Dispute Resolution

Chapter Four

Gray slammed the paper down on his desk. He had just finished reading the Monday morning edition of The Daily Times and he decided it was a bad look when the CEO's mother received bad press about her choice of outfit to a charity ball that she largely supported.

"Lina, get Ms Sinclair in here now," he yelled down the receiver of his phone.

"Right away, sir." Several minutes later Lina buzzed back. "She'll be here in ten."

"Excellent work as always, Lina. Bring her in the moment she arrives," he said, forcing himself to calm down.

There was no point yelling at his P.A. Especially one as capable as Lina. Thankfully, she had a way of absorbing his anger, knowing instinctively it wasn't directed at her. It was rare that his anger shot to the surface anyway. Ten minutes later Lina's face appeared in the doorway to his office as promised.

"Ms Sinclair is here," she announced and opened the doors wide to let her in. At least she had the good sense to look contrite.

"Explain," he barked at her once the doors were closed again, tossing the offending article in front of her across the desk where they were both now seated.

"I stand by my words," Quinn said.

Gray laughed as a surge of anger mixed with something else- excitement/adrenalin/lust, shot through him and he'd realised then just how much he'd been looking forward to his next encounter with Quinn Sinclair.

"Brave," he said shrugging his shoulders, "or suicidal. Have you forgotten I'm just looking for an excuse to get rid of you?"

"Hardly, but you can't fire me for this. It's not like I've fabricated the photo or made up information," Quinn said.

There was an accusation in there and he clenched his fist where it rested on the top of his desk. She'd gotten to him and Gray realised by the triumphant look on her face, she knew it. He shot her his most homicidal expression.

"You'd better have a damage control plan in place," he said.

"Fashion is subjective. It depends on your opinion." She folded her arms defiantly as she spoke.

"Really? You've been a fashion reporter for all of two days and now you're an expert?"

"I'm a woman, aren't I?" she said, using the very same words he'd used against in their first meeting.

Gray said nothing, just pressed his lips together, which, if her shrinking demeanour was anything to go by, seemed to rattle her more than when he verbalised his anger toward her. Interesting, he thought.

"The photo was passed around to all of the fashion journalists, just like every other photo," she pressed on. "A consensus was passed that your mother had committed a major fashion faux pas in her choice of dress. She is a beautiful woman, but the dress she chose would be more suitable for a twenty-one-year-old, not a sixty-something matriarch."

Gray looked at her speculatively and he couldn't help but notice what Quinn was wearing. A navy blue A-line dress today, the same colour as his suit. Why did she have to look so pretty? It made it hard for him to remain angry and he found himself softening a little.

"My mother is a highly respected lady, she moves in high society and has a reputation to uphold," he said, finding his resolve once more. "The next time you have to do a fashion profile on her, at least make it impartial and that's a directive."

"Whatever happened to freedom of speech?"

"Please," he said, trying his best to sound bored. "It's a fashion article. It's not like you're reporting on the war in Afghanistan."