Dare She Stay — Chapter 2
The first encounter of who knows what kind
First Encounters
Three hours later, Stormee steered her new car into a parking slot in front of a four-storied, steel-and-glass building. After locking the door, she paused to admire the car’s celery-green color and stroked the curving fender. The small but shiny vehicle symbolized luxury on a grand scale after having driven her Nana’s old clunker for the last five years. Despite her sensitive conscience, she’d turned the old car over to Big Bubba’s Salvage Yard. Not a humane ending, but the two hundred and fifty dollar check received in return soothed the worst twinges of conscience.
No breeze stirred to relieve the oppressive heat as she walked along the cobblestone path past a large slate sign. If the building’s owner intended the office complex to blend with the setting, he’d failed. Its sober simplicity commanded attention. Equivalent to a concrete cube amongst a bed of roses, the structure dominated the environment.
If nothing else, the architecture gave Stormee a means of evaluating the owner’s personality — that is, until she entered his domain. The unexpected interior shattered her assumptions. Every inch of the reception foyer flourished with flowering flora, accompanied by a variety of trees, some reaching three stories toward the glass ceiling. Her earlier perspective of the man she was to interview, a rogue mercenary, didn’t fit the botanical oasis of her surroundings. She’d never expected to find a mini rain forest inside a concrete block. Either the designer was bi-polar, or the building’s owner intended to bewilder those who entered his territory.
A few feet inside, a footbridge spanned a stream babbling its way across the expansive lobby. She followed the yellow tiled path over the bridge and found the receptionist on the other side discreetly curtained off from the main atrium by full-grown banana plants. The statuesque woman with shoulder-length blonde hair greeted her with a warm smile.
“You must be Stormee Waters. Welcome to Strike Force.”
“Thank you. I have an appointment with Mr. Savage,” Stormee said with only a small crack in her voice.
“He is expecting you. Please follow me.”
The gentle swing of the receptionist’s hand toward an arched opening in the wall behind her desk presented the perfect invitation. The woman’s elegance and poise suggested she was someone very important, yet her graciousness set others at ease.
What's with this decor?
If Mr. Savage requires this level of sophistication in his female employees, what would he expect from a woman he kept at his side? No ordinary woman would do, that was for sure…
Stormee tucked the thought away until she could add it to her notebook and followed the woman’s unhurried pace through a hall designed to resemble the inside of a grotto. Water trickled down the jagged rocky walls to pool under the transparent flooring. Underwater lights displayed a variety of colorful fish swimming under her feet. Will Mr. Savage’s office resemble Tarzan’s treehouse? She covered her lips with two fingers just in time to stifle an impolite giggle.
The receptionist paused before a set of solid steel doors marked “private” and pushed a button on the intercom panel on the wall.
Stormee expected to hear a welcoming voice, instead, the heavy door panels retracted into the wall, leaving a big, silent opening.
“Mr. Savage will see you now.”
The woman’s graceful hand gesture reminded Stormee of a fairy extending a magical wand. After the receptionist departed, Stormee hesitated before the opening, goosebumps covering her arms. Shoving an unwanted case of the jitters to the back of her mind, she stepped through the gap into an outside patio with more fauna and fountains. The ceiling fans and misters kept the day’s 103-degree outdoor temperature unbelievably comfortable.
She flinched as the steel doors closed behind her with the finality of a prison lockup. Kidnapping and detainment were not normal procedures in an interview, so why did all her senses scream entrapment? She chalked up the silly thought to her over-active imagination and scanned the area for Mr. Savage.
The man she’d come to see stood behind a bar in the far right corner. The fact that he’d watched her gawk like a schoolgirl at his surroundings did nothing for her confidence.
“Come in, Miss. Waters. I was pouring myself an iced tea. Would you care for a glass?” He gestured her forward and extended the offer with an open palm.
In close quarters, he fulfilled the promise of his name. An untamed, predatory glint in his whiskey-brown eyes gave her the usual head-to-toe she’d come to expect from males over the age of fourteen.
His smile showed a degree of amusement as he stepped from behind the bar. With an overlong stride, he ate up the distance between them and stopped within a foot of where she stood.
“Yes, I’d love an iced tea. Thank You.” Not sure what to do next, she shoved her hand forward for the obligatory handshake.
The smallness of her hand wasn’t something she often considered, but when it completely disappeared in his grasp, Stormee’s level of intimidation increased. Equally important, he prolonged the contact, sending tiny tremors spreading from her fingers up her arm. The force with which she removed her hand from his deepened the small wrinkles around his eyes as his expression changed from warm to probing.
She scrambled to keep her sinking composure from dropping through the floor. A handshake — five seconds of tactile sensation should not create this reaction.
She voiced a silent command. Get a grip! You can’t carry on an interview while shaking like Nana’s old washing machine. Now say something that will pass as intelligent.
“Mr. Savage, thank you for talking with me. My readers and I look forward to getting better acquainted with you through this interview.” She offered him a friendly smile and wrapped her fingers around her notebook.
“Please call me Dirk. I hope you won’t mind if I address you as Stormee.”
With the return of his good-natured smile, Stormee relaxed and sighed with relief.
“Your name is somewhat provocative. I can’t keep calling you Miss Waters when the tilt of your chin tells me Stormee is much more accurate.”
Beware the Alpha Male persona
She pressed her open palm against her stomach. Maybe there was something to this alpha male thing, after all, he’d taken control of the conversation, and he wasn’t above using a killer smile to sway her in his direction.
“First names will be just fine.” She kept her voice level, interjecting a cautionary degree of reserve.
With the turn of his hand, he indicated a seating of chairs next to the bar. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll get our drinks.”
He finessed the frosted glasses with the skill of a headwaiter, placing hers on the table next to her chair. After slipping a cocktail napkin under the glass, he selected a seat opposite the one she’d chosen.
He leaned against the back of his chair and lifted his glass to his lips, half emptying the tea inside with three large swallows. “I apologize, Stormee, but a last-minute change in schedule will allow a mere twenty minutes for this interview. I hope this affords you enough time to get the information you need.”
A fraction of her tension melted away. For certain, she could maintain her professionalism for that space of time.
“I’m sure it will, Mr. Savage. Thank you.” She scooted toward the front of her chair, turning her legs a little to the side and resting her feet firmly on the floor. Her note tablet lay comfortably on her lap.
“Please call me Dirk.” He relaxed in his chair, with legs extended.
By retrieving a pen from her purse, she avoided meeting his gaze. “Okay, Dirk. Would you please describe yourself for the benefit of our readers?” His roguish expression bespoke all nature of possibility, but his uncomplicated answer gave a smooth transition into the interview.
“I’m an ordinary man with passable looks and intelligence. Why don’t I leave the rest to you?”
She wrote in haste, using her style of shorthand. Her brain muttered in the background as she scribbled short sentences on her pad. He knows he’s gorgeous, and he’s aware by the nitwitted grin on my face that I’m not immune. Image is of no consequence to him, that isn’t to say he wouldn’t use his assets to secure his own goals.
She bolstered her nerve and, using what she hoped passed for competence, let her eyes take in the whole of him. The width of the shoulders filling out the crisp white shirt he wore with ease sent little ripples skipping along her spine. His hands especially intrigued her. They were beautiful if such a term could be rightly applied to a man. Unblemished, long fingers tanned to the perfect shade of creamed coffee gripped the frosted glass of tea with casual dexterity. How could a modern-day warrior have hands that gave a woman all manner of fanciful thoughts?
She refocused that errant wondering and studied him objectively, taking time to jot down several more descriptive phrases: Over six feet in height with a muscular build and an enviable tan; Precision cut black hair accentuating an autocratic face; Eyes that really did ignite at times. Would other women also be infected with a pesky curiosity as to why?
She cleared her throat and closed her writing pad. “I think I have enough to compliment the photos you’ve allowed us to use.”
Her readers didn’t need to visualize the dimple in his right cheek, nor the armor-piercing grin which could strip a woman of her defenses at first glance. She hoped he wasn’t a mind reader since the same grin now dominated his expression.
“How would you describe your business, Dirk?” She twisted the pen between her fingers.
“I own a company called Strike Force.” He lightly traced a bead of moisture down the side of his glass.
“Is this the same company recently in the news, the one specializing in rescuing hostages and kidnap victims?”
“Yes.”
“Would you categorize this as a dangerous occupation?”
“Training and experience are priorities at Strike Force. No one takes a field position until passing a regimen of vigorous testing. We’ve never had a fatality or serious injury.”
“Who determines what jobs are taken and which operatives are used?”
“I am solely responsible for personnel deployment,” he said, his voice and gaze unwavering. “Since I’m in charge, I accept accountability and never delegate decisions that involve the wellbeing of the people in my team.
Stormee noted the level of authority present in his short but decisive reply and jotted more notes. Alpha Males are always sure they know what is best. A mere woman stands no chance of maintaining her independence with this man.
He straightened in his chair and leaned forward.
His change in demeanor indicated her time had run out and she hurried to end the dialogue. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken to answer my questions. Since you’re on a tight schedule, might we continue this interview at a later date?”
He studied her in silence before making a blunt reply. “I’ll pick you up at 7:30 this evening.”
Had he extended an invitation or a command? “Well — Ah.” She shrugged to hide her confusion.
“Surely, you eat dinner?” He quizzed through lips curved with humor.
“I suppose it’s okay.” She fiddled with the edge of her collar and contemplated the hint of challenge underlying his playful smile.
“Dress casually but bring a wrap. We’ll be dining by the river. He dismissed her with a short command to leave her phone number and address with the receptionist.
Why do I feel as though I’ve been ordered to show up for a duty call? Did Alpha Males assume that women in general deferred to their decisions, or was she just a simple-minded exception?
To be continued…
Dare She Stay — Chapter 3 — https://readmedium.com/dare-she-stay-chapter-3-2c97f7bfb9cd
