Authors: Tracey Livesay
“Eight months, two weeks, five days,” Adam responded, giving her a crisp nod and taking a step back.
Monique laughed and the sound grated on Chelsea’s nerves. “Counting down the days? You’re always so . . . precise.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Did you need to place another order?”
“Chelsea believes I do.”
“Oh.” Monique finally spared her a glance. “And she is . . . ?”
Give the woman a pole and tackle box; she was fishing for information.
The cold shoulder wasn’t a new occurrence. Chelsea had been in numerous situations where people fawned over her client while ignoring her. She knew enough to ascribe it to the offender’s lack of manners and keep her professionalism intact. But this was the first time she imagined telling someone to remove their hand or she’d do it for them. She wanted to slide
her
hand into Adam’s and let Fisherwoman Monique know he wasn’t available. But she couldn’t. While it would be satisfying, it wouldn’t be professional.
Plus, Mr. Tell the Truth wouldn’t back her up.
Monique’s hand flexed against his sleeve and Chelsea clenched her teeth. Maybe he
was
available. He wasn’t moving away from her touch.
“
She
is in need of your assistance.” Chelsea smiled and Monique straightened her shoulders. “We’ll need to see some pieces different from what you’ve previously sent him.” She ticked the items off on her fingers. “Casual slacks and shirts, mix-and-match business casual pieces, and a couple of suits. You offer custom tailoring?”
Monique’s nostrils flared. “We do.”
“Excellent. We’ll need him fitted for one custom suit and we’ll tailor another one off the rack.” She turned to Adam and explained, “There isn’t enough time for the custom suit to be ready for the launch.”
Monique gazed at Adam before motioning with her hand. “Of course. Please, follow me.”
She led them through an unmarked door that opened into a private dressing area. A high-backed, tufted dark leather sofa sat in front of a large rectangular platform surrounded by mirrors.
“Can I get you anything to drink?” Monique asked Adam.
He turned to Chelsea. “What would you like?”
The small gesture of tenderness, of caring about her comfort, was noted with appreciation. She stared into his warm eyes. “I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” he murmured, returning her stare. Monique cleared her throat and he looked away. “Nothing for us.”
Adam indicated she should precede him to the sofa, but before he could follow he stilled, frowned, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Chelsea thought
she
had an unhealthy attachment to her cell. His was surgically linked to his brain. Maybe that’s how he’d come up with the HPC.
“Mr. Bennett, do you want to try on the clothes or see them on someone first?” Monique asked, trying once again to claim some of his attention.
When he didn’t respond, Chelsea reached over and took the phone from him. Having learned her lesson from earlier, she immediately slid it into the front pocket of her slacks and smirked when his hand halted mid-grab.
“Look, I know you do important work, but this is important, too. You can give me a few hours of your time. Afterward, I won’t bother you for the rest of the day.”
His attention bounced between her face and the pocket where she stashed the phone.
“I’ll turn it off,” he said, relenting. He held his hand out, palm up.
She patted her hip. “I’ll hold on to it for you. Now, do you want to try on the clothes or see them first?”
“See them.” He sank down onto the sofa.
“He’ll see them first,” she repeated to Monique. The other woman stared at them, a frown marring her attractive features, before she spun on her heel and hurried off.
Adam sat on the edge of the sofa with his elbows resting on his thighs and his head bowed.
She sat next to him. “What’s wrong? Are you really upset because I took your phone?”
“I asked for your help to prepare me for the product launch,” he said, his voice hollow.
“That’s what I’m doing.”
He twisted his head to look at her and the misery that stained his face tightened her chest. “No, you’re co-opting my life.”
“Not your entire life. Just the parts of it that have to do with other people.”
He didn’t smile as she’d intended. “I don’t need help dealing with other people and I don’t need new outfits. Only one. For the launch.” He shook his head. “You’re trying to change me and it won’t work.”
With that gorgeous face and his tall, muscled body, no woman in her right mind would want to change him. But this wasn’t about what she might personally prefer in a man. It was about what Computronix preferred for the face of the HPC.
“You can’t fake your way through a product launch. It’s not a fifteen-minute press conference where you can stand to the side and pray no one will notice you. This is a sixty-minute interactive presentation between you, Mike, and the reporters.”
He narrowed his eyes and angled his body away from her. “You know a lot about product launches.”
Damn. She’d have to be more careful. She couldn’t make many more mistakes like that if she expected to keep him in the dark about her true motives. Guilt arrowed through her and made her voice sharper than she intended.
“Research, remember? Like you said, I’m good at my job. Once you hired me, I even watched several of Computronix’s previous launches to get an idea of what would be required of you. If you thought you’d sail through it with a new outfit and some previously written quips, the question is, did you do
your
research?”
Before he could respond, the door opened and Monique rushed back in. “I have Jordan pulling some items for you.”
“Thank you,” Chelsea said.
Her phone rang and she dug into her bag and checked the caller ID.
Shit.
It was Howard. She’d just talked to him a few days ago. Why was he calling her again? She was tempted to let it roll to voice mail, but what if he had information that impacted the account, something she needed to know? Why else would he call? If it was a standard work issue, he would’ve informed her assistant or sent her an email. “I’ve got to take this.”
He scowled. “I thought the use of our cell phones was prohibited during this outing?”
“I’m not the one who needs help,” she said, slipping out of the private dressing room and accepting the call. “Hello?”
Adam’s solemn “That’s a matter for great debate” followed her through the door and collided with Howard’s terse “Status report.”
“This is two times in one week. I haven’t needed to call in for a status report in years.” It was true. Once she was given an assignment, she assembled her own team who reported to her. She didn’t report back to Howard until the project’s conclusion. She pursed her lips and mentally questioned the sudden hands-on management.
“Do I need to remind you how important this account is? We’re all answerable to someone on this one.”
His anxiety pacified her growing ire. She wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
“Will Bennett be ready?” Howard asked.
“I believe so.”
A pause. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard doubt in your voice. It makes me nervous. Is there a reason to believe he
won’t
be ready for the launch?” he asked.
How about the fact that every time Adam stared at her from those intense blue eyes, her lungs drew a reviving breath and her heart pounded in her chest? What about the way he caressed her face and fondled her curls made her yearn for his touch in other, more sensitive places? Or maybe the fact that he often had her emotionally careening between annoyance and desire?
She had so little time to prepare him for the presentation, and they’d wasted a percentage of it as they navigated from professional to personal and then back again. If it were any other client, she wouldn’t hesitate to pass him off to another colleague. But in this case that wasn’t an option. Her partnership was on the line. She’d just have to try harder to keep them settled on business terra firma.
“No,” she said, relieved her boss couldn’t see her facial expression. “He’ll be ready.”
“A successful outcome on this project is imperative to the firm . . . and to your future.”
She didn’t need Howard to echo the warning. Again.
“Every person with a social media presence thinks they can do their own PR,” he said, settling into his rant. “To continue to thrive, we have to stay relevant. Being connected to the tech event of the decade will bolster our reputation and solidify your place with Beecher & Stowe. Remember, firm-first mind-set.”
Chelsea glanced over her shoulder at the closed door that led to the dressing room. No one had passed her carrying a rack of clothes. Was there another entrance to the room? If not, she’d left Adam alone with Monique. Her stomach tightened. “I’ve got to go, Howard. He’s waiting for me.”
When she stepped inside the room her concerns were validated. Monique stood next to Adam, her head tilted back, her lips curved in invitation. “—happy with the service we’ve been providing, Mr. Bennett. You didn’t have to come down here. I would’ve been thrilled to personally deliver your order to you.” She dropped her voice. “Like last time.”
What the hell?
Adam smiled. The son of a bitch smiled! Okay, so it wasn’t his sell-a-million-HPCs smile, but his lips did quirk. When they parted, Chelsea knew she didn’t want to hear his response.
“I’m back,” she said, waving her cell phone in the air. Monique stiffened and Adam lifted his head. Chelsea made a show of peering around the room. “Where are the clothes?”
Monique’s frustration was obvious, as was the glower she catapulted in Chelsea’s direction. She exhaled loudly. “I’ll see what’s keeping Jordan.”
Possibly your instructions for him to stay away while you seduced my client.
Conflicting emotions swirled in her gut. As soon as the door clicked shut behind Monique, Chelsea marched over to Adam. “Did you sleep with her?”
He blinked, his dark blue gaze steady. If he was startled by her verbal assault, his expression didn’t reveal it. “No.”
It was none of her business. She had no right judging Monique’s professionalism when she was down in the trenches with her. And yet none of those considerations could stop her from asking, “Do you want to?”
She held her breath and his intense inspection stole it from her meddlesome clutches. He tilted his head. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” she said, feigning interest in an imaginary loose thread on her silk tunic. “Not really. But she’s acting as if you did.”
He shrugged, still not releasing her from his visual hold. “I can’t control her behavior, only my response to it.”
“You might want to review your response,” she said, thinking of Monique’s hand on Adam’s arm when they first arrived and the scene she’d just interrupted. “Because I guarantee she thinks there’s something between the two of you.”
“You don’t know what my response would’ve been. You interrupted me.”
Well, if he needed to point fingers . . .
The door opened and Monique entered, carrying a stack of folded sweaters, followed by the young man who’d approached them when they’d arrived at the men’s department, pushing a wheeled clothing rack teeming with apparel.
“If you’ll start looking through these selections,” Monique said briskly, gesturing to the garments, “I have another rack I can—”
“Monique, can I speak with you? Privately.” Adam’s voice was firm.
“Of course, Mr. Bennett,” Monique said, a contented feline grin spreading across her mouth.
Chelsea turned her back to them and began considering each garment. She had a job to do. She wasn’t here to get caught up in Adam’s personal life, especially as it had no bearing on the launch. Her skin heated. Okay, get caught up
any further
in his personal life. If he wanted to partake of what the other woman was offering, then it was none of Chelsea’s business.
Maybe if you tell yourself it’s not your business one more time
and
click your heels, it might actually become true.
Chelsea tried to focus on the clothes in front of her, even as she strained to hear the conversation taking place on the other side of the room. She couldn’t decipher any of the words, just Adam’s low, measured tone.
“Fine.” The other woman finally said, her voice tight.
Chelsea glanced at Monique from beneath her lashes and saw two red splotches materialize on her pale cheeks. Her thin, scarlet lips were pressed into a firm line. Jerkily, like a badly handled marionette, Monique walked over to Jordan and pulled him from the room without a backward glance.
“What did you say to her?” Chelsea asked Adam when he joined her at the racks, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“I told her I wasn’t interested in pursuing a personal relationship with her.”
Pleasure bloomed in her chest, but she couldn’t look at him, afraid her relief would be blanketed across her face. Instead, she chose to continue perusing the clothes. “There’s a good lesson in this. It’s always wise to be clear about your intentions.”
“Chelsea.”
He cupped her shoulders in his large, strong hands and turned her to face him. Her body was becoming accustomed to his touch, already leaning into him, awaiting his attention. He tugged on one of her curls and she felt an answering tug in the pit of her stomach. The strength of her attraction to him terrified her. Especially considering the stakes involved. She stood in a hypnotic trance as his fingers glided down her arm and entwined with hers, shivers of sensation following in their path.
His heated stare bored into hers as if trying to imprint his message on her brain. “I may prefer the company of computers to most people, but I have no problems being understood when I’m interested in a woman.”
She exhaled. Holy hell.
He pressed a kiss to her neck as his fingers trailed along her waist, slipping beneath her blouse to sweep against her bare skin. She trembled as bolts of sensation tap-danced up and down her body. Was this his way of telling her he was interested in her? Did she want to listen? What happened to the solid ground of business? She tried to concentrate. God, he had wicked lips and skilled fingers. Too late, she realized his intentions. His fingers dipped into her pocket and rescued his phone. One corner of his mouth ascended in a sensually satisfied smile.