Billionaire's Contract Engagement / Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation (5 page)

She propped the phone between her shoulder and her ear and began frantically digging for her notes on his account. She stuffed everything into a folder and reached for her briefcase.

“Great. Shall we meet in say five minutes? I'll start out now.”

“Sure, meet you there.”

He hung up and for a moment she stood there like a moron, the phone still stuck to her ear. Then she slammed it down, took in a deep steadying breath and declared battle.

She could do this in her sleep.

Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she all but jogged out of her office and down the hallway.

She passed Ash Williams, Maddox's CFO, who held up a finger and opened his mouth to say something to her.

“Not now, Ash, she called as she hustled by. “Late for an important lunch date.”

She didn't even look to see his reaction.

She ran past Shelby and hollered back as she punched the button for the elevator.

“If Brock asks, I'm having lunch with Mr. Reese. Just tell him Friday got moved up. If anyone else asks, just tell them I'll return this afternoon.”

The elevator opened and she ducked in. As she turned around, she saw Shelby's look of befuddlement just as the doors slid shut again.

When she reached the lobby, she stopped in the bathroom long enough to check her appearance. She wouldn't stop traffic for sure, but at least she didn't look as frazzled as she felt.

The heels she'd chosen to complete her outfit were fabulous—as long as she didn't have to actually walk in them. A trek down the block on uneven cement sidewalks wasn't what she had in mind. She kept tennis shoes in her office for just such occasions, but five minutes notice on the most important lunch date of her career didn't give her time to worry over footwear. She'd just suck it up.

When she crossed the street to the next block, she realized she never had gotten where they were supposed to meet. Italian, French or American. Her gaze scanned the bright umbrellas scattered along the sidewalk cafés, first on her side of the street and then across.

A vacuum formed, sucking all the oxygen right out of her lungs the moment she laid eyes on him. He stood in the sunlight, one hand shoved into the pocket of his slacks, the other holding a phone to his ear.

Power. There was an aura of power that surrounded him, and it drew her like a magnet. For a moment, she just stood
watching him in absolute girly delight. He was simply. delicious looking.

Then he turned slightly and found her. How, she wasn't sure given how busy the street was, but he locked onto her immediately almost as if he'd sensed her perusal.

She straightened and started forward, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

She crossed the street, hugging her briefcase between her arm and her side. Evan watched her approach, lean hunger gleaming in his eyes. His features relaxed into a smile as she drew abreast of him.

“Right on time.”

She nodded, not wanting to betray how out of breath she was from her flight from her office.

“I chose good ole American,” he said as he gestured toward a nearby table. “I hope that was all right.”

“Of course.”

He held out his arm for her to precede him to the table at the end of the row. She sat, grateful to be off her feet, and placed her briefcase beside her.

He took his seat across from her and motioned for the waiter.

“Would you like wine?” Evan asked Celia when the waiter approached.

“Whatever you're having is fine.”

Evan relayed his request and then looked over at Celia. “I asked you to lunch because I'm afraid something has come up and we won't be able to make our lunch date on Friday.”

She nodded then reached down for her briefcase. “That's all right. I brought along the information I wanted to present—”

He reached over and circled her wrist with his fingers. “That isn't why I invited you to lunch.”

She blinked and let go of her briefcase.

“I'd still like to keep our appointment … I'd just like to change the location.”

She was royally confused now, and it must have shown. Amusement twinkled in his eyes and he smiled.

“I don't have a lot of time today, so let me come straight to the point.”

His fingers were still around her wrist, though they'd loosened, and his thumb moved idly over her pulse point. She was sure her pulse was racing. It probably felt like a train under his fingers. She didn't move. Didn't even breathe. She didn't want to lose the marvelous sensation of his touch. Did he have any idea just how devastating his effect on her was?

“I have a wedding this weekend.” She could swear his lips curled in distaste. “A family wedding. My brother is getting married on Catalina Island. I'm to be there Thursday evening, hence the reason I can't make our Friday meeting.”

“I understand,” she said. “We can reschedule at your convenience.”

“I'd like you to go with me.”

Before she could call back the reaction, her eyes widened and she pulled her hand from his. She put it in her lap and cupped her other hand over it, wanting to preserve the sensation of his fingers over hers.

He put up his hand in an impatient gesture then lowered it and fiddled with the napkin on the table. He seemed almost uneasy. She cocked her head, curious now as to what he would say next.

“My schedule is quite busy. I need to move on this new campaign. I can't spare weeks searching for a new agency. If you went with me, I could listen to your ideas. I realize a wedding isn't ideal. I'd rather be just about any other place myself.”

Though it certainly wasn't voiced as a threat, it was certainly implied. If she went with him, he'd listen to her pitch. If she didn't he might not have time for her when he returned.

Worry knotted her stomach. Tagging along to a family wedding seemed entirely too personal even if the purpose was solely business. Not to mention it was hard enough to battle
her attraction for him in a business setting. But something as intimate as a wedding?

“How long would we be … away?”

The question came out more as a squeak than a concise, professional query. She sounded like a scared little girl facing the big bad wolf. Oh, but Evan made such a yummy wolf.

It was all she could do not to put her head on the table and bang a few times.

“We'd fly out Thursday evening. Rehearsal and dinner on Friday, wedding Saturday with reception to follow and since it will likely go well into the night, we'd return Sunday.”

It would only require one missed day of work. No one but Brock would even need to know, and he certainly wouldn't spill the beans.

She didn't know why she hadn't immediately agreed. She couldn't afford to say no. He had her over a barrel and he damn well knew it. Still, she hesitated—if for no other reason than to let him know he didn't call all the shots.

Okay, so maybe he did, but it didn't hurt him to think otherwise. For two seconds.

“All right,” she said in as level a voice as she could manage.

Did he expect her to attend the festivities? It certainly sounded as though he did by the way he outlined the events. She supposed it would be rude to tag along and lurk in the shadows waiting for her appointed time. Or maybe he envisioned having her follow him around everywhere so he could fit in snatches of conversation when possible.

“I'd be happy to purchase any items you may need for the trip,” he said.

Startled, she glanced up. “No, I mean … no. Of course not. I can manage just fine. You'll need to tell me the appropriate dress code of course.”

He managed a wry smile. “I'm sure anything to do with Bettina will be formal. Quite formal with lots of glitter and fanfare.”

His gaze slid sensuously over her features and then lower until her neck heated with a blush.

“I think anything you wear will be stunning. The dress you wore the other night was perfection on you.”

The blush climbed higher and she prayed her cheeks didn't look like twin torches.

“I'm sure I can find something glitzy and glamorous,” she said lightly. “We girls do like the opportunity to play dress up.”

Interest sparked in his eyes. “I can't wait.”

The waiter returned with the wine, and Celia latched gratefully onto the glass. Her hands shook. She was sure if she stood, she'd go down like a brick. She'd break an ankle trying to stay up on these ridiculous heels.

Note to self: Don't pack gorgeous, sexy shoes for the weekend. Around him, she'd be a disaster on stilts. He'd spend his entire time picking her up off the floor, that is if she didn't end up in the hospital in traction.

“I'll call you later in the week with the flight arrangements. We'll be taking my private jet.”

She swallowed and nodded, then realizing he'd need her number—her cell number and not her office number—she reached down into her briefcase to retrieve a business card.

She frowned, fumbled some more then pulled the bag into her lap. With a groan she realized her business-card holder must have fallen out. Impatiently she tore a piece of paper off a notepad and took out her pen.

Dropping the bag again, she put the paper on the table and hastily scribbled her home and cell number then passed it across the table to Evan.

He took it, studied it a moment then carefully folded it and tucked it away in the breast pocket of his jacket. The waiter approached with menus and Evan looked to her for her order.

“Just the lunch salad,” she said. What she really wanted was a really greasy burger with onion rings, but she didn't want
to appall Evan. Her brothers gave her all sorts of hell for her indelicate tastes, but then they were to blame for them.

Evan ordered a steak, medium, and after the waiter was gone, Evan stared over at her, his gaze inquisitive.

She cocked her head, prepared for him to ask her a question, but he didn't say anything. He just seemed to study her as if he wanted to uncover all her deep, dark secrets.

Finally he sat back with a satisfied smile. His eyes glinted with triumph.

“I think this wedding is going to turn out to be enjoyable after all.”

C
elia stepped off the elevator and walked by Shelby, who held her hand up to get Celia's attention.

“Later, Shelby,” she called as she headed for Brock's office.

When she got to his door, she was nearly run over as Ash came out. He sidestepped her and kept on walking, his forehead wrinkled as if he were lost in thought. She wasn't even sure he'd seen her.

She stuck her head in Brock's door and breathed a sigh of relief when she found him alone. He glanced up and motioned her in.

“What's with him?” she asked, jerking her head over her shoulder in Ash's direction. “He's been weird lately.”

Brock gave her one of those puzzled male looks that suggested he didn't have a clue what she was talking about. She rolled her eyes. Ash had been walking around in a fog, which wasn't typical. He was usually on top of everything and everyone. Celia had overheard Shelby talking about a falling
out with a girlfriend, but then she hadn't even known Ash had been seeing anyone. Not that he would have confided in her.

She didn't bother sitting. She had too much to do, and this wouldn't take long.

“I have to go out of town Thursday afternoon.”

Brock stared back at her for a moment and then his brows drew together. He frowned and dropped the pen he'd been fiddling with.

“Is this some kind of emergency? You're supposed to meet with Evan Reese on Friday.”

His tone suggested someone better be dying. He opened his mouth to say more but before he got off on the tangent she knew was coming, she held up her hand.

“I just had lunch with Evan. There's been a change in plans. He has to be at some family wedding this weekend in Catalina so he couldn't make it on Friday. He said he wants to move on this campaign and he doesn't have a lot of time to spend in the selection process.”

Brock swore, his face going red. He picked the pen back up and flung it across his desk. “Dammit, is he even going to listen to our pitch?”

She sucked in a breath. “He wants me to go to Catalina with him. We'd leave Thursday afternoon. It's the only time he can spare me and he's promised to listen to my ideas while we're there.”

Brock's brow furrowed further and he studied her intently.

“I see.”

Forgetting about all she needed to do and that she didn't want to be stuck here in Brock's office forever, she sank down into one of the chairs and stared glumly at her boss.

“I told him I'd go. I didn't see that I had a choice. While he didn't come out and say it, he implied that if I didn't, he was prepared to go with another agency.”

“I agree you should go. Does that make me an ass?”

Celia laughed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
“No, it doesn't make you an ass. I guess I just worry about the fallout. It's stupid. I shouldn't care. I never would have before, but I know what will be said if it gets out and how things will be twisted.”

“You have my support, Celia, and you have the support of the agency. Don't ever doubt that.”

She rose and smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you, Brock.”

He grunted. “Get me the damn account. That's all the thanks I need.”

She stopped on her way out, put her hand on the door frame and looked back. “I'll need someone to cover for me on Friday. I have two client appointments, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.”

“Jason will cover for you. You just worry about knocking Evan Reese's socks off.”

“I will,” Celia murmured. “I will.”

On her way down the hall, her BlackBerry rang and she dug into the pocket of her briefcase for it. Seeing Noah's number on the LCD, she mashed the answer button and stuck the phone to her ear as she walked into her office.