Mr. Handsome I Love You

She gave her another patronizing glance before answering the ringing phone. Not only did that make her uncomfortable, but she'd spent two hours in the salon and the boutique and ended up with a complete makeover.

Owen outdid himself and she wasn't used to drawing attention like when she left the salon and even walking through his building. She felt like she had something nasty on the end of her nose from all the stares she was getting.

Normally she would have disputed his gift, but after she'd been pampered, she realized that she needed it.

Now she felt vulnerable sitting there in a summery green and white dress with a flared skirt and two-inch matching heels.

The lady at the boutique told her it would bring out her eyes and her legs. This caused Abigail to look down at them. She never considered that she had nice legs, but with the heels, she had to admit, they didn't look too bad. "Hi."

The man's voice startled her. She brought her gaze up to a handsome brown-haired blue-eyed man in a navy pinstriped suit, who had stopped directly in front of her.

"Have you been helped?" "She's waiting for Mr. Ross ." Came the secretary's voice behind him. He nodded at her, "It seems you may be waiting for a bit, he has been held up in a meeting."

He flashed her a handsome grin, "Of course I don't mind entertaining a friend of his for a minute while he's busy, Miss…" "Shaw."

Smiling, she stood and took his offered hand, "Abigail Shaw." "My name's Hudson Mattson, I'm head of finance." Was that supposed to impress her? Despite her thinking that the man was handsome and charming, she remembered Owen telling her that she was too trusting. Not only that, he didn't hold a candle to Owen. Also, the man hadn't released her hand yet.

"Are you here for a job interview?" He said hopefully. "Not quite." She already had the job after she finished her degree according to Owen. Then added innocently, "I'm here for lunch."

"With Mr. Ross ?" She nodded. "Oh, I see," he said raising his eyebrows and not seeming deterred, "Well if Mr. Ross doesn't come by in the next few minutes, I may feel obliged to take his place."

Did he? Then a familiar masculine voice got her attention. Her eyes guided to the man with the entourage walking down the hall toward her.

Owen was with at least half a dozen well-dressed men in tow, but she only saw him. He was the image of power, by his height, and most importantly his walk alone.

His stride said he was in charge and set off an air of self-confidence that the men around him seemed no more than mice in comparison.

It was one of a man who knew himself and knew his importance. Another man handed him a file and he began to write in it.