“Are you new?” he asked, sounding overtly snobbish.

“Not exactly.”

The elevator chimed and the doors opened. We both stepped out, and Keri was already waiting for me.

“Miss Snow, nice to see you again.” She shook my hand and then dropped her smile, looking at the guy who rode up with me. “Hey, Craig. Mr. Cole says you’ll have to wait a few minutes to start the meeting.” She dipped her head at me. “Right this way, Miss Snow. Mr. Cole will see you in his office.”

Wow. If looks could kill, Craig was in the process of dismembering me. Hannibal style. I guessed he wasn’t too pleased about getting bumped.

“Nice meeting you,” I said anyway. No one wanted to be on an AMY’s (Angry Middle-Aged Yuppy) shit-list.

“Good luck,” he said, but really meant “fuck you” by his tone.

Changed my mind. “Thanks, Amy.” Fuck you back.

I entered Mr. Cole’s office and found him once again on his phone, sitting with his large feet propped up on the desk, looking like the picture-perfect sex god, his broad shoulders pushed all the way back into the chair. His thick brown hair was a mess, a few loose strands falling over his forehead like he’d forgotten the hair product this morning or had just gotten laid and passed on the comb.

Keri closed the door behind me, and the sound snagged his attention.

His eyes did that weird wash and scrub over my body while he continued his conversation. “Yeah, Jer. I get it. But this is not the time to cut orders, so do whatever it takes to make sure it doesn’t happen.” He listened for a moment, his eyes still on me. Well, on my tits, anyway. It was an odd sensation, almost like he was forcing himself not to look away and my breasts were his home plate—safe! It made me feel kind of naked. “All right. Send an update at close of business.” He hung up and pasted on a smile. “Well, this is a surprise.”

“I figured I owed you since you showed up at my apartment unannounced.”

He stood from his desk, giving me a glimpse of his outfit. No suit today. Instead, he wore jeans—loose around his hips, faded and sexy—and a dark gray button-down that perfectly hugged the contours of his very fucking sexy and hate-worthy body.

“Well, I’m pleased you caught me. I only came into the office to take care of a few things; then I’m off to the airport.” He gestured toward the light gray table and chairs near the window. “Would you like to sit?”

All right. This was strange. He was being extremely cordial and pleasant—completely phony.

I sat, and he took the chair across from me, this time not pushing away. I could see a sheen of sweat collecting on his brow. Was it physically paining him to be this close to me?

“So, Miss Snow. Are you here to accept my offer?” he asked, sounding like he’d won some giant victory.

“No.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Then do tell. What brings you and your dirty little mouth back to C.C.?” He grinned, seeming amused.

No. He looks…he looks…nervous. But he’s trying to hide it. Or was that just my imagination?

“My dirty little mouth and I have some questions.” I noticed again that he wasn’t looking at my face, but at the base of my neck. And the sweat on his brow had grown to a visible dew.

“Then, by all means, ask away,” he replied.

How was it possible he looked cool and calm and falling to pieces all at once? I didn’t know. But it had to be the same skill he used to look hot and masculine while simultaneously revolting me.

I cleared my throat, forcing myself to look past his perfect face and body. I needed to see him for who he was, just like I needed him to see me. “This is only going to work if you and I are honest with each other.”

“We seem to do rather well with that, you and I.”

“True.” I had to acknowledge that for two complete strangers, neither one of us seemed to have a filter with each other. Not that I wasn’t normally a direct person, but something about this man brought it to a whole new level.

“Go on,” he said.

“I want to know what you meant when you said that I am what you need. What do you really hope to get out of hiring me?”

“I think I made myself clear yesterday.” His gaze only hit my eyes for a moment, but the hardness shook me. My question had displeased him.

Well, too bad.

“You only told me you wanted my help, but not why,” I pointed out.

He scratched the back of his thick head of hair, and I noticed his rolled-up sleeves, or more accurately, the hard ropes of muscles popping up on his forearm. “I’m afraid that’s none of your business.”

“It is if I’m going to come here every day, knowing you’re disgusted when you look at me.”

“And you will be disgusted when you look at me. I’d say we’re on an even playfield. Except, I’ll be paying you. Quite well.”

As I looked at his face, I saw a bead of sweat trickle down his temple.

“Seriously?” I sighed. This was too much. “I can’t do this, Mr. Cole.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Look at you. We haven’t been in the same room for more than a minute and you look like I’ve got a gun pointed at your balls.” I laughed bitterly.

He frowned. “Does this seem funny to you, Miss Snow?”

“Yes,” I spat.

“Not to me. Not one bit.”

“Then how do you find this? Entertaining? Are you getting some kick out of degrading me? Is that what this is about—some weird fetish you have for making the ugly girl your slave or—”

“I’m not that sort of man,” he said bluntly.

I stared at him, waiting. He’d have to give me more, and he knew it.

A long moment passed before he finally spoke. “Some people have a fear of heights or small spaces. I have a fear of…” He looked straight at me, and my mind filled in the blank.

“Ugly people? Oh, come the hell on.”

“It is called cacophobia, Miss Snow. It is a disorder.”

I blinked at him, trying my best not to laugh hysterically and roll on the floor. “Oh, boy. I get that you have a huge ego and probably don’t want to admit you’re a disgusting, shallow bastard, but don’t hide behind a doctor’s note. That’s pathetic.”

His fist came down on the table, jarring me in my seat. “That’s enough, Miss Snow. I see you enjoy being a coldhearted bitch, but my issue isn’t here for your goddamned amusement.”

My smiled vaporized as his angry hazel eyes burned.

“You’re serious,” I said. “You really have a disease.”

“A disorder. And yes, I’m dead fucking serious.”

I wanted to ask how he’d gotten it, but did that really matter?

“Wow. So hating me has a scientific name. How wonderful.” I folded my arms across my chest and looked out the window. Being disliked because a person was a complete superficial asshat was one thing, but to know that Mother Nature created people who were predisposed to see you as a plague or threat or something to steer clear of really stung. Later, I would look up “cacophobia” and learn it also drove a person to pursue their own perfection. It would explain his body.

“I do not hate you, Miss Snow,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “But I am the way I am. Don’t take it personally.”

I shook my head at him. “God, you’re such an insensitive prick. If anything is personal, this situation qualifies.”

“What’s personal is you’re being quite the bitch.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Can you blame me?”

“No.”

At least he was fair. “But I’m not getting it,” I said, trying hard to let it all sink in and not succeeding, “you’ve dated some pretty unattractive women.”

“Not exactly.”

“So they were all just for show?” I asked, referring to the multitude of photographs I’d seen in the tabloids.

“The press likes to make assumptions. I simply allow them to.”

I had guessed that might be the case. “And the models you use? Or your company’s slogans?”

His expression showed no sign of shame. “My affliction provides me with some very unique and valuable insights regarding what women face. I’ve used it to my advantage.”