Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25822 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Mr. Steele’s eyes follow me as I pass out a sample of lavender soap with an evergreen sprig embedded. Everyone takes a sniff, except Mr. Steele. Instead, he sets his soap aside, and twines his fingers together, placing them on the table in front of him.
“Miss Walters,” he starts, “why don’t you tell us a bit about your soaps.”
“Um, absolutely.” His eyes track the movement of my hand as I push up the purely fashionable glasses slipping down my nose.
I begin my presentation with my backstory, how my grandmother owned her own candle company, and how I experimented with candle making and then became fascinated with soaps. None did everything I wanted. Some smelled sweet, but left my skin feeling dry all over. Others felt great, but had no scents. So, I wanted one that could clean, soothe, moisturize, and smelled like any place I could imagine: the beach, the mountains, clean sheets and a rainy afternoon. The possibilities are endless.
While I hand out a pamphlet on my small business, website, and sales projections, I tell them how I branched off into lotions, Chapstick’s, and bath gels, each handcrafted in my home.
This nugget of information impresses Liv, and she smiles wide. I smile back, knowing I’ve got her on my side. Mr. Steele is another story. His eyes burn into me with the same fire they incinerated me with last night. When I’m done, I finally sit, and squeeze my thighs together to quench the ache inside me.
“This soap smells divine.” Liv takes a long whiff of an oval bar. “What is that?”
“It’s sandalwood. I have so many different scents.” I grab my bag, opening the front pocket to pull out a variety of scent cards and hand them over to her.
Each bar of soap has an original ‘calling card’ scent— coffee beans, ground very fine and a smidge of it put into each bar—which I won’t ever disclose. Kind of like a secret ingredient.
Liv passes the cards to Mr. Steele, and I watch as he brings a card close to his perfect nose. His eyes bore into mine as a small smile graces his lips.
I try so hard not to smile back.
“Can you imprint the company goat logo onto the bar?” Mark inquires after the scent cards are handed to him.
“Absolutely. I can make a stamp, which I can place into each bar upon production.”
Before I can get into numbers, the door opens, and a woman with red hair twirled into a bun on top of her head, enters.
“Mr. Steele, sorry to interrupt, but there’s been some damage from the storm last night.”
“Damage?” He rises from his seat, and I can see my meeting is over now.
“The roads at the base of the mountain are blocked, and they’re not sure when they’ll be able to get them cleared,” she explains.
“What do you mean blocked?” Liv asks with concern, standing.
I grab my bag, and follow everyone out the door.
“The storm created an avalanche on Briar’s Pass, and there’s some downed trees blocking the road,” the woman says.
“Ok, Maggie, do a wellness check on everyone,” Mr. Steele instructs. “Make sure we don’t have any emergencies that need off the mountain immediately. We’re ok on supplies to be holed up here for a few days. Let the guests due to checkout know they won’t be leaving today.”
I trail behind listening as he doles out instructions to call the sheriff and ask for a timeframe on when the roads will be operational. I’m supposed to be at my mom’s at five, so this isn’t going to work for me.
“I won’t be able to stay,” I say, realizing I don’t really have the money to book a cabin for another night.
“Non-negotiable,” he tells me. “Maggie, re-book Miss Walters in her cabin, on us, until the roads are open.”
“Thank you.” I’d love to fight his generosity, but I can’t afford it right now. Plus, I can see this is a battle I’m not going to win. I excuse myself and head back into the conference room to grab my things.
When I turn to leave, Graham leans against the door frame. “I’m sorry we can’t finish your presentation.”
I wave him off, thankful he didn’t bring up our fuckfest. “It’s ok, Mr. Steele.”
“Graham.”
Should it feel weird calling the man I had sex with last night by his first name? “Thank you, Gra- Mr. Steele.”
He leans closer. “I think after last night you can call me by my first name now.”
Avoiding his mention of our tryst, I reach in my bag for a sample of my soap. “Just do me a favor.” I step closer, holding it out. “Try this tonight when you take a shower.”
The left corner of his lips lift into a sexy smirk, as his fingers curl around mine, silently tempting me to join him in the shower for a two-night stand. Even though I’d really love to lather him up and lick his skin dry, I step away.