Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(67)
“This place is huge!” I gasp as we enter the domed amphitheatre with cinema-style seating.
There’s a loud hum of conversations as the 2000 Madison Legal UK employees cram into the theatre. A mixture of accents colour the room. People have flown in from the Scotland and Northern Ireland branches and other European satellite offices.
“Music events and theatre productions are held here as well as corporate events,” Sophie explains as someone ushers us down an aisle to our seats, halfway down the auditorium.
“I forgot my glasses,” I mutter. “This place is so big I won’t be able to see.” To see him.
“Don’t worry,” she says over the dull roar as we sit down. “The speakers will be on the big screen.”
Tristan has to talk in front of all these people? I feel a pang of panic for him, which is silly because he barely mentioned the conference last night. He even polished off half a bottle of wine with me.
“Our Managing Partner and CEO Tristan Kane will now open the event,” the Head of Events announces through the microphone.
Spotlights from above focus on the centre stage. Conversations peter out. Everyone is waiting for him.
The air in the room changes as he strolls onto the stage like a man who owns time, his tall, confident posture and smooth hand gestures showing no sign of nerves. When he reaches the podium, he gives the crowd a crooked smile, and everyone claps. Somehow, before he even speaks, he has total command of the room.
I sit on the edge of my seat, watching his projection on the big screen. The three tiers of seating surrounding the stage give all 2000 of us an exceptional view of him. He has so many eyes on him from all angles. How does he cope?
Is this the same man whose house I left this morning?
In his confident and controlled voice, he projects over every speaker, giving Churchill a run for his money. His crisp white shirt shows off his athletic figure. His sleeves are normally rolled up to his elbows, but today they are cuffed and tightened by cufflinks. I get a flashback of this morning when he was wearing nothing but his shirt, unbuttoned.
How lucky am I? There isn't a chance in hell that every woman in this room isn't dreaming about what he's like in bed.
I bite my lip to stifle a smile. I try to concentrate as he tells us about the top achievements of the company this year and the long-term strategic vision. Who knew that the financial forecast would be so arousing? The only thing I can focus on is that mouth enlarged on the screen. The mouth that spent twenty minutes between my legs last night, making me moan.
He pauses between sentences like he has all the time in the world. Every sentence is composed, eloquent, said with precision, and it’s the hottest damn speech I’ve ever heard. I know he’s accustomed to doing TedTalks. I watched a few of his talks that have over a million views last week, and I was ashamed of myself for not knowing who he was when we met in Mykonos.
Next up is the awards ceremony for the best talent. Lawyers wait their turn to receive awards and shake hands with him. Mara, the hot redhead who attended the intern welcome drinks, walks onstage. The men in the room visibly perk up as she is broadcast on the big screen. I feel a twinge of jealousy as the commenter lists her achievements for the year. She simmers towards Tristan, and he smiles broadly at her, whispering something inaudible to the audience.
Seeing his smouldering gaze on her, I wonder for the umpteenth time if I'm taking this too seriously. She’s already an established lawyer and gorgeous as hell. What’s he doing with me?
I don’t see much of Tristan after the awards ceremony. We had a packed schedule of breakaway groups all afternoon tailored to the different industry sectors. I’m wrecked, moving from talk to talk, so I can’t think what he must be like as the centre of attention all day.
After 6 p.m., one of the conference rooms becomes a bar.
Half the attendees have left, some to catch flights back to other parts of the UK, but hundreds of us are still packed into the conference area, accepting complimentary champagne and wine from circulating waiters. It’s the whole point of why we turned up. With no dinner and free drinks, the drunk level in the room increases a notch.
I’m talking to Juan, a senior lawyer at Sophie’s level.
“I work in Financial Services under Sophie,” I say, nodding in her direction, hoping to include her in the conversation. Juan is easy on the eye but is a bit too intense. Unfortunately, Sophie is just out of reach. “I’m also shadowing on the Garcia case. It’s an amazing learning experience.”
As he steps into my personal space, I retreat subtly. We continue to play this game until he has me backed into a corner.
“Under Tristan Kane?” he asks with a gleam in his eye.
“Uh-huh.”
“He must have a personal interest in that case,” he muses. “Do you know what it is?” His eyes search my face for inside information.
I shake my head. “I’m just there to shadow and support.”
Juan looks disappointed. “I’d love for us to go for a coffee some time,” he drawls, placing his hand on my lower back. “I’ve spent four years in Financial Services. I can give you some guidance.”
Now I’m in a dilemma. It should be perfectly routine for a senior lawyer to invite a trainee for coffee to discuss work at a work conference. It might even look unprofessional to turn him down. The ask is professional.