Various States of Undress (28 page)

Virginia knew what she was supposed to be. Smart, friendly, kind, witty, attractive, trend-setting, completely and easily in control of her well-balanced, healthy life, and bright future. As long as all those boxes were checked, she was the perfect First Daughter. The ironic thing was that the people closest to her—her parents, her sisters—they didn’t expect all of that. But the rest of the country did. And she was no dummy. She just couldn’t seem to manage to check all the
right
boxes.

How was she supposed to buy and sell in Manhattan
now
? At one point, The Owlton Company had been the number one broker for firms who bought posh corporate apartments to use for visiting executives. Recently? She’d learned at the reading of the will, old Sam Owlton been handling the same type of business, but he’d been little more than a rental agent. There was only one client left. One. And she was stalking him like a bounty hunter.

Pacing like a drowned rat, she waited for him to cross her path—all the while talking to herself like a nut job as the paparazzi watched. Really, she’d kind of hit bottom, hadn’t she? “This sucks. Totally sucks, and I’m not sure what to do except try not to talk to myself,” she said to the squirrel perched on the wrought iron arm of the bench. The squirrel ran away.

“Fine.” Virginia said, giving in and letting the words come tumbling out. She sat back down and angled the umbrella to better hide her face as she mumbled. “I know. Sam was getting erratic, but I didn’t
think
anything about it. Besides, erratic is my middle name . . . if you believe the media.” She paused, frustration welling up. “But Sam shouldn’t have dumped all of his assets, or lack thereof, onto one person. What am I going to do with his apartment? And all of his ancient furniture? And Junior Mint. What am I going to do with a twenty-pound cat who hates me?”

Glancing up, Virginia looked at the ramrod straight back of the agent who’d handed her the umbrella. He stood a polite distance away, pretending not to listen while she pretended she was actually talking to someone. That guy would have no problem figuring out how to take care of a cat. He had his shit together. Most of his life wasn’t spent playing at work and working at play. The only reason he went out clubbing every other night was because he had to. Because she did. Maybe this entire situation was a wake-up call.

She looked down at her pumps, which she’d bought on impulse two days ago. The shiny patent-leather heels were caked with mud. Kind of like her reputation. “I need to grow up and start wearing sensible shoes. Or something.” Spying movement at the end of the sidewalk, she saw two agents converge on a man in a suit—a man who stood there stiffly as he was patted down. Her client. It had to be.

She stood up, her heart lurching a little as she slid the phone into her bag and clutched the umbrella. Too bad it wasn’t a magic Mary Poppins umbrella. If it was, she would have lifted straight up into the sky thirty seconds ago and transported herself back to her apartment and cozy bed so she could think until her head was completely on straight. But she didn’t
have
that kind of time—she only had opportunity.

So she waited and watched as the agents finished frisking the infamous Dexter Cameron—or at least that’s who she assumed he was. She’d never met him, never seen a photo of him and as far as social media went, he was a complete void. From the looks of his posture though, he was none too pleased, and it was widely rumored that even on a good day he could scare the crap out of people.

But what did
she
have to be scared of? Just the fact that his company was her only remaining client? And that since he hadn’t returned her calls, she’d stalked him a teeny bit? He could take five minutes to speak with her as he walked through the park this morning. And if he tried to railroad her or treat her like shit . . . oh, wow. He emerged from the cocoon of agents and shook his shoulders, striding forward.
Wow
, he was tall. And a lot younger than she expected.

Why the hell had she thought that Dexter Cameron I was just shy of putting his teeth in a glass on a TV tray? Nope. This guy definitely wasn’t geriatric. Not even close, which meant . . . he wasn’t Dexter Cameron I. He wasn’t even Dexter Cameron II. He was Dexter Cameron III—the
grandson
. She didn’t know a thing about him either, but he had to have some pull with his grandfather.

As he approached, she pasted on her sparkly smile—the one usually reserved for bartenders and friends of friends. The one that lit her eyes, but not enough to be genuine. When he stopped in front of her, she unlocked her knees and stuck out a hand. “Mr. Cameron? I’m Virginia Fulton. Nice to finally meet you.”

“It’s Dex.” He glanced down at her hand and shook it reluctantly. “I understand you’ve been trying to get in contact with my office regarding your . . . former employer. My condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you. Did you know Sam Owlton?”

“No. But I’m happy for anyone who’s at peace.” He gazed at her, his expression unreadable.

She gazed back, grateful for the dark lenses covering her eyes. What an odd thing for him to say. Nice, but odd. As for peaceful, she didn’t know how that felt, especially not at this moment, because Dex stared at her with green eyes so sharp and clear it was as if he could read her thoughts. She twirled the umbrella between her fingers, not letting herself drop her gaze, even though the staring contest was getting kind of strange. Did the guy ever
blink
?

“I’m not sure what’s so urgent, but I don’t usually have business meetings in Central Park. This is surprising and inconvenient. I’ve never been frisked before.” he said suddenly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize—graciously—but her nerves roared to life and took over her mouth. “Well, damn. Your office wouldn’t return my phone calls, Dex, and it’s not as if I could show up there without a media trail behind me. My agents weren’t pleased about me tracking you down, either. Just so you know.”

He shrugged. “I obviously know now.”

“Obviously.” Her sunglasses were fogging up from the rain, but she didn’t want to take them off. They hid her raccoon eyes. So she lifted a corner, hoping the steam would evaporate. It didn’t. Whatever. She was too annoyed to care anymore. She whipped them off and leveled a stare at Dex, who wore a hint of a smile. The sun glinting off his red hair turned it to flames and she could have sworn she heard a diabolical laugh rumbling in his chest.

He looked up at the sky. “At least it stopped raining.”

“Yes, that’s a bonus. Do you have a few minutes to chat?” Virginia snapped the umbrella closed and jammed the point into the grass, where it stood upright like an arrow. He gave her an impatient look, but nodded. What was with this guy? He
looked
like a billion bucks, but he had the social skills of a rock. He seemed . . . oh. Of course. It was the whole daughter-of-the-leader-of-the-free-world thing. It tended to make people self-conscious and nervous.

With a silent sigh, she clasped her hands together. “The Owlton Company and Cameron Enterprises have had a partnership for forty years. I want to make sure that continues.”

A hint of surprise crossed his face. “You want to make sure what continues?”

“The partnership,” she repeated. “I’m the new owner of Owlton.”

It was the first time she’d said the words out loud, and they hung in the air, not quite convincing, kind of like the new warmth of the muggy spring day.

Dex pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket and wiped beads of rain from the bench. “Join me.” He gave her a half smile and sat down, crossing an ankle on top of a knee. His ankle jiggled, and he stopped it. A few seconds later, it started again.

She stood her ground. He carried a
handkerchief
? The only other man who did that was . . . well, Sam. And he was old as dirt. No, he was
under
the dirt. Poor Sam. Her eyes welled with tears again and she replaced her sunglasses. She opened her bag and took out a notebook and pen. “If there are any changes you’d like to make, I can make some preliminary notes and—”

“Join me,” Dex repeated. He gestured to the seat next to him. There was that half-smile again. When his lips curved up, little lines bracketed the corners. It was hard not to stare, but her lenses were dark and she was in a really weird mood. So she stared. His lips were kind of . . . tasty. They looked warm, unlike the words that came out of them. He was one of those guys who thought he couldn’t be pinned down, wasn’t he?

She narrowed her eyes and sat on the bench. Well, he was about to be pinned—like an insect onto a piece of cardboard. “With all due respect, Dex, you need to let me know if Cameron Enterprises intends to continue as one of my clients.”

It
had
to continue—it was a huge corporation—and one of the premier jewelers in the country, with locations all over the world. Sure, they’d started as a department store, around the same time as Barney’s, but for the past thirty years they’d grown far beyond that. She
needed
them, and as she waited for Dex’s answer, she held her breath.

He laughed. And though her heart began to sink, the passing thought that his smile made him sort of handsome went out the window. The man was downright gorgeous when he laughed, which sucked for her. She opened her notebook and flipped through several blank pages. “I’m fully prepared to book apartments for your corporate retreat in July, but if you intend to break our contract, I can speak with an attorney.”

That wiped the smile from his face. He turned sideways and his knee brushed hers. “I’d like to help you.”

“You like to help me . . . but?” She couldn’t keep the skepticism from her voice.

“No buts. You’re in over your head, Virginia Fulton.”

Well, no shit. Even the squirrel who’d been sitting on the arm of the bench knew that. She’d never managed an account on her own, much less a huge one, and she had yet to sell a single piece of real estate. The ink on her license was barely dry. But she hadn’t expected Dex to be so blunt. People weren’t
blunt
with her, especially people she barely knew.

“It’s not your fault,” Dex continued. “Owlton was losing money hand over fist long before he kicked the bucket.”

“I’m not blaming myself.”

“I didn’t say you were, did I?”

Virginia flipped her notebook closed. “You implied it, but let’s move on. Why do you want to help me?”

“Because you can help me too.” Dex shrugged as if he didn’t care one way or the other. “You’re fun, right? And sexy, which is exactly what I want. So if you’re interested—”

Beneath her glasses, her eyes became wide as Frisbees. “What?”

“What?” he repeated.

“Are you . . . propositioning me?”

He frowned. “What gives you that idea? I just said—”

Virginia threw the notebook and pen back into her bag and stood up. “Okay. That’s it. I’m leaving.” She turned and walked away from the bench, signaling her agents with a raised hand. Her heels sank into the grass with every step and she gritted her teeth. Damn it. Of all the things she expected today, being so blatantly hit on was
not
one of them.

Behind her, Dex spoke. “Wait! That came out wrong. I shouldn’t have used the word sexy. You’re not sexy. You’re . . .”

She turned around, watching as he stood up, his expression pained. His fingers spread apart and he stared at them, as if they would help him find the right words. “I mean, you
are
sexy—let’s be honest,” he continued, “but I didn’t mean for that to be the point. I was asking you to be a consultant for Cameron’s. For the department store.”

“The word consultant never came out of your mouth,” she replied, strangely thrilled that he thought she was sexy. His
mouth
was sexy. She quit looking at it and examined her manicure.

“It didn’t?”

“No.” She glanced up and cocked her head to the side. “Neither did department, store, or Cameron’s.”

He nodded. “Okay. That went . . . not well.” And then carefully forming words, he took a couple of steps forward. “I’ll explain. You’re fashionable and famous and that flagship store is old-fashioned and forgotten. It’s the last one left, and it’s only kept alive out of nostalgia. That store—Lilah’s—is where Cameron Enterprises began after all. And I intend to make it profitable again.”

“Why?”

Dex shrugged. “Reasons that have nothing to do with you.” He glanced at the two agents who approached, talking into their sleeves.

Virginia walked as gracefully as she could across the soaked grass and stopped a couple of feet away from Dex. “Let’s assume I’m interested in helping you. How will you help me?”

“I can get you a list of potential new clients.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“A solid list.” He grinned, and her breath caught. “A
sexy
list,” he added. Her breath whooshed out in a disgusted sigh. He closed his eyes for a second. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have used the word ‘sexy.’ Again. Sometimes when I attempt to joke, what I imply and what’s understood aren’t the same thing. I have a bit of a problem with my image. People are under the impression that I’m somewhat odd.”

“You
think
?”

“I try not to think about it. But the board of directors think about it a lot.” Dex coughed. “In any case, I believe we could help each other. Maybe we could even start tonight.”

The two agents stopped on either side of Virginia and she folded her arms. With any luck, the three of them in their sunglasses looked like a vice squad or something. Not that she was actually scared of Dex Cameron. Not anymore. Not much. “Tonight?”

“The board wants me to get out more. Be seen about town having a good time being generous to charities. Take advantage of a few photo-ops.” He shrugged. It seemed to be his go-to move for when he didn’t appear to care. But Virginia bet he
did
care. A lot more than he let on.

“Take advantage, hmm? I’m going to translate your situation and you tell me if I’m right.” She stepped forward, a little bit too close to him, but she couldn’t correct herself without looking like she was backing away. And what she had to say needed to be in his face. “You want some photo-ops with a wild n’ crazy daughter of the president of the United States, because your awkward reputation isn’t doing you any favors as you move up the food chain in Cameron Enterprises. Maybe you’re eager to take over the reins? Want to prove yourself? Yeah. I’m going with that. So you pounce on the First Daughter, who just came from a funeral and is feeling vulnerable. And you assume she will say yes.”