my wrinkled clothes, that so need ironing, but I don’t have the time.

Sonofabitch!

Running back to my phone, I see it is still not on. Frustrated that I’m about to blow the most significant meeting of my life, I get dressed, brush my teeth, and pull my hair half back. As I look at my reflection in the mirror, I see my cheeks are flushed. The evidence that I’m anxious is clear as day.

But knowing what I have to do, I leave my hotel room in a hurry. Praying my plans will speak for themselves and overshadow my frumpy appearance.

“Taxi?” I yell as I emerge into the crisp morning. But I’m a second too late because the one I’m running to drives away. The morning chill is really quite rough, and instinctively, I wrap my arms around my body. As I hold onto myself, I realize I don’t have a bra on. Looking down at my nipples, I see they are hard, and my wrinkled silk shirt doesn’t hide my wardrobe mishap one bit.

Another cab pulls up, and I hop into the back, telling the driver where I’m headed. As he pulls away from the hotel, I really wish I had time to grab a bra from my room, but I know there is no way that can happen if I want to make it to my meeting with any chance of saving my reputation.

Unconsciously, I reach into my purse for my phone, but it’s not there.

Shit!

Sitting back, with nothing to do but grip my purse, I close my eyes and focus on my presentation. On what I’m going to say, and how I’m going to explain my vision to what I’m sure will be to a bunch of men. That’s what I always have to deal with.

Being a woman in the architectural world has had its ups and downs. For starters, no one would take me seriously in the beginning. That was until I designed a state of the art security firm in Washington, D.C. Once that deal was finished, it put my name on the map in a way I never dreamt possible. For instance, my meeting today is one that I didn’t pursue—they pursued me—which is a first. But still, after so much rejection, I always fear what I’m about to walk into with these meetings.

“Here you are, Miss,” the cab driver says. I pay him and then exit the cab. I look up at the building and the huge vacant lot next to it where the project will be taking place. To most people, it’s empty space, but to me, I can see my vision taking shape already. Walking into the building, I head to reception and am quickly escorted to the meeting room. I grip the door handle, taking one deep breath before I walk in. Right away, all eyes are on me. All twelve of them to be exact.

“I’m very sorry I’m late,” I announce, making eye contact with the man at the head of the table whom I assume is the one in charge.

“It’s quite alright, Miss Monroe. We’re pleased you could make it.”

“Thank you.” I shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I tell him before taking my place in the front of the room. Setting down my purse, my presentation is already on the projector, and I ask, “Have you all watched the presentation yet?”

“No,” he says.

“Okay. Well, good morning, I’m Sasha Monroe, the head architect for the new TIC build, and I look forward to working with you all.”

The men all smile at me as I look around at each and every one of them. Nervously, I cross my arms remembering I’m up here without a bra on. I want to apologize again for getting in late, but I don’t, as I hope my plans speak for themselves. “I’d like to begin with the three-dimensional presentation, then move into the detailed sketches.”

No one disagrees, so I press the play button on the laptop that is set up and step aside. Right as the video starts, I hear the door to the room open. Glancing back I can’t believe my eyes. Standing there in another suit, looking delicious and as mouthwateringly sexy as ever, is Westin.

He winks, making my heart flutter, then turns his attention to the presentation. I blink a few times remembering our conversation in front of the hotel last night. The way he begged me to go out with him and I just walked off, like a royal bitch. I swear, sometimes I totally overreact.

I let the presentation run its course and then begin going into my pitch about the building's design. As I speak, all the men staring at me the way they are, especially Westin, suddenly make me nervous. This is something that never happens when I’m presenting, not anymore at least. This is where I’m at home, where I’m comfortable and in control. And as I remind myself of that, I let go of any fears or doubts so I can give the best speech of my life.

“As you can see, the design of the building is tiered to allow for parking underground. This way we can maximize the land we’re working with and keep the confidentiality of those visiting.” The company made it clear to me from the beginning that confidentiality was a high priority. “The structure itself will be ten stories, all built from recycled materials, and completely solar powered, making this a green build. Each story will be double the height, allowing for a truly open feeling unlike any other buildings in New York.” I take a breath as the screen changes, making sure I don’t make eye contact with Westin. “Outside, we’ll have an extensive water feature, two gardens, and—”

But he doesn’t let me continue, the asshole cuts me off. “I’m the head engineer. Could you tell me why you find it necessary to cut half the building height to double the stories? And with the subway system here, how are you going to build the parking underground?”

“Mr.?” I question him like I don’t remember his last name, but I do. I remember every single thing about Westin Smith, even if he does drive me crazy.

“Smith,” he answers.

“Mr. Smith,” I answer back. “These details were all in the proposal that TIC sent to us, didn’t you read it?” All of the men just sit back as he and I go back and forth. I swear Westin sees this as some sort of game. Westin licks his lips, looking me up and down, eye-fucking me. My insides shift and turn in a way I’m unfamiliar with, but that is what I’ve learned about Westin—he’s consuming. The way his presence takes over the room, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.

“Oh, I read it, and I know there is no way the City Building Inspector is going to give you a permit to do this type of work.” I smile, having already done my homework. I’ve been working on these plans for six months, and to be sure everything would work, I did my thorough research.

“Well, it's a good thing for me, I’ve already got the preliminary approval from the City for the permit. So if you don’t mind, I’d like to finish my presentation.”

He crosses his arms and leans back against the back wall of the room, still watching me intently. But this time, I don’t let him get to me, not after how long I’ve waited for this moment. Late or not, there is nothing that can ruin this for me.