Chapter Four
Samson Bennett was many things. He was a financial genius. He was a world traveler. And, though only watchers of late night comedy shows really remembered this now, he was a passable actor. During college, he’d played a number of characters—Tybalt, Iago, El Pachuco—on the south lawn for appreciative young co-eds.
So pretending that he hadn’t been absolutely floored by April’s rebuff the other day was, in some respects, easy. He put on his stern “boss” face, managed his employees with fewer jokes and trips to the break room, and left his office each day determined to unwind in his lush apartment overlooking downtown and do it all again the next day. Scotch in hand, he loosened his belt and tried to drive thoughts of April from his mind. His mild interest with her was quickly becoming an obsession.
It was, perhaps, simply because she had laid out such a palpable barrier between them. Normally, the women who caught his interest were readily receptive to his advances. They didn’t lean into his attentions one moment and imply that he didn’t treat them like a person the next.
The situation could possibly be explained by the fact that, as Lana had suggested, April really needed this job, but Samson had engaged in affairs with his employees before without any trouble. He and his current assistant Babette had dallied a bit back in Atlanta, and she didn’t seem bothered by her treatment. She’d even come out on top, having been offered a continued position as he built up these new business acquisitions.
Samson rose to refill his glass, then strolled around his den, unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. April was a conundrum. He admired her intellect, but he really didn’t know much about her. Where had she come from? Somehow, the disparate images of April were beginning to blend together in his mind. He could see her before him, all pigtails and innocence, but now, her brow raised at him in challenge, her lips painted a demure mauve, and a slate gray skirt and matching suit jacket hugged her slim form.
Had he treated her more as an object than the dynamic woman she had become? Perhaps. He had approached her hiring as he would any other important acquisition. The blend of his personal interest with the professional may have colored his actions toward her.
He sat again, his hand moving lower to unbutton his trousers. He could imagine her slowly pulling out those girlish pigtails and shaking out her hair.
“Now the jacket,” he murmured, prevailing on his memory of how her breasts strained against the top buttons of her blouse when she first came in from the heat every morning. “Now the skirt.”
It dropped to the floor, revealing those long legs that had captured his imagination since the day April had moved in with his sister. April’s thighs were lusciously thick. Smooth, but muscular. She could probably open a beer between them.
His cock throbbed as he thought of her, moving toward him with her green eyes staring him down, her fingers releasing one button after another. He shuddered, anticipating how she would reach for him, straddle him, smirk as her breasts pressed down against him. That silky hair falling in his face and her powerful thighs squeezing against him.
“Mr. Bennett, do you have the guts to really use me?”
“Unnn…” Samson clenched his jaw. His hand moved in quick rhythmic jerks as he imagined what it would be like to sheath himself the hot, wet crevice between her amazing legs. Would her muscles be as well defined there? Would she know just how to squeeze, how to move?
With a guttural grunt, he came to his fantasy of April on top of him and he was left aching for more. He wanted her and needed her. Much more than he needed another employee to head up that team. No matter how talented she was, he had to admit that he was more committed to keeping her for himself than for the company. Until now, he had been skirting the line between acquisition and attraction. And if he didn’t play his hand very, very carefully, he would lose her in all aspects.
***
Of course, none of Samson’s deliberations had resulted in completely stopping his daily observations of her. He simply restricted them to meeting rooms where his business interests were at most risk. He adored how she conducted herself outside of his presence. April handled Hutchinson with such finesse that he had hopes her confidence would soon be so unassailable that Samson could have her lead projects.
As it was, she still stiffened slightly whenever she spotted him in the parking lot or around the building. That had to change. He had to gain her trust somehow.
“Sir?” Babette peeped. She had entered the office in that silent way of hers and stood there with her back arched and her low-cut blouse pushed out.
Samson looked up sternly. “Yes, Babette?”
She sighed, drew a lock of short, blonde hair behind her ear, and put a cup of hot coffee in front of him. “I brewed your coffee the way you asked, and—” she set down a file of papers, “—we need some signatures.”
“Got it.” Samson opened the file and looked for the little post-it arrows that Babette had placed on every important line. “How are you liking Houston, Babette?”
“It isn’t bad. I liked Atlanta better.” Babette straightened her back and leaned forward onto the edge of the desk. “Whenever we wanted to check things out downtown, we could just set out and walk.”
“Do you remember that Chinese place we went? They had such excellent wine.”
“Those were the best honey walnut shrimp I’ve ever had.” Babette shifted her weight, causing her blouse to slip down. “Maybe the best shrimp I’ve ever had period.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Samson finished signing the papers and closed the folder before handing it back to her. “Send those out straight away.”
“I haven’t heard a lot of good things about must-visit Chinese places.” Babette took the papers and held them right below her breasts. “Indian, yes, and Thai…”
Samson nodded absently. Hutchinson had sent him an email, and Samson scanned over the contents. It was mostly complaints about his team. “Well, we won’t be here for too much longer. Six months, maybe, on the outside. Get some of these projects launched, get the books in order. Then, I can hop back and forth to check their progress. Hopefully, I can take you somewhere less sweltering next time. Though, this close to the coast, you ought to be able to find some decent seafood.”
“You know me. I love to try new things.” Babette adjusted her blouse and leaned forward once more. “You know I heard there was a great place in the Memorial area, Izakaya-Wa. They’re supposed to have good sushi.”
“Hm.” Samson started to reply to Hutchinson’s message.
“I love sushi.”
“Did you need anything else, Babette?”
She sighed. “No. Just the papers. I’ll get them sent out. Let me know if you want anything else.”
“Pop in on Hutchinson after you send those papers and ask them to send up their current designs. I want to look over them before I call a formal meeting.”
“Yes, sir.” Babette nodded, then lingered for a moment. When Samson looked up, she smiled at him, opened her mouth for a moment as though she’d say something, and then disappeared out the door.
“The heat is going to her brain, poor thing,” Samson murmured. It was so terribly hot in Houston in the summer.
***
The next few days saw a flurry of messages back and forth, multiple reams of architect prints, and more coffee than could have been justified by all of Brazil. Samson kept on top of the firm and its projects by day, and let his excess energy out on a couple of women he’d picked up at a sassy little dive bar called Poison Girl.
Thus, the morning of the presentation from Hutchinson’s team, Samson was in a wonderful mood. He swaggered into the conference room with a large cup of coffee in his hand that Babette had picked up from one of the many quirky independent coffee shops in the area.
“Morning, Garcia.” Samson surveyed the room and sat at the head of the table. “Looking forward to this?”
Garcia, who had been connecting a projector to a laptop, arched a brow and shook his head. “Sure thing, boss.”
“That doesn’t sound too confident. Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.” Samson reclined in his chair and watched Garcia with a smile. “You have a strong group here. I expect good things, and I’ll see them.”
Garcia was about to say something when April entered the room. Samson lifted his cup.
“Hello, April,” Samson said cheerfully.
“Oh, hi. You’re here early. We still have some things to set up.” April was eyeing him nervously, but she went directly to the seat beside Garcia and put her purse down. She wasn’t even wearing a proper blouse today. It was sleeveless and a bit low-cut, but had a nice bit of lace and rhinestones around the collar. Did she often wear so little under those no-nonsense suit jackets?
“Am I banished?” Samson tried to restrain himself from teasing her.
“Not at all.” She reached behind her to pull her hair back. “I’m just warning you that it’s not going to be very entertaining.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
April fanned herself with a file and tuned to Garcia. “Do we have the reports ready?”
“They’re in my office,” Garcia said, not looking up from the laptop.
“I’ll go get them.” April started for the door. “Anything else?”
“Um, get the jump drive in the top drawer for me?”
April gave Samson a smile as she hurried off. The whole team ducked in and out and chatted quietly while keeping an eye on their boss, who waited for them to patiently ready themselves. Soon, April returned, slipped her suit jacket on so that everything was hidden apart from the bit of jazz on the front of her blouse, and sat across the table from Samson.
Samson gave her a smile and checked his watch. “Are we ready to go?”
“Nearly.” April looked around and then caught Garcia’s attention. Garcia gave her a pointed expression, and she pursed her lips.
“Mind letting me in on this silent conversation?” Samson looked between the two of them.
“Hutchinson isn’t here yet, sir,” Garcia said. “He may be stuck in traffic.”
Samson checked his watch and frowned.
“I mean, you live close by, but this city is sort of famous for its shitty traffic,” Garcia said.
“We can get started without Hutchinson,” April said. She motioned for Jessie Ramirez to head up to the front of the room. The girl shot April a nervous look, but grabbed her file and they both head to the computer that Garcia set up.
“Just start with the impact studies we’ve done, and um…”
“Here.” Garcia took over the computer and brought a presentation up for Jessie. “Start here, and simply explain the factors we discussed in our last meeting. April, you can go over the designs afterward, and I’ll lay out the financials at the end. I assume Mr. Bennett will want to discuss the designs before we talk about all that.”
“You assume correctly, but I’m glad you’re on top of it.” Samson wondered why April let Garcia take the lead. She seemed ready to head up the whole meeting. Was he still making her nervous?
Whatever the reason, the meeting seemed to go off without a hitch. Jessie presented her portion on the area where they were to build, and April brought up their designs. There were quite a few to choose from, and April laid out the pros and cons of each choice clearly, from memory, and answered every question Samson had about details of the designs. If Samson hadn’t been spying on them, he would have still been able to tell that more of the ambitious design work had come from his new hire than from her team leader.
Just as they were starting a larger discussion regarding several of the final designs, as Samson had ruled out the first ones almost immediately, Don Hutchinson arrived, covered in sweat and panting a bit.
“Thank you for joining us,” Samson drawled.
“I apologize,” Hutchinson said, putting his briefcase on the table. “There was a pile-up on I-10. Some idiot slammed into someone trying to merge and then crashed into the person in front of him.”
“This is why I don’t drive on the highway,” Jessie said.
“How do you manage that?” Garcia asked.
“I live in the Museum District and bike everywhere.”
“In this heat?”
“Enough off that.” Hutchinson strode up to the front of the room. “Alright, we should get started. I don’t want to keep Mr. Bennett waiting for any longer.”
“Oh, I haven’t been waiting, apart from this delightful conversation about traffic,” Samson said. “We were discussing which of April’s designs would have the most benefit for the project.”
Hutchinson frowned, looked up at the screen, and let his mouth hang open for a moment. “I-I... No, sir, if you’ll give me a moment. These aren’t the designs you ought to have seen first.” He glowered at April. “These aren’t suitable at all. I can show you what I’ve come up with that would work much better for the property.”
“I’ve seen your designs, and I know the challenges presented by the ones above. April presented your designs first, and she talked them up as much as she could while still being honest.” Samson tapped his pencil against his notepad. “They aren’t at all what I was looking for. I felt I was very clear about what I wanted for this project.”
Hutchinson turned to April, pointing at her with one stern finger. “You took advantage of this situation to push your ridiculous, untenable designs. Mr. Bennett is a businessman, and he will want the options that will be the most popular and cost effective, not strange, post-post modern structures that no human being would want to live in!”
Samson was about to speak again when April snapped, “What would you know about what people want to live in? Your father bought your house for you and your wife when you got married! I’ve lived in apartments literally my whole life. I’ve lived in good ones, and I’ve lived in some seriously shitty ones, and I know that your designs are—aside from being like everything else out there—riddled with problems from top to bottom.
There are safety issues, common design flaws that cause unnecessary repairs, and no sense of the location where they are being built. Your designs will lead to stuffy apartments and tenants who break their AC trying to live there comfortably. Your designs will result in break-ins. Your designs will limit a sense of community among the tenants. Your designs will be cheaper in the short run and far more expensive in the long run. Your designs are bad!”
A wicked grin began to spread on Samson’s lips as he watched her continue.
“And more than that, I would have gone with them anyway if that had been what Mr. Bennett had responded to, but your designs are not what he wants! So stop belittling me for trying to do the job I was hired to do. If you had shown up on time, Mr. Bennett would still not have chosen your work because it isn’t what he asked for.”
“You’ve got a hell of a temper, little lady.” Hutchinson shook his head. “And an ego, thinking you can do this work all on your own right out of school, when the only reason you got this job is your pert little—”
“Consider your words carefully,” Samson warned. He folded his fingers in front of himself as Hutchinson looked back to him. Then, he stood and waved his hand toward the door. “On second thought, don’t bother. Just leave.”
“Sir, I can explain. I didn’t mean—”
“I don’t care what you meant. You were late for this meeting, and even worse, you wasted weeks of my time fiddling around with designs I could have gotten from a first-year student. You’re fired. Joan will take care of your paperwork.”
Hutchinson stood there for a moment, utterly speechless. He was a tall man; a somewhat intimidating man with his graying crew-cut and his broad shoulders. But next to Samson, he amounted to nothing. Realization dawned in his eyes as it sunk in that he was now among the ranks of the unemployed.
Finally, Hutchinson left, returned for a brief moment to collect his forgotten briefcase, and then sheepishly went out the door again. Samson brushed his hands over the front of his suit as though wiping off dust, and he sat.
“Now then. Let’s get back to our meeting.”