Love Stuck (Big City Billionaires #2) Page 7

Sass laughed, but a part of her died inside. Was this what it was going to be like? Getting clients from her friend's husbands? Clients who would probably be better off going to Helen Bernstein and finding the latest trends that fit their body shape? Where were all the people aching to burst out their true selves? Where were the old women from the coffee shop she walked past each day who weren't afraid to reveal themselves to the world? She wanted to ask Cara all of that and more, but instead, she just thanked her and told her to have a great time before she hung up the phone.

  Cara was right about one thing though. She was never going to take what Kirk Anderson said to heart. The guy had no idea about people. No idea about what it meant to really live.

  10.

  Kirk looked down at himself again and heaved a giant sigh.

  “You look good,” his head of marketing said.

  “I pay you to say that.”

  “No, you don't. This one's for free.” She gave him a smile. A real smile, and he realized he'd never seen her real smile before. “You look great too,” he said, and her smile got even wider.

  Then she laughed. “I don't know who happened to you, but whoever she is I'm going to send her chocolate.”

  “She?”

  “That’s my guess. You don’t have to confirm or deny. But I will find out. Trust me.”

  Ever since this idea had struck him, Sarah Hunt hadn't been far from his mind. But he hadn't thought anyone else would notice.

  “If you say so.” He flicked through his notes again. “Everyone's here?”

  She nodded.

  “And we're sure I shouldn't wear a tie.”

  “We're very sure. That jacket is genius. Smart and luxurious without being stuffy. No tie.”

  He'd expected Sarah's black jacket to squeak or at least be stiff when he moved, but it was made from such soft leather that it molded to his body with very little effort. As soon as he'd put it on, he'd felt different, more comfortable. It was ridiculous. He liked wearing suits, always had, always would. But Mrs Horan's face had told him she approved, so he’d gone with it. And now—he looked out at the packed conference room buzzing with expectation—now he was going to see if it met with everyone else's approval.

  “Is Mike here?”

  His head of marketing nodded. He'd filled her on in the situation and run his plan by her, but he'd been set on it before she'd gasped and told him it was a great idea. Then he'd had the busiest afternoon he'd had in a long time. Board meetings, working through a new speech till everyone was on side with his idea. Now all he had to do was sell it.

  “Are the teams everywhere else standing by? We managed to get the link working to the London office?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the press are set to arrive in an hour?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay then. Let's go.” He stood up to the podium. “Good afternoon. Thank you all for coming. I hope you all got a drink?”

  The room murmured its assent.

  Among the crowd in front of him stood all his New York employees. The ones from his other offices had their own gatherings and would be seeing him on a big screen. Giving everyone the afternoon off, handing out free beer and wine, it wasn't something he'd ever considered, but if he was going to convince Mike and others like him that it was worth staying at Anderson's, then he was going to do things differently.

  Sarah had been right about one thing. His heart was tied up tight. He'd been scared that if he didn't hold the reins of his world tight forever, they might loosen so much that everything would come tumbling down. He'd been driving so hard to be the best, to make sure his was the strongest, wealthiest, biggest company, that he'd forgotten to enjoy any of the spoils along the way. And he hadn’t let anyone else enjoy them either.

  Go big or go home. “I met someone this week who showed me a whole different way of looking at data,” he started. “She showed me that underneath the numbers, there are always people. People who refuse to correlate with anything as useful as a spreadsheet.”

  There were a few titters of laughter and then the noise in the room dropped away entirely, and the audience stilled.

  “This afternoon we're launching new financial management software that is going to be game changing. And it seemed like a great time for me to take stock of where the company is headed.”

  He looked out into the crowd and saw Mike Brand nursing a beer with a curious look on his face.

  “There are one thousand two hundred and eighty-four of you here today, another thousand and fifteen at our other stateside offices and one hundred and twenty-four in London. Hardly any of you have ever met. But you all have one thing in common. You all have a passion for numbers and people.”

  The crowd murmured again. Here we go. “Our hiring policy is blind. Totally blind. Most of you won’t know that when your applications came through your gender, age and race were deleted from your documents. We only want the best people here, and I certainly don't care where you come from or how you got here. I only care that you're here.

  “Today I wanted to make sure that you all knew how much of an impact you make not just on this company, but on me and on the world out there. But I figure we can do even more. This afternoon we'll be announcing our product launch from Anderson Online in the room next door. Many of you have set up the demo stations, and for that I thank you. It's taken a long time, and you've worked hard. So, I want you up there in front of the press in there so I can say thank you publicly.”

  The murmur got a little louder.

  “And I'll also be announcing a new international development initiative. The Anderson's Accelerator program will provide a way for kids from across the globe with an interest in numbers to get to college. No strings, no expectations. They might decide to never work here, but they might be the next generation of engineers, astrophysicists, actuaries.” Kirk let the sensation of warmth fill up his body. He’d never thought giving away the wealth he’d been so driven to build would feel so good.

  Someone clapped from the back of the room, and the whole place joined in. But Kirk held up a hand. “This isn’t about me making grand gestures. This is about taking a risk that our brand can stand the heat of diluting its focus on building wealth above all, to one that puts the success of all its people first. One of the people who brought this idea to life isn't here right now, but the other one is your CEO of Anderson Investment Wealth. Mike, you probably didn’t know you did it, but you sparked a vision for the future that’s exciting and progressive and a lot less boring. I owe you a lot.” Kirk couldn’t tell exactly from the distance, but it looked like Mike Brand’s jaw dropped.

  Kirk continued. “But enough from me. This afternoon is all about you. It’s about me saying thank you. Thank you for your hard work, your dedication and your trust. I hope I live up to all of that going forward. So, have another drink, and I'll see you after the press conference.”

  When he got down from the small stage and podium, the first person Kirk looked for was Mike Brand. He didn't have to look far.

  “Put me on the spot much?” his CEO said, but he didn't look too pissed about it.

  “Only sort of. What would have been putting you on the spot would have been saying you were going to head up the new program in front of everyone.”

  Mike's eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Just what I said. You didn't say it, but it's clear you want a change. And you want to be part of something that's looking to the future. So, think about it. Don't leave Anderson's, head up the Accelerator program instead. It's going to be big, and it's going to need someone to forecast how to keep it running.”

  The press conference went perfectly. The software demonstration was met with universal approval, and some of the tech reporters even used the golden word he’d been hoping for: game-changer. Kirk moved among the crowd and took questions from anyone who asked him. Now that was a game changer. He'd never let himself fall under public scrutiny before. Any press he'd done had been carefully curated
in his office for feature business weekly pieces. And any public speaking had been behind a podium. Defrosting his heart felt good, he realized. Really good. When a reporter he'd done an interview for TIME NOW asked what had spurred on the new direction at Anderson's, Kirk smiled.

  “I had a meeting with a stylist. I know—” he said as the woman's eyebrows perked up.

  “But she showed me what I had been hiding from myself for a long time. Her mission is to let people understand who they really are so they can live their best lives. She starts with clothing, because, she says, you can tell a lot about a person by what they wear. And then she digs deeper until she finds the essential core of you. Then she pokes it with a big stick.”

  That got a good laugh.

  “Sarah Hunter is her name, and she's just started a new venture: Hunters and Collectors. You should check her out. She showed me what I'd been hiding from myself. Finding that out, well, you're going to be excited by what Anderson's does next.” Then he just walked away.

  #

  Eating the whole tub of ice-cream for breakfast had been a big mistake. Sass sat down on the floor, heavily, as the dessert churned in her stomach after a big morning of packing. As she looked around her apartment, empty now, except for a stack of boxes and her furniture piled up together, she couldn't quite believe it had come to this. But with no money for next week’s rent, she didn't have any option. She was leaving in four days’ time. Her stuff was headed to storage, and she was going to stay in a hostel till she worked out what to do.

  BING.

  Her phone had been deadly quiet all week, so the noise made her jump.

  BING.

  BING, BING, BING.

  “Alright already, hold your horses.”

  BING, BING, BING, BING.

  After scrabbling around in the boxes looking for her bag, and then when she found that, her phone, Sass thought she might throw the thing through the window. It was clearly malfunctioning. But when she opened her email, she found not one, but fifteen new queries from her website.

  “What in the name of all that is cheap and tasty is going on here?” Scrolling through them they all referred to a piece about her in TIME NOW. “The magazine?” But more importantly, they all wanted a consultation. She stood up and after moving a box went to sit on the sofa. Ice-cream stomach cramps forgotten, she picked one of the names of the people who had contacted her at random and googled them.

  “Holy handbags.” The image of Jillian Cameron, the name she'd googled, was of an older white-haired woman wearing a bright purple dress and huge gold earrings. Flicking away from the image and reading her profile, Sass's jaw almost dropped to the floor. The woman was a corporate headhunter at one of New York's biggest recruitment firms. Sass flicked back to her email.

  I'd like to have a personal consultation first and if that goes well, book in a range of appointments for some of my clients. They need a fresh start, and it sounds like you are the woman to shake them out of their current lassitude and work out how best to put their best foot forward. Your website says you're a stylist, but it sounds like you might need to add lifestyle coach to your resume. Call me, and we'll see if we can work together.

  Sass read the email another three times. Lifestyle coach? It was something she'd always considered, but didn't think she'd be qualified enough to do. But if she could...she looked around her apartment again. If she could make it happen she'd be able to unpack all her boxes!

  She googled another name and this time found a man. Someone who worked in finance. His picture showed him in one of the worst suits she'd ever seen: dark brown, badly fitting, and with a tie in almost exactly the same color. That one she could help with her eyes closed.

  She flicked through them all again and then changed tack, Googling the article they all mentioned. When the TIME NOW website loaded, the first picture under the byline almost made her drop the phone. It was Kirk. Wearing her leather jacket. Taking a deep breath, she scrolled down and read the full article. He'd launched his software and it was taking off, but more than that, the journalist reported, he'd started a new international development program for kids.

  Sass put down the phone and caught her breath. Was this the same man who had sneered at her and made her heart shrink in the face of his anger? Then she came to a passage that caught her breath and stole it. She showed me what I had been hiding from myself for a long time. Had she really done it? Got through to Kirk Anderson? The final passage in the magazine article was short but sent goosebumps over her arms. There was buzz that the Richmond Wealth launch would steal thunder from Anderson’s. The buzz was wrong – the Richmond product is a poor imitation. But the big news is Anderson himself. Whoever Sass Hunt is, Anderson is clear that people need to seek her out, and having seen him more animated and passionate than I have done in years, I must agree. The woman found something in one of New York's most successful businessmen that has urged him on to take his company to a whole new level. And that next level is warm, generous and damn exciting. Wherever you are Ms Hunt, book me in.

  Sass re-read the article again and then checked her email messages. Yes, she even had a request for a consultation from the reporter.

  “Holy handbags doesn't even cover it.”

  BING, BING, BING.

  “Alright already,” Sass said with a smile, checking her phone for the new messages. But there weren't any.

  BING, BING, BING.

  Wait, that wasn't her phone, it was the door. “I never get visitors.” Confused, Sass went to the door and when she opened it her bones just about melted.

  “Ms Hunt. May I come in?”

  Sass didn't say anything.

  “Is it a bad time? I can come back, or we could step outside?”

  Sass forced her jaw to shut and stood aside to let Kirk Anderson into her apartment, now infinitely aware that she was wearing slightly too tight yoga pants and a bright blue t-shirt with melted raspberry ripple ice-cream on it.

  “I brought you this. I didn't think you'd really be the flowers type.” He held out a box. It was long and black and, still lost for words, Sass opened it. Inside was a voucher to Mollys for a regular table every month for a year. Something that must have been specially made for him. Bookings there took forever to make happen.

  “I can't take this.”

  “You can. It's a gift.” He put up a hand as she was about to protest further. “You were right. I was scared. I was scared that I wasn't ever going to be successful enough. At least not good enough for anyone back home. Someone told me a long time ago that I wasn’t special and it rocked me hard. But then I realized that you were right about something else: that it didn't matter. No matter what I do, my folks won’t understand. People will always feel challenged by things they don’t know, and unless they find a way to want to discover more, they’ll shun the unknown. My folks never wanted to be a part of my world, and they likely never will. So why should I try and force them? I have absolutely everything I could ever need, and it's about time I enjoyed it.”

  Sass's heart contracted. She'd made Kirk Anderson understand?

  Then she made herself straighten. That's what she wanted, wasn't it? To set people free? Absolutely it was. But something in her was disappointed. He was thanking her for a job well done. That was all. And he'd also done her a huge favor with his comments at his press conference. “Good for you. But that doesn't mean you need to give up your table at Mollys.”

  “No. It doesn't. It means I need to take you out to dinner and talk to you. And then buy you breakfast the next morning.”

  Okay, that was something else entirely. “Excuse me?”

  He took a step closer. “You understood me like no one else ever has. And you weren't afraid to tell me about it. You have a gift, and we have something.”

  “Something?”

  “Between us. Tell me you feel it too.”

  Did she? Sass thought about the five quarts of ice-cream and six pizzas she'd consumed this week and tried to put them all down to her b
usiness not going well. But if she was completely honest that hadn't been entirely it. The way Kirk had turned on her, just when she’d seen a glimmer of the real him, it had cut harder and deeper than she’d allowed herself to admit.

  “When we were at Cara and Joe's wedding—”

  “I was an ass. I was shocked and embarrassed and a little lost about the extent of my feelings for you. I'm so sorry.”

  “Your feelings for me?”

  “Yes. I like you, Sarah Hunt. You challenge me and excite me. I want to see where this might go.” But now he took a step back as if allowing her the air to breathe. The pause lengthened, and she looked up into his bright blue eyes. Eyes that stared at her with such longing and hope that she felt she could fall into them and swim off into eternity. “You really mean that?”

  He nodded and finally, finally, she allowed herself to smile and for the rush of excitement that had been building to swamp her body. She put a hand on his chest to steady herself and his arms immediately wound around her waist. “Then kiss me, Kirk Anderson, and don't hold anything back.”

  He bent down, and the kiss was like a warm wash of water holding them together. Sass let herself fall into it. Let it buoy them up and let her heart hope that things were turning out just the way they were supposed to for a change.

  I hope you enjoyed your time with Sass and Kirk! To meet their mutual friends Cara and Joe, just read on for a free excerpt of Valentine’s Vengeance.

  Tie me down and call me dinner, it can’t be him. Cara Reynolds pulled a menu up to cover her face and then risked another look. No. Way. Stupid making broad shoulders, check. Sleek dark hair that saw the barber’s scissors fortnightly (but never an electric razor), check. Tailored suit that cost more than her rent, check. Still. No way. There was no way Joe Diaz would be standing like that, in Austin, talking, and not trying to stab her mother, Anna Brooks, in the eye with a hypodermic needle. Surely. Yet from behind, the man standing with her mother looked exactly like her ex, Joe Diaz. The ex she’d run from when he accused her of trying to take down his company. The ex who had a voice like someone had stirred straight bourbon with an unlit cigar and then smoked it. Joe Diaz was dark and smoldering, period, and when they’d been together, Cara had had trouble not letting him turn her insides into liquid.