[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer (4 page)

The ability to think of a witty retort
deserted her, and all she could come up with was, “Thank you.”

“And thank you for hiring me. I’m sure
we’ll work well together.”

Something in his expression made her think
of the two of them naked, in bed. Working together beneath the sheets. Her
cheeks heated, and she was certain he noted that before he turned and left the
room, his lips curving in a slight smile.

The rest of Gene’s day passed swiftly. Neve
went through the rest of the diligent Becky’s notes with him, most of which
seemed to imply that although Callie was a wonderful saleswoman who had no
trouble putting people at their ease, she couldn’t organize a piss-up in a
brewery. Becky made it quite clear that he couldn’t expect Callie to do
anything unless he wrote it on a Post-It Note and stuck it to her phone or her
laptop screen, and even then, if it was an important task, it was best he did
it himself.

Neve gave him a rundown of the running of
the business, in between pestering him with questions about his real job.

“So what do you know about the guy who’s
made the death threats?” she asked in a hushed voice when she knew Callie was
on a long call. “Phoebe said he was someone she put away a few years ago.”

“Yeah. He’s a nasty piece of work—a rich
gangster who thought he was untouchable. Like Al Capone, they got him on taxes,
and she put together a watertight case he couldn’t wriggle out of. He got ten
years and was out in six. Two days after he was released, he shot his lawyer
and then vanished. A week later, Phoebe got the first death threat. He’s a
nutcase, hell bent on revenge against all those who had a hand in his
incarceration, intent on making them suffer.”

“You think they’ll be able to catch him?”

“Oh, they’ll get him eventually. This time,
though, they’ll be able to put him away for murder. He’s not some top-level
mastermind—he’s just a rich bully, and money can only get you so far. He’s
threatened some pretty important people. We’re working with the Special Tactics
Group—what used to be the Anti-Terrorist Squad—and they’ll track him down. But
until they do, we have to protect those he’s threatened. Like I said, he didn’t
threaten Callie directly, but she was mentioned in the letter, so we’re not
taking any chances.”

“Do you think he’s hiding in the bushes
with a rifle, or do you think he’s hired a hitman?”

“I think he’s probably high on drugs and
alcohol somewhere worrying about picking up the soap in the shower when he’s
back in prison. I doubt he’ll ever carry out the threats. But we’ll take them
seriously, of course, until he’s caught.”

Neve seemed happy with that, and continued
briefing him on deliveries and stock takes.

“What do you do when you’re not filling in
here?” he asked when she’d finished.

“I’m in charge of marketing and promotion.
I design our catalogues and promotional material. I’ve been scouting out
suitable shops for Callie to approach to stock our brand. And I run lingerie
parties.” Her eyes gleamed.

“Parties?”

“Yeah. It’s turned into quite a thing.
We’re having one next weekend, Saturday the thirteenth. Rowan’s twin sister’s
having a baby shower.”

“The one whose wedding you all went to dressed
as the four seasons?”

“Yeah. She’s hired us for the evening.
She’s the focus, of course, but she knows getting all her friends together is a
great opportunity for us to tout our wares.”

“So you bring a selection of lingerie to
these parties?”

“Yeah. And other… bits and bobs.”

He realized she was talking about sex toys.
“Hmm, I see.”

Neve’s eyes widened. “Of course you’ll have
to come to keep an eye on Callie. You can be a waiter! We always need someone
to serve the drinks.”

“I’m not sure being the only man at a baby
shower-come-lingerie party is my idea of a good night out. I’ll be eaten
alive.”

“Only if you’re very lucky.”

They both laughed.

“There’s too much fun going on out here,”
Callie announced, walking out of her office.

“Sorry, miss,” Neve said. “Won’t happen
again.” She leaned toward Gene and spoke in a mock whisper. “Watch out—she can
be very strict when the mood takes her.”

Gene knew she hadn’t meant that to be as
suggestive as it sounded, but it was difficult to stop his mind from straying
to sex when Callie stood in front of him. He had no intention of carrying out
his daydreams, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t let his mind wander when the
mood took him. It did so now, tempting him with thoughts of her giving
instructions in the bedroom. Maybe she liked tying her partners up—or being
tied up. Either way sounded fun.

There were worse things than dating the CEO
of a lingerie firm, he was certain. He could imagine Callie Summer modelling
her range of underwear for him. He wasn’t sure what would be his favorite of
those he’d spotted in the catalogue—the virginal white bra and panties, the
saucy red teddy, or the sexy black lace set with sheer black thigh highs. She’d
look pretty damn good in any of those.

He blinked. Callie’s cheeks had turned red.
He’d been staring too long and, judging by the blush, she’d read something of
what he was thinking in his eyes. Luckily, Neve was chattering on about
something and hadn’t noticed.

He raised an eyebrow.

Callie blinked rapidly and lowered her
gaze. He hid a smile. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He wasn’t being
obvious enough that she could be sure he liked her. That was good. He was happy
to keep her in the dark for a while.

In the dark. Chained to a bed. Totally at
his mercy.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes at
himself, he tidied the items on the desk into a neat pile and followed Neve’s
suit as she got to her feet.

“Five o’clock,” Neve said. “I’m done.”

Gene looked at Callie. “When do you
finish?”

“I’ve got a few phone calls to make.”

He sat back at the desk. “No worries.”

“You can go,” she said. “I don’t expect my
PA to stay on after five.”

“I go when you go.”

“Well I don’t.” Neve picked up her bag and
headed off. “See ya.”

“Saturday the thirteenth?” Callie called
after her.

Neve stopped and turned. “Are you going to
make it?”

“Yeah, of course, I wouldn’t miss it for
the world. Next week, we’ll do the South Island, stop in Wellington for
Willow’s baby shower, then carry on to the North Island the following week.”

“Cool. I’ll see you then.” Neve
disappeared.

“Neve’s invited me, by the way,” Gene told
Callie, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pen in his fingers. “To the
party.”

She perched on the edge of his desk.
“Really?” A flicker of doubt crossed her face—she wasn’t sure that Neve hadn’t
been cheeky enough to do that.

“I understand some interesting things are
for sale.”

“Mmm,” she said, surprisingly cool. “Neve
has connections with a Wellington-based company, and they supply a range of
examples for her parties. Plus, she gets freebie gift packs that come in handy.
It would be a nice pre-birthday treat for you.” Her eyes gleamed—she’d
remembered his birthday was on Valentine’s Day.

She’d called his bluff, and he couldn’t
stop his lips curving up. She had bright blue eyes the color of a summer
sky—surprise, surprise—and they lit with amusement now. This woman fascinated
him. She blushed when she thought he might be thinking about sex with her, but
she ran a lingerie company, and she was obviously quite open where bedroom
matters were concerned.

“Sounds like fun,” he said, smiling.

She chuckled. “They are. Experimentation
with lingerie and… other items can be about availability. Women are often too
afraid to go into sex shops and even lingerie shops because they’re easily
embarrassed. The idea of parties like the one next week is that they can go
into a bathroom or bedroom on their own to try on the lingerie, and maybe
purchase something fun they wouldn’t ordinarily have the courage to if they
were on their own. If your best friend’s treating herself to a vibrator, you
don’t feel like such a floozy having a look yourself. Unless you’re Rowan, who
blushes scarlet at the mere mention of anything to do with sex.”

Loving her open manner, he studied the way
her blonde hair slid over her shoulder like melted butter poured from a jug.
“You enjoy enabling women, don’t you?”

“I do. It makes me feel good.”

“Do you consider yourself a feminist?”

She studied him, her expression curious.
“Depends what you mean by that. It’s come to mean someone who thinks women are
better than men, and who seeks to punish them for having a penis. In its true
sense, it means someone who believes in equality for women. Culturally,
economically, politically, socially… So yes. I consider myself a feminist in
that way.” Her eyes appraised him. “What was her name?”

“Whose name?”

“Your ex. The one who didn’t like men.”

He’d never felt like this before—as if he were
made of glass and all his thoughts were visible whirling around in his head.
Over the past few years, he’d erected a barrier around himself that very few
were allowed to see behind, and it was bizarre to find it suddenly transparent.

Should he answer her? He decided to
sidestep. “What makes you think I had an ex who didn’t like men?”

She considered the question seriously.
“Something in your eyes. Wariness, hurt. I make up stories about people in my
head—it’s a habit.”

“So what would my story be?”

She sucked her bottom lip for a moment.
“Her strength and independence attracted you in the first place. You appreciate
the difficulties that women can have gaining equality, and you were proud to
have a girlfriend who stood up for her sex, maybe even campaigned for women’s
rights. But over time, you came to resent the way she made you feel privileged,
as if you should constantly apologize for being male. That’s because… you come
from a poor background. You’ve worked hard for everything you’ve achieved, and
you’ve been given nothing, so you didn’t appreciate being made to feel that
you’d gotten to the top because you’re a man. What once attracted you to her
began to annoy you, and that made you feel bad because you believe in equality
yourself, and yet you felt resentful that she’d gotten where she was by being a
woman. It shouldn’t matter. It should be irrelevant. That’s true equality—everyone
being on the same playing field and being judged by their talents, not their
gender, color, or religion. She’s the one who broke it off, but you were
relieved when it happened.”

He stared at her. It was so close to the
truth that it gave him the shivers. But he wasn’t about to admit that to her.
“So how did you come up with this piece of fiction?” he asked, linking his
fingers and trying to appear relaxed, even though his heart banged away against
his ribs.

She laughed. “Just like your coin trick,
it’s not magic. You’re working as a PA—clearly you believe in equality. You’re
respectful to women. But when someone asks a question, it can be as revealing
as the answer to it. Your query about whether I consider myself a feminist and
the wariness in your eyes told me you were worried I’d say yes, which means
you’d met someone who’d made you uneasy about feminism. It could have been a
sister, but the fact that you’re a good-looking, decent guy who’s still single
at thirty-one suggests it was an ex.”

“And the poor background?”

“That was a guess, but resentment toward
her makes more sense if that was the case.”

“And the fact that the ex broke up with
me?”

Callie tipped her head to the side. “You
seem sad, but not angry. Maybe in time, you would have left her, but she
obviously sensed what was coming and took the leap first, and ultimately you
were relieved she did. Although…” Her expression softened. “The sadness is
deep. You used to smile a lot, but you don’t so much now. Something happened to
you that made you look at life differently. You have more scars inside than
outside. Was that your ex? I think maybe not. It was something—or someone—else.”

Her blue eyes held him captive. Neve had
been right—there was something exceptional about this woman. He’d never met
anyone like her. Her insightfulness stunned him, and made him uneasy in equal
measure. He relied on his barriers and his aloofness—they were an exoskeleton
that kept him standing upright, and if she took them away, he was sure he’d
collapse to the ground in a heap.

Callie smiled, obviously aware he wasn’t
going to reply. “Maybe I should write detective stories.”

“Maybe you should.”

Chuckling, she looked down, turning his
notepad toward her. He always wrote in shorthand, and the page was covered with
neat lines and loops. She ran her finger across the lines. “It’s so strange—it’s
like another language, like Arabic or Japanese, with all these symbols. What
system is it?”

“Teeline.”

“I think Becky uses Pitman.”

“Pitman is one of the oldest systems. In
the US, they tend to use Gregg. New Zealand journalists are taught Teeline,
though, and it’s the recommended system for the National Council for the
Training of Journalists, which is why I use it.”

“Write my name for me.”

He picked up a pen and did so, a small ‘c’
with a long ‘l’ and a little line for the ‘ee’ sound at the end. Then a tiny
circle for the ‘s’, followed by a long arc for the ‘mer’ sound. “Callie
Summer,” he said.