Emerald Eyes (7 page)

“Miss Slav.” Patrick’s voice is bass and warm.
 

“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand and smile.
 

Patrick’s hand grips mine tightly so its almost painful, but he softens his hold right before it reaches the point of pain.

“Patrick.” Mr. Miller speaks up, pulling Patrick’s attention to himself. He seems irritated, but it’s hard to tell.

“And this is Joshua, my assistant.” Mr. Green introduces me to the skinny, pale man; his eyes are too big for his face.
 

“Hello, Joshua.” I smile.
 

“Hi.” Joshua mutters and looks away.
 

I intimidate him.
Poor guy.
 

Throughout the meeting, I watched enchanted as Mr. Miller spoke to the businessmen with confidence, respect and internal power. The way he captivated them with his words, was awe-inspiring. The authority radiating from his shrewd mouth, and it took everything I had to pay attention to what Mr. Miller was actually saying, instead of daydreaming about his lips.
 

I typed every resolution they achieved, any goal they wanted to accomplish in the future and the cost of every decision they made. From time to time, I catch Patrick looking at me, giving me a small smile.
 

He likes me
.
 

Not news to me. Another predictable shocked stare came from Joshua, whom I tried to avoid eye contact at all costs. I didn’t want the humble man to faint. He looked
that
nervous.
 

As the meeting came to close, the men scheduled their next gathering, three months from today.
 

I glanced at my watch as we rose to our feet, finding the time is twelve fifteen.
 

“It was a pleasure to meet you.” Patrick says warmly.

“Thank you, you too.” I smile.

“Here’s my card. Call me if you’d like to grab a coffee or dinner. I’m here until Sunday.” Patrick hands me his business card.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.” I smile politely.

The men said their goodbyes and I’m left with Mr. Miller, who’s looking at me with an odd expression but the moment our eyes meet, his face smooths out and he asks, “Hungry?”
 

“Starving.” I grumble.

Mr. Miller smiles, “Come on, lunch is on me.”

De Rodriguez Ocean is a lovely poolside restaurant on the hotel premises. The chairs are wicker and brown, the ceiling is busy with spinning fanlights. I remembered it quite well. We’re sitting outside, waiting for our food. I ordered my favorite, a sugar cane tuna and Mr. Miller chose the Vaca Frita, papa’s favorite – a skirt steak.
 

“What time is the next meeting?” Mr. Miller asks.

“Two.” I answer in a heartbeat, I checked his schedule five minutes ago.
 

“All right, after that meeting I’ll need you to go back to the suite and make summary reports for each meeting we’ve had so far.”
 

“Sure. No problem.”

Idly, I think what he will be doing with his free time.

Our waitress approaches us with our dishes. She’s short and slim and her raven hair is pulled up into a high ponytail.

“There you go…” She’s says with a smooth voice, placing Mr. Miller’s plate in front of him then giving me mine.

“Will there be anything else I can give you?” She’s facing Mr. Miller, all smiles and eyelashes. “No. That’s all for now, thank you.”
 

She nods and manages to leave without drooling all over our lunch.
 

“Dig in.” Mr. Miller smiles brightly at me.
 

Wow...
I think I stopped breathing for a moment there. His smile is… just perfect, showing his straight pearly white teeth, blinding me for a nanosecond. I snap out of it and bring a piece of the skewered tuna next to my mouth.

Time for another round of twenty-one questions…

“What does your mother do?” I ask then bite down.
 

Mr. Miller’s eyes widen a fraction, “She was a music instructor at NYU Steinhardt.” He answers after a beat.

“What did she teach?” I ask, but I think I can guess.
 

Piano.

“Piano… I was one of her students.” Mr. Miller says proudly.

“You play?” I try to look surprised.

“I do. Very well so.” he grins.
 

“Why did you say she
was
?”
 

“Well, after the accident she couldn’t play…” Mr. Miller frowns suddenly and his eyes turn cold. He looks uncomfortable talking about this. I should back up.
 

“I understand. I’m sorry if I have offended you.” I whisper.
 

“It’s fine. I just don’t like to talk about it.” He offers me a small smile.

I nod and shift in my chair.

Bad move Katherine.

“After you’re done with the reports, get ready for the last meeting. It will be at Prime One Twelve. We’ll have a private room so just tell the host who you are.”
 

I love Prime One Twelve!
 

“Sure… we’re not leaving together?” I hope he’ll reveal what he’ll be doing while I type up those boring reports.

“No. I’ll be at the gym.” Mr. Miller shrugs.
 

“Oh…” I smile.
 

Takes care of himself.
I like that. A lot.

“I won’t be holding your hand all the time, Katherine. I’m just helping you out this week, after that, you’ll need to take the reigns and manage my schedule. If you fail to do so, I will look for another assistant. Is that clear?” Mr. Miller’s voice is heavy with meaning and his eyes are serious and grave.
 

“I understand, Mr. Miller. I promise you, I won’t disappoint you.”
 

Mr. Miller looks at me for a long moment, assessing me then nods in acknowledgment.

“So what does your parents do?” Mr. Miller asks after a few awkward moments of silence.
 

Oh no…
I don’t want to talk about papa, he’s very famous for his work and I’ll just end up as ‘Dr. Slavsky’s daughter’ again. That was my identity my whole life, never my own person. I frown inwardly.
 

But I asked about his mother… I opened that door, might as well walk through it.

“My father is a doctor and my mother is an event planner.” I try to sound as vague as possible.

“A doctor? What field?” he sounds surprised.
 

“Neurosurgery.” I reply dryly.
 

“Oh…” Mr. Miller’s eyes cloud for a moment, he looks lost in thought. Not quite the reaction I usually get, when I tell people papa fixes brains and nerve connections.
 

“You don’t like neurosurgeons?” I look quizzically at him.

“What? Um… no… I mean they’re ok.” he mutters.
 

I slowly nod back at him. He seems to have a strange reaction to the fact that papa is a neurosurgeon, so I don’t press him to find out why.

We finish with our meal and order dessert. Mr. Miller is having a slice of key lime pie and a black coffee, one sugar. I requested yet another favorite of mine, hot chocolate croquettes and mint tea.
 

“Are you going to call him?” Mr. Miller’s face is suddenly serious.
 

I swallow my croquette, “Who?”
 

I think back, remembering Mr. Miller’s bizarre glance when Patrick handed me his card.
 

“Patrick?” I ask bemused.
 

Mr. Miller nodes and his eyes bore into mine.

“I don’t know…” I blink.
 

I really don’t know. I don’t want to. I want you, but you’re not giving me any signs that the feeling is mutual.

“I’d prefer if you wouldn’t.” Mr. Miller’s voice is stern.

“Oh… why not?”
 

I’m hoping he’ll say something in the lines of, ‘because
I
want you’.

“I don’t mix business and pleasure and the same applies to my employees.” Mr. Miller says with unreserved seriousness, his eyes never leaving mine.

So that’s what it is! Oh well… then this is a lost cause.
 

My heart drops to my stomach and I feel like someone just kicked me straight in chest. This means I don’t stand a chance in hell as long as I work for him. I take a deep breath, overcoming this horrid feeling.
 

“I see.” I mutter and look down at the last croquette on my plate.
 

Screw this!
I came here to work, not for romance... so I’m attracted to him, so what?
 

I pull myself together and look up at Mr. Miller, managing a tight smile.
 

“I’ll think about it.” I keep my tone calm.
 

Mr. Miller lifts an eyebrow and inhales deeply, like he’s trying to restrain himself, but says nothing. Our overenthusiastic waitress comes back with our check. Mr. Miller hands her his Amex, his eyes are still examining my face. I think he’s trying to figure out my emotional state, but I am far too experienced to falter. I keep my face composed and I turn to watch a few young girls jump into the pool. Not so long ago, I was one of them. Having fun, not worrying about a thing, free and careless.
 

“You’re all set.” The waitress says and hands Mr. Miller his card back.
 

She looks sad that he doesn’t give her another glance. We rise and head back to the conference room.

“Are you all right?” Mr. Miller sounds mildly concerned.
 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” I smile and give him a questioning look.
 

The second meeting goes on in the same manner. Except this time, it’s one person and she’s a woman. She’s probably in her mid-forties. Her hair is brown and curly. A small clip is bravely trying to hold her mane together.
 

“All right Doris, that’s all for today.” Mr. Miller says as he closes the folder he handed me earlier. “See you in four months.” Mr. Miller adds.

Doris rises and we follow. She smiles and shakes our hands.

“Lovely meeting you Miss Slav.” She says warmly.

“Thank you, you too.” I smile.

 
She gives Mr. Miller a quick look, with a meaning I cannot fathom and his lips quirk up slightly. I grab my iPad and the folder, heading out with Doris and Mr. Miller. Doris says goodbye and walks at the opposite direction that Mr. Miller and I are heading to. Our walk is silent. Mr. Miller is brooding over something, and I try my best to appear disinterested to his state. My hopes to have him have vanished the moment he said, he does not mix business and pleasure and I won’t risk asking, only to get rejected. I don’t think I can take rejection very well, since it never happened. Another reason I won’t ask is because I don’t want to put this job in jeopardy.

This situation sucks.
 

Finally, we reach our suite. I place my things on the dining table and head into the kitchen. I need a snack. I open the refrigerator and find sweet green grapes. They will do. I wash them and place them in a bowl that I find in one of the top cupboards. I settle into the dinning room chair and a movement in my peripheral vision makes me look up. Mr. Miller comes out of his bedroom, dressed in black sweatpants, tight grey t-shirt and sneakers holding a gym bag. I look him over and my mouth waters. I swallow, hard.
 

Each arm muscle is defined and sculptured to perfection. Mr. Miller’s chest looks like its rock hard and the curves of his six-pack are visible through the fabric of his shirt. His shoulders are broad and strong, and all I want to do is trace my fingertips all over his upper body… or maybe my tongue…
 

Stop! He’s your boss and he just told you he doesn’t mix business with pleasure.
 

Damn it! Why am I going crazy over him? I had my share of muscular hunks, it’s not like it’s the first time I see a divine body like his. But there is something different about him. Mr. Miller has a way of reading every little trick I do, and it makes me feel bare, completely vulnerable… it terrifies me, but I can’t help but feel this, out-of-this-universe desire for him. He’s like no other man I’ve ever met. I tear my hungry eyes from him, back to the file in front of me.

“I’m off.”
 

I look up again and find Mr. Miller smiling at me.

“Enjoy.” I say and he leaves the suite.
 

I close my eyes, place my head in my hands and take a deep cleansing breath. I must collect all my will power and stop having this type of thoughts about him.
 

It won’t happen.
 

As irresistible as Mr. Miller is, I know my value and I’ve never had nor will, beg for a man’s affection. After summarizing all the notes and finalizing my reports, I notice the time is five thirty p.m. and I got some time to relax. I return to my bedroom and lay out my outfit for tonight’s business dinner. I choose a taupe sleeveless dress that hugs my every curve, stopping right above my knees. It has a cowl neck that gives the right amount of cleavage.
 

Perfect.
 

I accessorize it with a thin, black leather belt, that accentuates my narrow waist and pair it with my black Christian Louboutins. In the time I have left, I make a quick call to mama. I tell her about Miami and what’s it like being a executive assistant, she calls it karma of course, saying that now
I
serve someone else. I learn that she’s busy planning the fundraising Gala that Mr. Miller will be attending, and that she and papa will attend as well, me included.
 

Oh joy.
 

“I don’t have enough money to spend on a gown, mama.” I say sadly.

I actually do, but I can’t spend thousands on one dress right now… holy crap, is this how regular people feel?

“Oh… don’t you worry about that, I just saw a beautiful Dior Haute-Couture dress the other day, and it will be perfect on you!”