One Weekend with the Billionaire novel Chapter 15

The entire ride to the office, I am nervous. Mr. Springer attempts to make polite conversation, but I can barely say more than, "Yes," or "no," because I am so preoccupied trying to figure out what is going on.

We arrive at the building, and he escorts me up to the floor I know Jeff works on. Not that I’ve ever been here before. Jeff will probably be outraged when he finds out I am here now, regardless of what he may have told Mr. Merriweather. I go along, though. What else can I do?

Seeing Cindy’s friendly smile has me slightly at ease. My eyes are focused on her, not on the myriad of other faces I’ve seen as I come into the workspace. I had been searching for Jeff but did not see him. Now, as she greets me, I smile and return her embrace. Then, she calls to let Mr. Merriweather know I have arrived, and my stomach twists into knots. What could he possibly want?

Mr. Springer gives me a reassuring nod as I hear Braxton’s voice on the speaker acknowledging that he is waiting for me. We walk to an opulent door made of thick wood I think might be cherry, and Mr. Springer knocks.

"Come in." Mr. Merriweather’s voice is soft through the thick wood either because he has not shouted or because the door is an impressive barrier. Maybe both.

We walk inside, and I am in the most lavish office I could ever imagine, but my eyes barely register the expansive view of the office, as well as the cityscape out the large windows, the beautiful plants, the fine furniture, including a large desk, conference table, and sofa. No, my eyes don’t take in any of those things in detail because I am transfixed by the man in the expensive dark suit leaning against the desk.

He looks even more handsome now than he did at the party. I’m not sure how that’s possible. Perhaps it is because he is in his element, in his office, where all of these people are doing his bidding, doing exactly what he tells them to do. I have no idea what that must be like. I can’t get anyone to do what I ask them to do, let alone what I command.

"Thank you, Springer," Mr. Merriweather says. "I would like for you to stay."

"Of course, sir," Mr. Springer says. He moves to a chair across the room near the window that overlooks a busy city street. He is here but not here; a witness to whatever is about to transpire but not present in the sense that he will be a part of it. I swallow hard, not sure what to do, what to say.

"Julia, you look lovely. As always," Mr. Merriweather says, his eyes wandering from the top of my head to the bottom of my shoes.

"Thank you," I say, folding my hands in front of me and interlacing my fingers. I am second guessing my dress, my shoes, my earrings….

"Can I get you anything? Something to drink, perhaps?"

"No, thank you," I assure him. I could actually use some water, but I’m too perplexed to realize that.

He raises an eyebrow at me, reading my mind, and then steps over to a small refrigerator on the other side of his desk and takes out a bottle of water. He closes the distance between us quickly, the bottle extended.

My fingertips graze his as I take it, not sure what to say. "Thank you," comes out naturally enough as a shock of electricity tingles up my arm.

He smiles as I fumble with the lid. "Would you like to have a seat?" He gestures at the couch, and I notice papers on the coffee table in front of it for the first time.

I take a sip of the water and manage to spill a few droplets down my chin and onto my dress. I am embarrassed and wipe at it, but as quickly as he was there with the water, he produces a tissue from his desk and hands that over as well. My face turns red as I mumble another word of thanks. Jeff is right; I am a klutz.