Counterbalance

"Your last appointment is here, Mr. Gaines."

Xavier glanced from his computer monitor to where his secretary's tinny voice emitted from his desk phone and hit speaker. "Wait five minutes and send her in. Thank you."

"Yes, sir."

Five minutes, and he'd finally have the meeting he'd been waiting weeks for since securing. Longer, if he accounted the past year when he'd last seen her at a charity function. He'd had to hold out for a break in her schedule to even get her to come in, and it had taken a lot of coaxing from his staff to accomplish that much.

Anxious, he shoved from his desk and stood to face the wall of windows in his top floor high rise office in San Francisco's Financial District. Gaines Industries was among many Fortune 500 companies that occupied the clean, angular skyscrapers in the triangular area east of Kearny Street. Dusk was descending, turning the Bay in the distance pink and purple through a haze of fog. Unlike many metropolises where the fiscal wards went quiet after hours, his city's historic financial borough stayed alive with restaurants, bars, cafes, and bakeries. It's what he loved most about living here. Business met pleasure. It had...personality.

The view didn't help to settle his nerves. Tension knotted his gut and, since he was alone, he rubbed the ache. Most would never know that under his thousand dollar suits, he was just a computer geek, struggling to fit in the world. His employees called him "deep freeze" and the media pegged him as a "calculating enigma." Though his company was secure and made millions, it was not the well-oiled machine he'd envisioned and his stock had gone down five percent last quarter. The end of his brief relationship with up-and-coming model, Pamela Squire, hadn't helped his image, either. Nor did the things she'd said about him. Very publicly. That's what he got for marginally trusting someonephrases like a cold-hearted suit and emotionally stinted.

Business he could do. Being social, not so much. Unfortunately, public relations went hand-in-hand with industry.

Which was exactly why he needed Peyton Smoke. It was paramount he get her onboard and in a position to help him, especially with the new government contracts in the works for next month. He couldn't risk his numbers dropping any more, plus his ulcers had ulcers just thinking about the press the deal would generate.

"Miss Smoke to see you, Mr. Gaines."

He turned from the windows to face his secretary, but skimmed right past Fern to...her.

Peyton Smoke had only grown lovelier over time. Aside from a blip of a glance at a benefit last year, he hadn't seen her since high school. Long, champagne blonde hair fell past her shoulders, and she wore a powder blue suit over her slender frame that screamed sexy siren and take no prisoners in one breath. If memory served, and it did, she had cerulean blue eyes behind the black-framed glasses perched on her nose. And her skin was still like that of warm buttermilk with just a hint of peach in her cheeks. She offered a polite smile from her red-as-sin lips, and he snapped his gaze to Fern when his pulse hammered in response.

In her fifties, his secretary's wild brown curls were pinned in messy chaos at the back of her head. Her plain gray pants and blouse ensemble had slipped past his notice all day. The fact he paid attention now, if only to compare her to Peyton's polish, irritated him.

He cleared his throat. "That'll be all, Fern, thank you. Tell the staff they may call it a day."

"Yes, sir." Her gaze ducked to the floor as she stepped out and closed the door.

Most of his employees had a difficult time looking him in the eye. He hardly cared, but it didn't escape Peyton's notice, judging by the lift in her brows when she faced him again.

"Miss Smoke, thank you for coming. Have a seat." He moved to his chair and clasped his hands on his desk in an effort not to fidget. Something he'd worked massively hard at the past few years.

She took a glance around his office before sitting primly in a chair across from him.

He wondered what her first impression was and quickly took in the space trying to look at it from her point of view. He'd hired a decorator a couple years ago, but had given them no direction. Thus, his furniture on the far wall in the sitting area was black leather, the tables wrought iron and glass topped, the carpet a cool gray, and his desk a black walnut. His wall prints were abstract paint splotches of nondescript origin. It probably seemed as frigid and impersonal as the media portrayed him to be.

"It's great to see you again. You've changed a lot." She tapped her temple. "You lost your glasses and I got a pair. You're all grown up now."

Well, a growth spurt in college, followed by hours in the gym and contact lenses, had a way of altering a guy from the scrawny kid who'd been bullied to someone who could hold his own. It hadn't happened overnight but, to her, the differences wouldn't be subtle.

He nodded and focused on her necklace. A tiny key charm hung on a thin gold chain just below the dip of her collarbone. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me." The Xavier Gaines at sixteen hadn't exactly been a boy people noticed unless using him as an outlet to feel more superior.

"Of course, I remember. You got me through calculus, geometry, and algebra unscathed." Her tone was inviting and smooth as the silk white blouse under her jacket. Back then, she had a way of getting people to do whatever she wanted just by wielding her voice.

And, of course, she'd remember math classes. Him, however? He recalled how she'd been the only one to stand up for him or offer him a seat in the cafeteria. Her gumption should've made her a pariah. Instead, she'd been adored. People had a hard time not getting sucked into her orbit.

He clasped his fingers tighter to remind himself not to squirm under her direct gaze. "I'm pretty sure you would've done all right without my help."

The grin she offered stole the air from his lungs. "You don't give yourself enough credit, Mr. IQ off the charts. You sold a software app you developed in a dorm room for fifty million dollars, you're the youngest man to own a Fortune 500 at age twenty-eight, and I do believe you're listed as one of the most eligible bachelors on the west coast. I think it was People Magazine, correct? Said your incredible good looks and brains made up for lack of charm, but the right woman would 'defrost' you one day."

He bit his tongue in annoyance. "Someone did her research."

She tilted her head. "I read the alumni news." Her lips pursed. "And the Wall Street Journal, New York Times, yada." Blink, blink. "So, did you bring me here to catch up or is this a business meeting?"

He got the strangest urge to smile, which was odd because he was usually incredibly uncomfortable around people and he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it. "A little of both, actually." He needed her to say yes to his proposal, and he was getting the impression he wouldn't sway someone like her by having a desk between them. "Do you have plans for dinner?"

She pressed a hand to her breastswhich he tried and failed not to notice had developed since high schooland mock gasped. "Are you asking little ole me out, Mr. Gaines?"

One of the reasons he needed her so badly was this very thingher ability to deem everyone around her more important. In his world, that could make or break a deal. "Call me Xavier, please, and yes. Why don't we discuss the topic over a meal?"

She studied him a careful beat. "That depends. Are we going somewhere fancy where I can't pronounce the menu or are we talking real food?"

Conceding, he allowed a ghost of a smile to faint his lips. The background check specified she spoke fluent German and French, and she could hold a conversation in Italian if the need arose. Language had never been her short side. In high school, she'd had a weakness for English, especially poetry. He'd caught her reading in the library more often than not.

He rose. "We can go wherever you like, Miss Smoke."

"If I'm using your first name, Xavier, you can do me the courtesy of calling me Peyton." Standing as well, she clutched her purse, which matched her strappy black heels and made his ankles ache just looking at them. How women moved in those torture devices was beyond him. "Lead the way."

Her assessing gaze took in the empty lobby as they made their way to the elevators, and he had a sinking suspicion she wasn't impressed by the efficient décor there, either.

Once the elevator doors enclosed them, he caught a trace of her perfume in the close confines. Light and airy, it held hints of berries, pear, and musk, and exuded subtle sensuality, not unlike her. Something floral about the fragrance lay quietly underneath, and curiosity got the better of his tongue.

"I like your perfume." Damn. Speaking before thinking was not usually his dynamic. Unnecessary conversation at all, really. He jabbed the lobby button and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Thank you. It's Mon Paris by Yves Saint Laurent. It's made from an exotic white flower called datura. I found that fascinating."

Amused, he stared at the numbers overhead. "You picked a fragrance based on its ingredients?"

"Well, that and it smelled great." From his side, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "And the bottle is pretty."

A surprise laugh huffed from his chest. He'd do well to stay alert in her presence.

"Ah, so he's not a glacier, after all." Her teasing tone matched the light in her eyes.

He grunted. "I see you read the Forbes article. I believe the exact words were, as arctic as a glacier in Greenland."

"Don't feel bad. They also said you were cryptically brilliant."

"You have a good memory." That article had been from two years ago when he'd first launched Gaines Industries after the sale of his software app.

"Photographic, actually." She shrugged. "When something interests me, I pay attention."

Unsure whether to be flattered she found the topic of him interesting or if he should be disturbed, he placed a hand low on her back to guide her from the elevator.

His bodyguard rose from his seat in the lower lobby and buttoned his black suit coat. "All set, Mr. Gaines?"

"Yes. Joseph Limerick, meet Peyton Smoke." Xavier turned to her. "Joseph is my personal security detail and ex-military. You'll be safe around him."

Xavier had hired Joseph one day after opening Gaines Industries' doors, and hadn't regretted the decision. The physically fit former army ranger was thirty-three years old, observant as hell, and easy to be around. He also took orders well and knew how to blend into the background when necessary. According to Xavier's ex, Pamela, the man wasn't bad to look at, either. His shaved bald head seemed to work for his rangy face and his brown eyes were piercing. He filled a suit better than Xavier.

Eyebrows pinged to her hairline, Peyton took in his bodyguard in one fell swoop. "Do I need to be concerned for my safety in your presence, Xavier?"

"Not with Joseph around. Though I've had a few threats, he's more of a precaution."

She rolled her eyes and smiled as if amused.

Right. "You were joking." He fisted his hands in his pockets.

"I was, yes." She held out her hand to his guard. "A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your service."

Joseph shook her hand and offered a slight bow. "The pleasure is mine. Where are you two headed?"

"To dinner." Xavier cleared his throat. "Do you have a car with you, Peyton?"

"No, I took a cab."

He nodded. "We'll take mine, then. I can drop you off at home afterward."

They walked to Xavier's awaiting town car at the curb, where his driver held the rear door open for them. The temperature was comfortably cool and humid for August as a salty wind came in off the Bay. Xavier gestured for her to enter first, but she faced the driver instead, the door between them.

She set a hand on his arm. "What's your name?"

The middle-aged man's dark cocoa skin turned ashen as he glanced down. Xavier's help wasn't used to his guests speaking directly to them. "Archie Shift, miss."

"Very nice to meet you." She patted his hand and slid in the seat.

Archie's grin was fleeting, but it was clear, after point three seconds, Xavier's driver was under her spell. A quick glance at Joseph's smirk said his bodyguard was, too.

Shaking his head, Xavier climbed in after her.