Lorelei James - Bound

“Thank you.” Amery hoisted her heavy portfolio again.

On the eleventh floor Amery didn’t have to guess who’d been tasked to escort her. The man standing just outside the elevator bay could’ve passed as a sumo wrestler.

His eyes met hers and his face was devoid of expression. “Ms. Hardwick. She has requested you meet her in the penthouse suite.”

Penthouse? Sweet. She kept cool. “That will be fine.”

Sumo Guy punched the elevator button. Inside the car, he swiped his key card and poked the code for the top floor.

Amery studied his thick neck and broad shoulders. For the sheer size of him, his body held that same stillness that surrounded Ronin. She wondered if eighth-degree black belt Master Black could take down a sumo wrestler in hand-to-hand fighting. She bit back a smile. Talk about an interesting conversation starter.

Her escort didn’t face her when the elevator doors opened to the penthouse. He cut down a short hallway to a set of double doors, knocking twice before entering.

She followed even when she wanted to gawk at the carved marble columns, vivid artwork adorning the linen-covered walls, and the domed glass ceiling over the entryway.

“Jesus, Amery, don’t act like such a rube.”

Nice timing for a memory of Tyler’s snotty voice, but it did the trick, snapping her professional persona back into place.

They entered a small conference room with a large table in the center. The front wall was composed entirely of glass and faced the Rocky Mountains. A slender woman stood in front of the windows with her back to them.

She appeared to be Amery’s height. Hair as glossy as polished ebony fell in a straight line to her hips.

Sumo Guy said, “Do you require anything else, Madame Hirano?”

“No. Thank you, Jenko.”

He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Amery didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She definitely felt like a lesser being as she waited for Madame Hirano to acknowledge her.

Finally the woman spoke. “I’m Hirano Shiori from Okada Foods. I apologize for what must seem like rude behavior. I arrived from Tokyo a few hours ago. The difference in altitude has given me a vicious migraine.”

“I’m sorry. Would you prefer to reschedule?”

Ms. Hirano turned and offered a wan smile. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. So you’ll have to forgive me for wearing sunglasses indoors. But they help with the light sensitivity.”

“No problem. I once had a client wear a kilt and a bagpipe and speak in a Scottish brogue during our meeting. I’m used to dealing with eccentricities in this business.”

“Good to know. Please have a seat.”

When Ms. Hirano walked to the conference table, Amery admired her business attire. Cream silk pants and an embroidered tunic that managed to be sleek and trendy. Killer shoes. She carried herself with grace, which only accentuated the overall impression of beauty and power.

After she’d glided into a high-backed chair, she said, “Shall I order tea or coffee?”

“None for me, thanks.” Amery began pulling folders out of her bag and extreme nerves made her babble. “I’ll admit I got a little overzealous with this project. I created several designs that keep the Okada Food logo prominent, but I didn’t study your existing product lines too much since you’re looking for a fresh approach. I also—”

“Ms. Hardwick. Please slow down. And sit down. You don’t have to start your pitch within five minutes of walking in.” Ms. Hirano waited until Amery dropped into a chair. Then she picked up the phone and spoke rapidly in Japanese. After she returned the receiver to the cradle, she said, “They’ll bring us refreshments shortly. I’m a few cups short on my daily tea intake.”

Amery forced her hands into her lap, away from the urge to shuffle the folders. “I’ll probably forgo the caffeine.”

One pencil-thin eyebrow rose above the sunglasses frame. “Are you always so energetic, Ms. Hardwick?”

“Yes. And please call me Amery.”

“So, I’m curious, Amery, as to how you ended up running your own graphic design business.”

“You sound as if that’s a novelty.”

“Perhaps. Small American businesses fascinate me. Especially businesses with a woman at the helm.”

Grateful for the chance to discuss her work, Amery shared the abbreviated version of her career. She finished just as two raps sounded on the door and Sumo Guy rolled in a cart loaded with pastries, fruit, and beverages.

“Help yourself to whatever you’d like.” She paused. “Or would you prefer to have Jenko serve you?”

The slight stiffening of Jenko’s shoulders indicated he wouldn’t be down with that at all.

“I can serve myself, thank you.”

Ms. Hirano lifted a slim shoulder and spoke to Jenko in Japanese. Amery and Jenko stood side by side as he filled his boss’s plate and she arranged hers. She opted for a nonalcoholic mimosa—orange juice with a splash of 7up.

When she returned to her seat, she felt the woman staring at her.

“While we’re taking a break, tell me about yourself. What you do outside of work for fun.”

This was getting weirder, but maybe it was a Japanese thing, so Amery played along. Talking about her interests and her friends without giving too much away was much harder than she imagined.

Ms. Hirano sliced a chunk of mango and speared it with her fork. “You’re not in a relationship?”

She stomped down the urge to snap none of your damn business and can we please keep this focused on business? The thing between her and Ronin wasn’t the type of relationship she could explain. Amery wet her suddenly dry lips. “No. I’m currently single.”

“A woman who likes to play the field. I admire that.”

But that wasn’t what Amery had said. This woman had twisted her words and Amery heard another alarm bell go off.

Another bout of silence fell.

Something wasn’t right. Amery continued to covertly scrutinize the woman, but big round lenses kept more than half of her features hidden.

Why was she playing so coy? Why had she started asking such personal questions? Why had Amery sensed a thread of hostility coming from her?

An odd thought clicked into place. Could this woman be Ronin’s ex, Naomi? Kiki had warned Ronin that Naomi would be returning to Denver soon.

Her stomach pitched. She tried to remember if she’d been contacted by Maggie at Okada Foods before or after the run-in with Naomi’s friend. Which brought her back to her original question: why had an international Japanese food conglomerate requested Amery’s small company to prepare designs for a new major campaign? Then after a few weeks of clandestine phone calls and secretly working on project specs, she was invited to a last-minute meeting with the company’s VP, not her usual Okada contact? A business meeting, which takes place in a private suite? A meeting in which they’d not discussed business at all, but the VP had grilled Amery on her personal life?

This was total bullshit.

“Is there a problem?” Ms. Hirano asked.

“Yes.” Amery hoped she wasn’t making a mistake. “Who are you really?”

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you? This last-minute meeting with the company bigwig doesn’t make sense. Neither does the fact that none of your other business associates are here except for Jenko, who I’m assuming is your bodyguard since he didn’t seem comfortable serving tea. And there’s the fact that you can’t even deign to look me in the eye. So you can understand why I’d be concerned this is some sort of scam.”

“I assure you Okada Foods Conglomerate is not a scam.”

“I know that. I did my research. I’m saying your being here doesn’t make any sense and I wonder what you really want from me.”