Talking Dirty with the CEO - By Jackie Ashenden Page 0,11
harbor. With minimalist furniture that looked very expensive. Not to mention uncomfortable. The cheerful clutter of her own apartment looked like a garbage dump in comparison.
She stood in the lounge gazing around wide-eyed while Joseph disappeared into the kitchen to get drinks. There were paintings on the wall, abstracts mostly, but one she recognized. It looked like one by New Zealand’s foremost painter, and his paintings were worth close to a million dollars. She edged up to it, not wanting to get too close in case breathing on it was a bad thing. It was an original, not a print. Obviously Joseph-Whoever-He-Was wasn’t short of money.
She glanced in the direction of the kitchen. So who in fact was he? He’d seemed kind of familiar in some way though she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. Then again, did she really want to know? Finding out who he was would shatter the whole anonymity thing they had going on here, and she didn’t want to do that.
It was nice being Naughtygirl. Easier somehow. Meant she didn’t have to talk about herself, and let’s face it, that was a relief. People either got her interest in gadgets and computers or they didn’t. And when they didn’t, they really didn’t. Plus she’d also have to confess that this date was research for an article on dating and she didn’t want to have to do that, either.
It’s not research now, though, is it?
No, it wasn’t. She wasn’t here for just for Ben anymore. She was here for herself, too.
Taking another scan around the apartment, her attention snagged on the stereo unit against one wall. Something sleek and white and seriously sexy.
Her eyes widened. Was that a Karlsson Series 6?
One of the guys at the magazine had gotten the chance to review a Karlsson a couple of months ago and had raved about it. Everyone else, Christie included, had been full of tech envy. The brand was just about the best in the world. Not something you could pick up for a couple of hundred dollars at your local appliance shop. The receiver alone cost thousands.
Christie crossed the room and bent to examine it. Oh yeah, it was a Karlsson all right. Beautiful. She reached out a hand.
“Please don’t touch that.”
Christie frowned. Her hand dropped and she turned around.
Joseph stood just behind her, carrying a couple of glasses of wine. “It’s a very expensive stereo.”
“Hey, I get it.” She straightened. “A Karlsson Series 6. Voted hi-fi system of the decade by Pure Tone magazine last year. Currently delivers one of the lowest levels of distortion ever recorded. It has sixteen separate transformers, high-speed rectifiers, also ultra-low filtering impedance capacitors. Essentially its excess noise cancellation abilities are the best in the world. Only twenty were ever made and it’s now a collector’s item.”
He stared at her as if she’d just grown another head. “I guess you’ve seen one before, then.”
Christie grinned at him. “Are you kidding me? I love stereos.”
Unexpectedly, Joseph grinned back. “So do I.”
And for a second a small moment of connection passed between them. A moment when they weren’t anonymous strangers who’d met in a chat room. A moment when they understood each other as if they’d known each other for years.
“You want to know something?” He put the glasses down on a nearby coffee table. “You’re the first woman I’ve had here who’s even noticed my stereo.”
“Oh, uh, really?” Discomfort twisted inside her, the moment of connection fading. Perhaps because it made her think about just what kind of women a guy like him dated.
Supermodels probably. Or rich heiresses.
Or blonde ad executives if you’re Greg.
Definitely not geek girls who found dates in online game forums.
Christie swallowed. A lump of something heavy sat on her chest and she felt sick.
Joseph frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yup,” she said, lying like a rug. “Um, c-can I use your bathroom for a sec?” She wasn’t running away. Not at all. She just needed some space.
“Sure. Down the hallway on your left.”
Christie walked down the hallway, trying to calm the sick feeling.
This was crazy. Where had this awful discomfort come from? It didn’t make any sense.
The bathroom was a temple to hygiene, all pristine white tiles and chrome fittings, but she barely noticed, the heavy thing sitting in the center of her chest getting heavier.
Crossing over to the vanity, she put her hands on the marble and closed her eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths.
God, who was she kidding? She wasn’t Naughtygirl. She wasn’t naughty in