If I Loved You (Hollywood Hearts 1) (2 page)

“Way to use your charm on me to win my business.” Chaz leaned forward.

“I don’t need charm; I have brains.” A smug smile crossed Meg’s lips.

“Whoa! Oh, yes…Harvard M.B.A., right? Harvey told me.” Chaz sat back in his chair again.

“Right.” Meg leaned back, too, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yale School of Drama here. So don’t condescend to me. I’m not a ‘dumb’ actor in love with himself. And you’re dressed pretty hot for a financial advisor with only dollars and cents on her mind. Not that I’m objecting. I love eye candy…great rack, too…” He grinned at her then pulled out his cell phone.

“Eye candy? Rack? Did you say
rack
? Why the nerve! Is that your cell phone? Turn it off…” She rose up out of her seat.

“My cell phone is my livelihood. I’m not going to miss an audition or an opportunity to read a script because you want my phone off. And
rack
is a more polite term than some men would use.”

Megan sank down in her chair, speechless, while Chaz returned a text message.

“I think perhaps you should talk to someone else here…” She stood up and moved toward the door, but Chaz’s strong grip on her arm stopped her.

“Sit down,” he said quietly.

Meg returned to her chair

“Now we’ve got that off our chests…I can say chests, can’t I? Let’s move forward. Talk to me about how you plan to invest my money.” He relaxed back into the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“You still want me to handle your money?” Megan perked up.

“You have fire…maybe principles…and probably brains,” he grinned at her. “I like that. Let’s see if you have some good ideas about money management, too.” He dialed his smile down to a mere five hundred watts; his demeanor reeked of sincerity.

Megan took a big swig from her water bottle before she picked up the papers on her desk. “I’ve prepared some questions to help me understand your needs, Mr….ah, Chaz.”

“My needs? You don’t really mean
needs
, do you?” He chuckled while his gaze raked her body.

“I mean your financial needs…ah, maybe goals is a better word.”

“Ah, goals, yes. Goals works for me.”

“If we can agree on three goals, then I’ll prepare sort of a proposal…”

“Proposal? You’re going to propose to me? We’ve known each other such a short time!” He lifted his eyebrows in mock shock.

Megan couldn’t help herself. She burst out laughing, covering her mouth with her hand to mute the sound. Andy looked up from his desk. She signaled him to close her door. When she regained her composure, she tried again. “I’ll give you a couple of ideas about the best way to invest your money to meet your goals, safely, with as little risk as possible.”

“I’m a big risk taker, Ms…”

“Megan.”

“Megan. My life is one big risk, but not financial risks. Don’t like those at all.”

“On that we agree. Okay, Chaz, how much time do you have?” She glanced at her watch.

“None, actually. I’m due at
PBS
in fifteen minutes. Say…why don’t you pick three goals you think I
should
have and work with those?”

“Your input…I…I don’t know your lifestyle or anything.”

“You’re smart...Guess. I’ll pick you up here on Friday evening…is that enough time?”

She nodded her head.

“Good, Friday evening at six. You can present your ideas to me over dinner.”

“Friday night?” She opened her computer calendar, though she already knew she didn’t have any plans.

“Unless you have other plans. I mean, if Prince Charming is scheduled to make love to you on Friday night, we could reschedule. Of course, I could be seeing Cutler and Bates on Friday, if I don’t see you…”

“Friday night is fine. Great, in fact.”

“Excellent. Wear something revealing, it suits you.” Chaz got up from his chair. He approached her desk.

Megan pushed to her feet. Chaz took her hand, kissed it, and then exited her office.

Andy came in as soon as he was gone. Megan stood in the same spot, idly stroking the back of her hand.

“What was that?” Andy asked.

“Cary Grant meets the Lords of Flatbush,” she murmured, a smile slowly raising the corners of her mouth.

* * * *

Half an hour after Chaz left, Harvey Dillon stopped to lean into Meg’s office. “So? How’d it go with Chaz Duncan?”

“Meeting with him again Friday.”

“What happened?” Harvey raised his eyebrows.

“He couldn’t stay. I have the information. I’m putting together a proposal…” She stopped, broke into a grin, then continued, “a plan…for him this week. I’ll present it to him on Friday.”

“At dinner…” Andy put in.

Meg glared at him until he clamped his hand over his mouth.

“No problem, Meg. Business is often done over dinner. Nice job. I’ll hold off on the celebration, but it looks good.” Harvey raised his hand in farewell then continued on his way.

Meg let out a breath.
Thank God I didn’t blow it.

Meg was unhappy that the glass walled offices of Dillon and Weed provided Brielle Henderson, in an office across from Megan’s, the opportunity to watch Meg’s every move. Including her interactions with Chaz Duncan. The slinky, ambitious, blonde account executive sauntered out of her office in four-inch heels. She perched in Meg’s doorway, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Dinner. Very cozy. Bringing in business…the old fashioned way?” Brielle cocked an eyebrow.

Anger burned Meg’s cheeks. “I don’t work that way. He’s a busy man. Celebrities lead different lives…it’s for his convenience.”

“I’ll bet it is. You should know, since you’re launching the new
celebrity investment
division of Dillon and Weed. I’m sure he’ll have reached a decision by…dessert.”

“You are?” Andy gawked at his boss.

Megan nodded to Andy, her eyes on Brielle, who slithered back into her office like a voluptuous snake.

* * * *

“You’re having dinner with him? Oh my God. I’m stuck in Delaware while you’re going out with Chaz Duncan!” Her sister-in-law, Penny, moaned on the other end of the phone Thursday night.

Mark grabbed the phone. “No hanky-panky with Dunc, Meg.”

“It’s business, Mark.”

“Yeah, right, business…” he snickered.

“Dunc? You call him ‘Dunc’?” She asked her brother.

“I met him once. We hoisted a few after a game.”

Some static and a clatter indicated the phone had fallen. “Meg. We need to talk,” Penny said.

Megan didn’t know anything about dressing fashionably hot. Always studious in college, she focused her attention more on acing tests than looking sexy. After graduation, she selected sensible, conservative suits paired with white blouses to project her serious intentions in the world of finance. However, as the head of the celebrity division, Meg had to rethink her wardrobe strategy. So, she turned to Penny, the family
fashionista
, for help.

Meg’s lack of confidence about her appearance dated back to her childhood. Never the better-looking twin in her mother’s eyes, Megan became insecure and awkward. She turned toward books and away from pretty dresses. While handsome, blond-haired Mark laid claim to being the outgoing, charming, athletic twin, Megan, whose moods often matched her dark locks, was labeled the shy one. She’d bury her nose in a book rather than go shopping or even to a dance. Even now, she could recall hearing her mother say, “He got the looks…she got the brains.” Unbeknownst to her, Mary Davis’ voice carried beyond the master bedroom.

“Shhh, she’ll hear you.” Her father had shut the door, cutting off the rest of the conversation from the eager ears of skinny, eight-year-old Megan.

As close as any twins could be, they attended Kensington State University together. On the football field, her beloved brother completed more passes than any other quarterback on his college team. Megan maintained a 3.8 average without breaking a sweat. She helped Mark with schoolwork, keeping him eligible for football. In return, he helped her get dates. However, her dates always seemed more interested in being Mark’s buddy than her boyfriend.

After playing second-string for the Nevada Gamblers, Mark got a coveted spot as starting quarterback on the brand new Delaware Demons. Megan went to Harvard for her MBA. She blossomed into a beautiful young woman with her mahogany hair falling around her shoulders like silk. She filled out, developing sexy curves in all the right places. Her self-esteem grew along with her job success.

Still not convinced she had developed her own charm along with good looks, Megan was pleasantly surprised to capture her first real boyfriend, Alan Fader, a young man who hadn’t heard of Mark Davis. After they graduated, Alan joined an investment-banking firm in California while she took a job in New York. They parted as friends.

When Friday rolled around, Meg rose early. After easing into a violet silk flirty skirt, she pulled a minty green, scooped-neck jersey over her head. The subtle green echoed the green in her eyes. A double-strand pearl choker and matching pearl earrings topped off the outfit. She wore her hair loose, remembering Penny’s warning not to ponytail it with Chaz.

After one more glance in the mirror, Meg grabbed her suit jacket and waltzed out the door, dripping with confidence. A big win would cement her position as the celebrity division head at Dillon and Weed. Chaz Duncan
—the world’s most attractive man—well, she’d deal with him later.

The hours flew by as Megan focused on polishing her three plans for Chaz, making sure there were no typos or errors. At five-thirty, she went over everything one more time, and then brushed her soft curls. At six, Chaz walked back to her office. He caught her refreshing her lipstick. “Don’t mean to interrupt…”

“Oh!” She jumped. The tube slipped out of her hand, landing on the floor.

Chaz bent over to pick it up. As he handed it to her, their fingers brushed, sending a tingle skyrocketing up her arm. Her gaze dropped down to his Gucci loafers then continued up his body. He wore snug-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved, light blue, striped shirt that was open at the neck. There was a black leather jacket folded over his arm. Eyes the color of melted dark chocolate captured her gaze as she raised her eyes to his. She froze for a few seconds, like a deer in headlights.

“Everything’s ready.” She tucked the lipstick into her purse, the papers into her briefcase, grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair, and then moved toward him.

“We’re going to
Le Chien d’Or
. Do you like French food?”

“Love it.”

He placed his hand on the small of her back as she preceded him through the door. The touch of his palm created heat while gently pressing her forward. She became aware of his proximity as a pleasant whiff of his piney cologne drifted her way.

He’s famous. No more celebrities in my life. Besides, he’s business, remember?

* * * *

Her office on West Fifty-Fifth Street placed them close to the small section of tiny, elegant French restaurants on the West Side of Manhattan. It wasn’t long after they hit the street before people started recognizing Chaz. He clasped Meg’s hand firmly with his and took the lead, maneuvering them quickly through the thickening rush hour crowd. She knew all about threading your way through a crowd with a famous person in tow, having done it a million times with Mark. Meg started moving faster, easily keeping up with Chaz as they zigzagged their way passing people almost before they had a chance to recognize him. Finally, they reached the door of the restaurant. Once inside, Jean Pierre, the headwaiter, escorted them to a small, private room.

“You will not be disturbed here, Monsieur Duncan.” Pierre motioned to the dark red, upholstered bench alongside the table. Megan slid in. Chaz slipped a bill in the
Maître d
’s hand before easing in on the other side, sitting next to her instead of across. His action disconcerted her for a moment until she recalled that was standard in some smaller restaurants. Even so, her mouth went dry when his shoulder brushed hers, and his lips loomed only inches away. A few tiny beads of sweat broke out on her palm.

The petite room had dark mahogany walls. They sat at a rectangular table covered with an immaculate white tablecloth. The flame from a short candle supplemented the dim, romantic lighting. There were two light pink roses in a lavender ceramic vase on the table. The silver shone brilliantly, reflecting the candlelight. The crystal stemware on the table gleamed. For a second, she could’ve sworn she had stepped onto a movie set.

“They know you here?” She angled herself in her seat slightly to face him.

My God…an intimate…romantic dinner with Chaz Duncan.
Her pulse kicked up.
Don’t get carried away, it’s business, strictly business.

“I often come here for meetings. I need a restaurant where the staff knows me. Keeps interruptions down and service is better for regular customers.” His gaze rose from the menu to her face.