CHAPTER 9: The Lion's Den

The 42nd floor, Calvin's territory, didn't just feel like a higher elevation; it felt like a different atmosphere entirely.

She stood before the oak doors, her knuckles poised to knock. Her reflection in the polished wood showed a woman who looked composed, but inside, Penelope was a frantic blur of "what-ifs."

Knock. Knock.

"Enter."

The word was a command and Penelope pushed the door open.

Calvin’s office was a masterpiece of cold, masculine power. Huge spans of glass showcased the city, but the interior was all shadows and sharp angles. Calvin was silhouetted against the light, standing with his back to her, staring out at the horizon. He didn't turn around.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said hurriedly.

“Good morning, Adams. I'm sure you were told why you are here?”

She gulped, “Yes I was.“

"Good. The measurements for the lounge area are in the folder," Calvin said and Penelope nodded.

Her voice sounded small in the vast room. "I’ll start with the north wall and stay out of your way, Mr. Dawson."

Wait.

Why the hell did she say that?!

"The north wall is fine," Calvin said, his voice low. "But you’re already in my way, Ms. Adams. You’ve been in my way since this morning."

Penelope froze, her metal measuring tape clicking loudly as it retracted. "I don’t follow."

Finally, he turned. The sunlight hit his face, highlighting the harsh, beautiful lines of his features. Penelope couldn't help the flutter her heart just made. Stupid heart.

"You’re trembling. Again," he observed, his eyes tracking the slight shake in her hands.

"It’s a big project," she lied, moving toward the far wall. "High stakes and all. I want to do a good job."

God. Why was he so attentive?

Oh, she forgot. He was Calvin Dawson.

"Is that all?" He began to walk toward her, his steps slow and calculative, and Penelope turned alarmed.

“Because you look like you’re waiting for a blow to land. Or perhaps... waiting for me to say something."

Penelope turned her back to him, pressing the tape measure against the cold glass of the window. "I'm just here to design the space, sir. I’m sure you’re a busy man.”

"I am a very busy man, yes. And yet, I spent twenty minutes this morning looking at your HR file."

Penelope’s heart skipped a beat. Why was he rereading her file? Did he notice something off?

She bit her cheek in apprehension.

"It says you moved here from a small town in Georgia two years ago," Calvin continued, now standing only a few feet behind her. She could smell him now, more intoxicating up close, “Six years ago, you dropped out of college.”

"Right around the time I was leaving for Dubai,” he hummed.

Her heart backflipped, side-flipped, front-flipped and centre-flipped. What was he implying?!

"People move all the time, Mr. Dawson," she said, adjusting her shirt’s sleeve to fake she was busy.

"They do."

He stepped closer. Why did he keep coming closer?! She could feel the heat radiating from him, and her head felt like spinning.

"But most designers don't look at me as if I’m a ghost. And most designers don't have eyes that look like they’re hiding a crime."

Penelope spun around, her back hitting the window. "I'm not hiding anything. If you’re unhappy with my portfolio—"

"I didn't say I was unhappy." He reached out, his hand hovering near her face. For a second, she thought he would touch her, but he merely braced his hand against the window behind her, effectively pinning her in place.

"I said I was curious. You have a very familiar way of breathing, Adams. Shallow and fast. Like someone who’s about to run."

Well, whose fault was it?

He leaned in, his face inches from hers and Penny gasped. W-what was he doing?!

The mask of the "Professional CEO" slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of the raw, intense hunger she remembered from that hotel room. She gulped and her breaths turned labored.

"So innocent and shy. Have we met before, Penelope?" he whispered.

Penelope looked up into those amber eyes – Shirley’s eyes – and for a terrifying moment, the truth was on the tip of her tongue.

"No," she breathed, the lie tasting like ash. "Never. Or if we can count the interview day.”

Calvin stared at her for a long, agonizing beat. His gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes, which skyrocketed her pulse. He didn't move, nor did he let her go.

For a moment, Penelope wondered if he had remembered and she turned flustered.

Then, his desk phone buzzed, shattering the tension like a stone through glass.

Calvin stepped back instantly, the cold mask snapping back into place. "Get to work, Ms. Adams. I expect the first sketches by tomorrow morning. Don't disappoint me."

He turned his back on her before she could even answer. Penelope practically fled to the other side of the room, her lungs gasping for the air he had just stolen.

How long would she be able to bear this? His commanding presence, sexy eyes and voice?

And why the hell was she thinking of that?!

She needed to be calm, yes. She shouldn't forget. Three months, and she runs.

She had survived the first encounter. But as she pulled out her sketchbook, she realized her hands weren't just shaking anymore. They were vibrating.

She wasn't just designing an office. She was building a cage, and she was trapped inside it with him.

She was here in the lion's den and something told her. This was just the beginning. She bit her lip gripping her sketchbook and tape.

She shouldn't have taken this job.

Damn Demi! Why did she convince her?

Damn her life! Why did it make her so desperate?

And damn Calvin Dawson! Why did he have to come into her life?!

"Penelope... did you just say something?"

She heard his voice behind her and she froze.