I'd had a visceral reaction to him when he'd first called me in for a meeting.
What can I say?
I'd been mentally focused on my career for a long time.
And my body decided it wanted a piece of my new boss.
It was never going to happen.
First, because I wasn't a dumbass. This deal could set me up for life, would pad my portfolio, would land me a ton of other high-paying jobs. I would never risk the success I had worked so hard for just when I was on the precipice of getting it.
Secondly, he was—as I was convinced all stupidly handsome, sexy, mega-rich men were—a complete and utter dick.
Now, a certain part of me was maybe attracted to that trait.
But all the other parts of me were repulsed.
"I said tough shit, Mr. Kole," I repeated, lifting my chin, refusing to be intimidated even as he moved closer to tower over me.
I'd always been envious of really tall women. It gave you a level playing field with big men.
I was at my tallest at five-six. In five-inch heels.
"You are going to want to watch the attitude, Miss Welch," he warned in that velvety smooth voice of his. I swear it made me get goosebumps sometimes. Ones that I promptly pretended to ignore or attribute to the glacial temperature of this place.
"You are going to need to temper your expectations, Mr. Kole," I shot back. "You already decided on the headboards. Two weeks ago. They've been ordered. Half of them have arrived. The rooms have been designed around them as they are a prominent feature. This is not a part of the design up for debate at this stage."
"I'm the one signing the checks, so I'm the one deciding what is, or isn't up for debate at any stage of this process."
"Not if you want to open back up on time," I told him, jerking my chin higher as he stalked closer. "Changing the headboards sets us back two weeks. At best. And we all know nothing goes off without a hitch in a project of this scale. The headboards work," I told him, tone firm.
"Show me," he demanded.
The dirty little slut in my mind said I had a lot of things I wanted to show him.
But I told her to keep her damn panties on, and walked him toward the elevator, pressing a manicured nail into the button for the top floor, as we were working our way from the suites down.
The suites, like most of the rooms, had floor-to-ceiling windows that lined two full walls, showing off the views of the city.
The design plan had been for something sleek and upscale that blended into all the grays and blacks of the city below us.
The suite opened up to a sprawling sunken living room with a slate sectional facing the wall where a TV popped out of the cabinet with the press of a button.
He'd already approved the living room. After nit-picking over the art for a week. So long that I lost the original bid on the prints he ended up wanting the most, making it so he had to pay twice as much as he would have if he had just trusted me in the beginning.
"These chairs," he said, waving to the small round tête-à-tête dining space right near the windows, where the guests could sit and drink their coffee, read their paper, while they looked down at the city.
Oh, good lord, no.
"You signed off on the chairs," I reminded him, reaching for my notebook. "I have the signature right here."
Yes, I'd started to resort to making him sign off on every single thing we'd moved into the rooms. Just to avoid him claiming he hadn't been consulted. Like he'd done about the lamps.
Oh, good grief, the lamps.
I wanted to beat him over the head with one of those by the time we were done.
And that was just one of the many issues we'd had since he'd brought me on the team. I understood completely now why everyone else—the contractors, the electrical crew, the plumbers, even the damn painters—avoided Elias Kole like the harbinger of a viral plague.
For the most part, the only ones of us stuck dealing with Kole himself was me and the main contractor, a man by the name of Crete who was every bit as grumpy and arrogant and opinionated as Elias, so he didn't mind the interactions as much. And Elias seemed to respect Crete's words more than mine.
I wanted to believe it was for something other than sexist reasons, but I couldn't put a finger on any other reason for why I got condescension and constant undermining of my work while Crete got a free pass to do whatever he wanted.
Elias looked over at me, his lips twitching up at the side in a way that spoke of amusement. But whether that was at your expense or not was never clear.
"I'm sure you do, Miss Welch," he said, nodding. "I was merely going to point out that it might open the space up more if the set was moved to the other side of the room. Closer to the door where the room service cart would come in."
Damn him.
He was right.
That was possibly the most frustrating part about him.
He was usually right.
I mean, I was too.
The original designs were amazing.
But after he fought with me for some adjustment, it made it perfect.
At this point, I wasn't even sure why he'd bothered to hire me when he had such a good eye himself.
No.
I wasn't going to let myself think that, let old insecurities creep in. I was good at what I did. Exceptional, even. And, soon, everyone in the city in the market for an interior designer would see that as well.
"Miss Welch?"
"Right. I'm making a note," I told him, reaching to do so, mostly to cover the fact that I had been lost in my own mind there for a moment, since there was no way I was going to unsee the wrong placement of that dining set now. "Okay. The bedroom."
"Yes, Miss Welch," he agreed, falling into step beside me. "The bedroom," he added, and I swear his voice slithered over my skin.
Surely, he didn't mean for that to sound as sexy as it did, as darkly promising? Yes, this man managed to promise things... darkly. Apparently, being wealthy, gorgeous, and cocky made you capable of things us mere mortals could only dream of.
Elias had been particular about the suites, knowing that the ultra-rich would not settle for anything less than grand. Which was what the contractors had been around doing. Transforming the eight normal suites into four massive ones.
So the bedrooms were twice the size as they used to be. It was useless space, of course, since there was no reason to have so much space around the king-sized bed, but Elias was going for impressive, not practical.
"See? It works," I told him, waving toward the bed.
I was seriously considering doing something similar in my own bedroom, I liked the finished product so much.
Maybe I'd do less black.
Though, I had to admit, the all black bedding and the black tufted headboard gave the space a sleek, sexy, upscale look.
I wanted to fall into it and sleep for a week.
I'd earned it for dealing with Elias Kole for so long.
"Hm," he said, walking over toward the bed, grabbing the top of the headboard, trying to jiggle it.
"It doesn't give," I told him. "It's screwed to the wall," I added.
"The wood would work as well," he insisted.
"No, it wouldn't."
"And why is that?"
"Because wood is impractical. It scratches and gouges and loses its sheen. It shows its wear quickly. And that is the last thing you want your guests to see."