Pure Feeling

over the edge

It was strange being in SI House under new circumstances. I wasn't heading for the penthouse, or Harry's office, or to the little cafe I liked on the second floor. My destination was much scarier — the forty-ninth floor where a panel sat, taking pitches for The Duchess account from London's best interior designers.

Determined to avoid preferential treatment, I followed protocol and checked into the building at the security desk. I ignored the amused smile on the security guard's face and grabbed my visitor badge with a quick 'thank you' before heading to the lift.

The lift stopped just enough times for me to question my choices. It stopped four times to let people on and off between the ground floor and the forty-ninth floor and with each pause in the journey, my self doubt grew a little more. Had I been stupid to decline Harry's offer of a run down on the panel? Had I been too adventurous with my plans? Had I not been adventurous enough? Were those clam pink velvet chairs really a good idea? Was I out of my depth? I should probably have stuck with residential design.

My phone chimed at the same time the lift dinged for floor forty-nine. I took a deep breath and exited the carriage, trying to pretend that I was confident and calm. I didn't check my phone until I was seated and waiting to be called into the conference room. I intended to switch my phone off and deal with the message later — I had to give myself a pep talk before I went in — but Harry's name was on my screen and I couldn't resist.

One of the panelists had an emergency so I'm sitting in on the pitches. I know it isn't ideal but it's happening. Sorry. x

I switched my phone off without replying. What was there to say to that? 'Don't favour my pitch because I sucked you off in the shower this morning'? Not really appropriate.

I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, counting backwards from ten in a bid to calm myself. No amount of self-encouragement was going to ease my biting nerves; all I could do was try to hide any visible signs that I wasn't completely confident.

I reorganised my fabric samples by texture then colour in a bid to keep my mind occupied. But no matter how many times I smoothed my hand over the luxurious velvet or straightened all the swatches, I couldn't take my mind off facing Harry in the boardroom.

"Miss Ginsberg, if you'd like to follow me, they're ready for you."

I stood without saying a word and followed the receptionist to the boardroom. I was repeating words of encouragement in my head when I came face to face with the panel of six. Seated around an oval table were three men and three women: two I recognised, three I didn't, and one I knew intimately.

Harry took my breath away. Seated at the head of the table, he oozed masculinity and power. I'd watched him get dressed that morning but his navy suit looked different. Harry was carrying himself with the same confident air he always did, but unlike this morning, he wasn't leaning over to kiss me. The suit looked different on the CEO seated on a panel.

All eyes were on me as I set my materials down on the empty end of the table and started to arrange everything in the order I needed it. When everything was in place, I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. Feeling more comfortable, I looked up.

I don't remember much about the meeting after that.

The moment I raised my head, my eyes locked with Harry's. Standing at the other end of the long table did nothing to lessen the chemistry that constantly sparked between us. Being captured by Harry's gaze was like looking down the barrel of a gun — my attention could not shift elsewhere.

When I stepped out of the boardroom, relief washed over me. I wanted to sink down on the floor and have a nap, but I forced myself to put one foot in front of the other until I was in the safety of the lift. My pulse was racing — the rush of what had transpired with Harry in that room and surviving my first big commercial pitch had my head spinning.