S H A D E S

The Merger

"Mr. Shade is ready for you."

I adjusted the lines of my skirt, a deep and powerful red to match the trim little blazer cut high on my waist. I wanted this meeting to be quick, efficient, and for the man on the other side of the desk to know that while I may be backed into a corner, Laura Pierce was no push over.

Far as I was concerned, this was still my company, and the man waiting for me in the boardroom was an intruder. An enemy crossing into my turf. It galled me enough that I, not only had been summoned, but also had to wait for him to be ready to receive me. In my own conference room, no less.

But I had my game face on, and wasn't about to let it crack.

I smiled at the receptionist, a tidy little blonde with a soft, competent look about her. The sort of assistant that could serve coffee and compliments with a smile to a room full of men and just be complacent with her station in life.

I tried not to pity her; it's not in my nature to sympathize with the under achieving. Or the weak. But I'd been off my game lately. Standing on the precipice of losing a fortune five hundred company to the only other conglomerate in the U.S. big enough to take me on was bound to dull my edge.

I stood outside the doors, wide panels of exotic Brazil wood polished to a ruthless gleam. I gathered myself, my breath and my wits, before I pushed them open. He stood before the bank of windows. Framed by the glass and the imposing backdrop of New York, the sky a wash of clouds knit so close together not a scrap of blue was visible. I'd been in this room countless times, but had never found the scene quite so engaging or impressive as I did now. The monochromatic spread should have been unassuming, but with him, I lost my breath. My tread.

And almost—almost—stumbled.

He turned at the sound of my clacking heels against cool, pale white marble. Sleek waves of hair, a shade of deep gold women would have paid a fortune to possess. Just a little long, giving him a rakish edge to his business charm. Hands tucked into his slacks, dressed in a tailored grey suit, butter soft leather shoes of gleaming, ruthless black and a crisp white shirt—no tie. Put together and corporate, but casually so. Arrogantly so. Probably trying to send a message, I thought, just as I had by selecting red.

He smiled but those chilling silver eyes didn't warm with the gesture; oh they burned, to be sure. I felt the scorching heat of them blister my skin, and hated how he so effortlessly worked his way beneath to touch me where not many have.

"Ms. Pierce, how lovely to see you again." His voice rolled over me, deep and masculine. The tone all smoke and granite, thickened with an accent that was not quite cultured London, and not quite his native Irish, but somewhere between the two. And undeniably sexy. If a voice could trigger an orgasm, his certainly would.

"I'd like to say it's mutual," I replied. Leaving the rest to unspoken. Amused in the face of my displeasure, Tristan only smiled.

"Shall we?" He gestured towards the stretch of the conference room table that lay between us like a sea of gleaming stone. Of which variety, I couldn't be sure, but the color was a deep and unyielding grey. A fraction or so on the verge of black. His face reflected in the surface with almost perfect clarity.

He took the head of the table. As he was here to pull the rug out from under me, I guess it was only appropriate he staked his claim on my territory. Rather than challenge him for it, I opted for a seat to his right, leaving one or two spaced between us. I needed to create distance. Boundaries. But the closer I got, the more my skin hummed and burned with the wicked thrill of just being in the same room as Tristan Shade.

Bigger, I thought, assessing the broad stretch of shoulders encased in tailored wool. Definitely bigger then I remembered, perhaps from spending added time in the gym. Had he always been this impressive, I wondered? Or was I just late to the game?