One Night Standards (2 page)

I find out what's going on, and I might finally get that promotion.

Mark smiled to himself. He'd been working in sales at Trimera for the past five years, patiently biding his time, putting up with the snickers and snide comments about his past. He'd put in his time at night school, getting his MBA. Now, he was looking for his big break to make it up to the next level: director for a big account. He'd been angling for Marion & Co. for over a year. To have Sophie Jones and her information fall into his lap was an incredible stroke of luck.

He glanced over. Sophie's toffee-colored curls danced around her shoulders, emphasizing the curve of her high cheekbones. Her green eyes scanned the scenery, fringed by long lashes. Her full lips pouted ever so slightly.

Having a woman like this fall into my lap would be incredible luck, no matter what the reason.

His body tightened in response. “Great sunset,” he croaked.

She glanced at him, her expression slightly amused. “You said that already.”

He frowned. “Oh. Right.”

He was attracted to her. That wasn't all that odd, but the strength of his reaction was. He was used to dealing with women on a daily basis in his line of work—cosmetics execs were usually female. And before that, doing runway work, he'd been surrounded by beautiful women constantly. Comparatively speaking, Sophie wasn't stunning, like the models and actresses he'd seen. But there was something about her, a spark or something, that he found absolutely irresistible.

“So, you work with your mother and your sister, you said?”

“Mmm.”

“That must be fun,” Mark continued relentlessly. “I couldn't work with my sister. Or my brother, now that I think of it.” He laughed. “And I wouldn't want to work with my mother. Too much pressure. If giving her my grades was hard enough, I can't imagine what it'd be like to give her a sales performance report.”

He was gratified when she chuckled a little at that one. “Older or younger? Your brother and sister,” she asked.

It was an opening, so he took it. “My sister, Dana, is younger by three years. My brother Jeff is older by two.”

“You sound close,” she noted.

“Well, you must be close to your family, if you're working with them,” he said. “How do you manage without going crazy?”

She smiled. “We do go crazy. Mom's a bit of an absentminded professor,” she said, and her expression was soft, unguarded. “Lydia's a creative type. She's younger by only about ten months…a total ‘oops' baby. She acts like she's older, though.”

Mark nodded, encouraging. “And you're not the creative type?”

“I'm the business type,” she said. “Numbers, strategy, you name it. That's what I—” She stopped short, as if she realized that they were, indeed, having a conversation about her company. “I must be boring you, with all this talk,” she demurred.

He gritted his teeth. He'd need to try another tack.

She shifted in her seat to face him. “Listen, can I be blunt?”

“Please,” he replied easily, shifting gears. Whatever it took to keep her talking.

“I know who you work for. It's right there on your product boxes.” She crossed her arms. “You're my competition. You know that.”

Now he did sigh. He doubted she would have missed that, but he didn't know that she'd put together that they were competitors. “Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean we can't, you know, talk.”

“Actually,” she pointed out, “it does. At least, it means I can't talk to you, about business.”

“It's not like we're even in the same league,” he replied. “No offense intended.”

“None taken,” she said, her words edged in ice.

“I mean, Trimera is huge. Global. From the sounds of it, your company…What's the name of it, anyway?”

“Diva Nation.”

Good name, he thought absently. “It's a small start-up. You're too small for us to be worried about.”

“Really?” she said sweetly. “And I suppose mentioning the Marion & Co. meeting did nothing to cause you concern.”

She had him there.

“You can't honestly tell me that you're asking about my company out of the kindness of your heart,” she added. “I mean, you seem nice enough, but you've been trying to pump me for information since you got on the road. Don't kid a kidder. I used to work for a big company, too. Nothing's too small to be a threat. You're looking for an angle.” Her voice was bitter. “I remember what it's like.”

He realized she was right—and her comment made him feel ever so slightly slimy. “It was just business,” he said, knowing it was a lame defense.

She shook her head, her curls twitching in response. “It always is,” she murmured.

“How old are you?” he asked.

She blinked in surprise. “Twenty-nine,” she responded. “Not that it's any of your business.”

“I just thought—you're awfully young to be that jaded.”

She sighed. “You're right. But I've had some bad experiences.”

“Why don't you tell me about them?”

“What are you, a bartender?”

He chuckled. “You don't have to tell me about your business now, if you think it'll compromise you,” he said. “But you could tell me about your old job, right?”

Glancing over, he saw she was staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to soften me up?”

“Yeah,” he admitted, and was rewarded when she laughed. “But I am interested.”

“Know thy enemy, huh?”

“We've got another five hours ahead of us, at least,” he said. “I don't want to be stuck feeling like a spy or a criminal just because we happen to work in the same industry.” He winked at her. “Besides…I like you.”

That seemed to catch her by surprise. “Why?”

“You've got guts,” he said. “And lord, you're persistent. I half thought you were going to hit me on the head and steal my car if I didn't give in!”

“Why didn't I think of that?” She laughed again, and slowly, he felt the tension in the car recede. “So, what do you want to know?”

He looked at her. “Why don't you tell me about your old job,” he said, “and we'll take it from there.”

Sophie revealed her past as an account executive at a cutthroat apparel company, talking about hellish bosses and asinine corporate policies that had finally caused her to quit. The stories, while crazy, were also funny, at least the way she told them. “So that's why I decided to work for my family,” she said. “What about you? What caused you to work for cosmetics?”

“I used to be—don't laugh,” he cautioned. “I was a male model.”

She didn't laugh. “I can see that,” she said instead, and he could've sworn that there was a tone of admiration in her voice. Warmth expanded from the pit of his stomach in response, and he focused on her next question to distract himself. “But why cosmetics?”

“I ran into a lot of cosmetics people working,” he said. “They knew a lot of cosmetics sales reps, and I wound up interviewing with one of them when I decided to go into business. It was a friend of a friend. Besides, I understood how the products worked on the women I worked with,” he added. But that sounded defensive. “I figure, it's been a good experience.”

“Huh. We're a pair, aren't we?” She leaned back, stretching, and he got a glimpse of her breasts pressing against the straining cloth of her blouse.

“How do you mean?”

“We've both got something to prove,” she said. “I'm trying to prove that you can make it in business without being heartless. You're trying to prove that you're more than just a pretty face.”

He stared at the road, momentarily stunned. She'd summed up his life in one sentence, and realized what people he'd been working with for years hadn't seemed to grasp.

“I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “That was blunt, again, wasn't it?”

“No, it's fine,” he said.

“I know you're more than just your looks, though,” she added.

“Really?” He sneaked a quick look at her face. “How can you tell?”

“You heard me talk about my meeting, and you jumped on it,” she said. “You've been persuasive, without being a pest. And you listened to my old business stories and asked really good questions. You obviously know your stuff.”

He couldn't help it. He grinned with pride. “Thanks.”

“You're going to be a tough competitor to beat.”

He laughed. “Damn, I like you.”

She smiled in response. “I like you, too.”

“Let's stop talking about business,” he said. “I want to know more about you. The real you.”

She laughed, a bit nervously. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything,” he said softly. “Everything.”

For a moment, it was as if they were frozen in time. Then she cleared her throat.

“I always wanted to live in Paris.”

He smiled. It might not help him get the promotion, but as he listened to her talk about her dreams and fears, he admitted that he felt better than he ever had, at any sales meeting or business function. And she was, technically, the enemy. After this car ride, they'd probably never see each other again, except the odd mention in a trade bulletin.

Too bad she's a competitor,
he thought, putting his ambition aside for a moment as he listened to her musical voice.

Because I sure would like to get closer to this woman.

“W
E
'
RE FINALLY HERE
,” Mark said, his voice sounding slightly disappointed.

Sophie could hardly believe it. It was eleven o'clock when they rolled into the Bedingfield Arms, and yet the hours had flown by. Considering they'd both avoided talking business, she was surprised at how much they did have to talk about. But he'd traveled around the world, to many of the same cities she'd loved. And they liked a lot of the same movies, the same books, the same music. And while she was exhausted, she was sorry that the trip had to end.

“Oh, man, I am dying for a hot shower and a big bed,” he said, in that mint-julep drawl of his.

She sighed. That sounded good. Sounded even better if she could share one or both with Mark, who was arguably one of the best-looking men she'd ever seen. And the past few hours had only made her bizarre crush stronger, because he was different. Good-looking guys with egos the size of a Cadillac, she wanted nothing to do with. But Mark was funny, and versatile, and smart. He knew how to listen, and he knew how to share…. He had some of the wildest stories she'd ever heard. She'd actually wiped tears away from the laughter several of his anecdotes had produced.

If only he could write a decent e-mail and knew how to return a phone call, she'd probably go to bed with him, she thought, then bit her own tongue as she started giggling.

“What? What'd I miss?”

“Nothing,” she said, rolling her own head back, trying to stretch the kinks out of her neck. “Just punchy.”

“You are the best, you know that?” he said as they parked the car. “Honestly. I haven't had this much fun on a road trip since the Parker twins needed a ride to Georgia.”

“Well, I'd love to drink to the Parker twins, and you'll have to tell me that story sometime,” she said, unfolding herself from the car with a groan. “But looks like our sojourn is over, pal.”

They collected the bags, and she felt a stab of regret. Now that they were at the hotel, he'd undoubtedly go up to his room, she to hers, and never the twain would meet, as it were.

Still, he was funny, he was nice, and she hadn't spent this much time with a man after the sun had set since she'd started working at Diva Nation. She needed to get out more. She took a quick glance at his physique as he easily lifted the bulky luggage.

Getting out's not the only thing I need.

She shook her head, clearing it of the thought. Getting any further involved with Mark would be trouble—no matter how much she liked him personally.

Man, it had been a long day, a long drive. A long night.

They checked in with the night clerk, and got their keys. As luck would have it, they had rooms right next to each other. They rode the elevator in companionable silence. Finally, they were each at their respective hotel-room doors.

“Well, I guess this is it.” She held out her hand. “Thank you. For the ride, for being a great conversationalist. For everything.”

His hand was warm and firm in hers. “I feel like we've been to war together.”

She laughed, then bit her lip. “Would a hug be totally inappropriate? Because I swear, after that car ride, I feel like I'm leaving my best friend here.”