It Just Might Destroy Them Both

This was a gigantic mistake.

That was Ivy Spellman’s very first thought as she sat down in the freezing cold conference room and waited for orientation to start. 

There were approximately thirty temps all watching the front of the room, where Cullen Sharpe, CEO, stood in his perfect dark suit, his eyes scanning the group as if he was evaluating them and finding them lacking already.

This was a man who wouldn’t be denied anything and everything he wanted.  He was, to put it plainly, stunningly handsome, but not in the superficial sense. 

He was complex, Ivy decided almost immediately. 

His eyes were intense and he had an animal magnetism and presence that was like nothing she’d ever come across.

Tall and broad-shouldered, his straight dark hair was styled perfectly, sweeping over his brow in a controlled way, as if it had been set in place by an engineer.  His chin was long and square, cheekbones prominent.

The man’s black suit was immaculate, with nary a wrinkle or a speck of lint, even under the unforgiving bright overhead lights that made everyone else look slovenly and blotchy by comparison.

Ivy had mistakenly taken a seat in the front row and was now directly in his line of fire.  His cold blue eyes were as gorgeous and frozen as the Alaskan tundra. 

 “As most of you are aware,” he finally began, “I’m the founder and CEO of Biomatrix Pharma.”  He smiled coolly, without feeling.  “You might be wondering why I’m here when surely there are others who could be talking in my place.  And there’s a very simple reason for my being with you right now instead of attending to more pressing matters.” 

Cullen Sharpe stopped, having noticed that his silver cufflink was slightly crooked.  He adjusted it with one efficient tug of his perfectly manicured fingers, before looking at the group once more.  “I’m here because I’m involved in every single detail of this company.  There is nothing—and I mean nothing—too insignificant to escape my attention.”

Upon saying this, the CEO’s eyes fixed on Ivy, locked on her with such intensity that she nearly flinched.

Why is he staring at me?

Ivy wanted to swallow, but was afraid of the loud gulping noise that was sure to result.  Her throat was dry and you could hear a pin drop in the room.

Finally, Cullen Sharpe’s piercing gaze moved away from her, as he turned and walked gracefully to the table in the front of the room where some refreshments were located and poured himself a cup of water.  He took a small sip while everyone watched his every move and waited to see what the magnetic individual would say next.

Unlike most people who spoke in front of groups, Cullen Sharpe didn’t seem to care if he entertained or engaged them.  He wasn’t trying to make them laugh, and he didn’t seem to mind making them wait either.

Around her, she could smell the sweat and desperation of her coworkers beneath their perfume and cologne and brand new office wear.  She was sweating in the cold room just like everyone else, making her even colder. 

Why didn’t I sit in the back?   

Sitting in the front row was an old habit left over from her school days. From kindergarten through her final year of college, Ivy had always been the quiet, mousy student that sat in the first row, put her head down, took good notes and got good grades.