The Highest Bidder

by Roxanne St Claire

  "They're looking at every possible angle," she said, coolly enough to stop the casual interrogation.

  Eleanor used a key card to open a door that led to a maze of shoulder-high cubicle walls, giving Paige an occasional glimpse at various techie-types at computers or around small tables having meetings. The Symphonies employees were all as young and hip as the music that blared from various computers and sound systems, most of them wearing the standard Silicon Valley uniform of jeans and slogan-covered T-shirts.

  Would Matt be dressed like that? Paige tried to swallow at the thought of seeing him again, refusing to fall back into the doubt and introspection that had kept her awake all night.

  She'd made up her mind. She'd thought this thing through. She wasn't backing down. His response to her was real. And her response to him? Oh, that was very, very real.

  Real enough for her to want an explanation for his sudden change in behavior. And real enough for her to want more. That's what she wanted. Him. In the most primal, physical way.

  Around a corner and through another set of doors, they approached a spacious sitting area surrounded by offices instead of cubicles. While Eleanor ambled over to her L-shaped desk, Paige was drawn to the velvety voice of Sinatra coming from the corner office.

  Adrenaline and anticipation sluiced through her veins. That had to be Matt's office. But a feminine chortle of laughter coming from the same place caught Paige off guard.

  "The ladies' room is down that hall to your left," Eleanor instructed as she riffled through papers, evidently unfazed by the sound of a woman laughing and Frank Sinatra singing in the middle of a Monday morning. "I'll find that contract by the time you get back."

  The hall was in the opposite direction of the office that beckoned her. Ignoring Eleanor's instructions, Paige moved forward, getting a glimpse of the corner of his desk, a large window that faced a pond and trees, and part of a leather sofa that lined one wall.

  And what was on that leather sofa stopped Paige cold. From her vantage point, all she could see were two long, bare, gorgeous legs finished off by a pair of slinky cream pumps.

  The legs uncrossed and crossed again, accompanied by another throaty laugh.

  "I can handle anything, and you know that." One leg slid over the other again, very slowly this time. "Better than anyone."

  "I just need you to handle an event, Tessa." The baritone of his voice easily overpowered the soft music, but not the sudden rush of blood in Paige's ears.

  "It'll be no problem, Matty." Matty? "I'm sure your guests will be happy not to have to stay home and hand out candy to brats all night, anyway. I'll start researching possible venues this morning."

  Eleanor turned from her desk and slid her gaze pointedly toward the hall. "Down there, Miss Ashton. To the left."

  Was that a warning to run or a reminder that the possible venues no longer included Ashton Estate Winery? Either way, Paige was just seconds and inches away from a most embarrassing encounter. Not only had she defied the fax she'd received at eight that morning and ignored the chilly voice mail message Matt had left her, now she was face-to-face with the competition who'd gotten the job. And by the looks of those flip-flopping legs, the competition who'd get Matt, too.

  Turning on her heel, Paige headed toward the ladies' room with enough speed that Eleanor probably thought she was about to have an accident.

  Inside, she put both hands on the counter and stared in the mirror. She hadn't seen the woman's face, but did she have to? She'd be tall, blond, svelte, perfect. She had a sexy snicker and legs that could stop traffic.

  And now she had Paige's event and a month of attention from "Matty."

  Damn.

  No, Paige told herself, shaking her head at her own image as if she could rattle some sense into it. Had she worked all night last night and driven all the way down to San Francisco just to be outmaneuvered by a pair of legs?

  She wrinkled her nose at herself, trying to see past her too-small chin, too-nondescript eyes, her too-mouse-brown hair, and way-too-boyish figure.

  Megan said her face was delicate. Her mother said a small chin is a sign of good breeding. Her hairstylist did her best to add a few highlights to that brown. And her figure? She ran her hands over the apricot knit dress she'd carefully selected because it was professional but definitely feminine.

  Her figure certainly didn't seem too boyish to Matt Camberlane when he'd explored it yesterday.

  "I'm not giving up," she whispered to her reflection. "I'm not leaving without finding out what spooked him yesterday." She'd do what she had to do to get the answers she wanted, and if she managed to pull in the contract in the process, wonderful. Megan would be delighted. "Ashtons don't give up," she reminded herself.

  The door whooshed open and with one glance at the familiar pumps, Paige knew exactly who'd entered.

  Okay, not blond. Brunette. But tall, svelte and flawless just the same.

  The woman's ebony eyes danced with mirth, and a confident, secret smile played on her lips.

  Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Twenty-two years under the tutelage of Spencer Ashton had at least taught her that much.

  "Hello," Paige said, turning from the sink. "Do you work here?"

  The woman paused on her way into a stall, noticing Paige for the first time. "Yes, I do. I'm Tessa Carpenter. I work in Marketing. And you?"

  "I'm Paige Ashton," she said, holding out her hand. "I have a meeting here this morning."

  Tessa raised a striking, sculpted brow, as though no one could actually have a meeting at Symphonies that she didn't know about. "With…?"

  "Matt Camberlane."

  That got her attention. The dark eyes widened and dropped in a quick review. "I just left his office," she announced, then smiled as she stepped toward a stall door. "I think that put him in a better mood than he was in the morning."

  "Oh?" Paige turned to the mirror and unsnapped her handbag. "That's funny. He was in a great mood all weekend."

  The door froze as Tessa looked at her. "Really."

  Paige dabbed on some shiny lip gloss. "Really."

  "Where did you see him this weekend?"

  "A fund-raiser. Dinner. A picnic." Paige watched Tessa pale ever so slightly. "In fact, we're having lunch this afternoon."

  "It's only ten o'clock." Tessa said slowly. "You're kind of early for a lunch meeting."

  Paige checked her lips in the mirror. "Yes. I am." Then she snapped her bag closed and headed toward the door, feeling wickedly elated.

  Tessa Carpenter and her endless legs were not going to get her down. She had a mission, a goal. She had no idea how, but she was going to march right into that office and let that electricity zing between them again. She wanted that thrill, that delicious, addictive sensation that wound through her when he kissed her, touched her, liquefied her whole being. She wanted it and she intended to get it.

  With a determined push, she yanked open the door and walked right into Matt Camberlane.

  "Paige?" Matt had to blink to be sure he wasn't just conjuring her up as he left the men's room.

  She lifted her face toward him and gave him a bright smile. "I'm a few minutes early."

  "Early?"

  "For our meeting." She lifted her briefcase an inch. "You're going to love these ideas."

  He deserved this. He deserved to squirm in front of her. He should have explained things to her, not let her run off making all sorts of wrong assumptions. And then he didn't call her—unless you count a lousy voice mail message with a mumbled excuse about delays in the product launch. Hell, yeah. He deserved to suffer.

  Only, he wasn't suffering. Because looking at those innocent eyes, standing in the enclosed hallway close enough to almost drop a kiss on her caramel-colored hair was not suffering. In fact, it was a lot closer to heaven than hell.

  Indicating the executive suites with one hand, he said, "My office is this way, Paige."

  Even though he wanted to touch her so badly he literally ache
d, he fought the urge to place a hand on her back as they walked together. He wouldn't touch her. He would not lay a single finger on her body.

  Eleanor looked up from her desk and her jaw slackened.

  "Hold my calls, please," he instructed her, not taking the time to respond to the surprised look on his assistant's face.

  Paige seemed to know exactly where to go, entering his office ahead of him.

  "Have a seat." He pulled out one of the guest chairs in front of his desk, somehow not wanting her to sit on the sofa where Tessa Carpenter had just licked her chops over him. Paige wasn't a slink-on-the-leather kind of girl. She was a sit-in-the-straight-back-chair kind of girl.

  Wasn't she?

  As she sat, the hem of her peachy sweater dress rose just enough to make him question that thought. The silky thigh the move revealed collided with the image of Paige sliding out of her clothes the previous day. His whole lower half threatened to jump up and betray his thoughts. Good God, was he incapable of having a conversation with this woman without getting aroused?

  He closed the door and tapped the wall switch that automatically lowered the sound system.

  "Don't turn off Frank on my account," she said. "I've been humming 'Under My Skin' for two days."

  His reaction to that was definitely above the waist. "You have?"

  She turned in the chair to face him. "Just thinking about the VoiceBox launch party makes me hum some great songs."

  Well, that explained it. She hadn't received the fax or his message. And even after the way they left things on Sunday afternoon, she showed up for a meeting, all professional and ready to work.

  Sitting across from her in the other chair, he took a deep breath. There'd be no hasty, feeble explanations of a product delay now. He had to tell her the truth.

  "Paige—"

  Before he could speak, she began to spread papers on his desk. "Here's the room layout I worked out."

  "Paige, wait."

  "No," she shook her head and held up one finger. "You wait. Wait until you see the idea I had for the centerpieces."

  He opened his mouth to stop her again, but his gaze fell on the picture of a gray felt hat—Sinatra's trademark—tipped over the corner of a laptop screen. He couldn't help smiling. "Now would you look at that?"

  "Oh, that's just something I worked up off the Internet," she assured him. "There'll be a laptop on each table with a different theme that instantly brings to mind the musician. Lips for Mick Jagger, oversize glasses for Elton John."

  Unable to resist, he lifted another page and scanned it.

  "You did a lot of work yesterday," he said slowly. "I'm impressed."

  She didn't respond for a moment as the flush deepened in her cheeks. "I didn't want to just sit around and think."

  About what a jerk he was, no doubt. "Paige." He put his hand over hers, loving the slender, smooth feel of it. There went the vow not to touch her. "I canceled the contract and this meeting."

  "I know."

  She knew? He just stared at her.

  "I got your fax and your message. But I really wanted you to see these ideas, so I decided to bend the rules and muscle my way into your office." She gave him a saucy grin. "Pretty good muscling, huh?"

  He couldn't fight his own smile as he studied her. "Yeah. Damn good. Muscled your way right past Eleanor, and that's no easy feat."

  "Eleanor was a breeze. Now, Tessa, in the bathroom. She was a little more protective of you."

  He laughed out loud at that. "She works for me."

  "Yes, in Marketing. I know."

  "She was here to be briefed—"

  "On the product announcement and event. I know."

  Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair and let out a little puff of air in defeat. "Is there anything you don't know?"

  "I don't know why you got so weird on me yesterday afternoon."

  His throat closed up. Not at what she said, but at the brave, straightforward way she said it. He owed this lady an explanation and, more than that, he admired her for seeking it out.

  Searching her face, he tried to form the right words. Your tears freaked me out? He'd sound like a basket case. You're too refined and intelligent for me to seduce? What, he only slept with coarse, classless girls? You want emotion and I want sex?

  Bingo.

  He looked down for one second, then back into those ever-changing eyes. Forget the color, he could just get lost in the shape and size and patience he saw as she waited for his explanation.

  "When you cried, Paige, I realized that a … a physical relationship was more meaningful to you than it … than it usually is to me." Geez. He sounded like a cad. "I mean, I generally don't get emotionally involved with the women I…" No better.

  He stood suddenly, moving behind his chair to grip the backrest, aware that her gaze never left him. "I … I just sensed that casual sex and you … don't mix well."

  She didn't say a word.

  He waited a beat, then added, "I respect you."

  "Well, that's a shame."

  A shame? "Pardon me?"

  "Because your respect cost me a very important piece of business."

  "A piece of— Do you want to have this event at your winery that much?"

  She arched a brow. "I want it very much, yes. Enough to get past the awkwardness of a single, unexpected moment where we … lost control." She stood and shuffled the papers on his desk. "But not if it's going to make you so uncomfortable you stutter."

  He was not stuttering. Was he?

  He slammed a hand over the papers. "Not so fast, Miss Paige Ashton."

  She looked up questioningly, a teasing smile at the corner of her lips. "Yes, Matt?"

  "I like those ideas."

  "I knew you would." She shrugged. "But they're mine. They come with the Ashton Estate Winery locale and my event-planning skills." She tugged at the papers under his hand. "Evidently, you respect me too much to get a chance to see them executed."

  He couldn't hold back the laugh. "You're muscling again."

  Her smile widened, but she kept her attention on the papers, trying to sort them neatly.

  "I keep forgetting you're an Ashton."

  That earned him a quick look. "And we're fairly adept at getting what we want."

  "I see that." He fluttered the sketch of Frankie's felt hat. "Now I'm sorry I canceled that contract."

  "I happen to have another one right here." Without missing a beat, she flipped a piece of paper in front of him and produced a pen. "All you have to do is sign."

  She had no idea what she was asking him to do. Their attraction was palpable, and not acting on it would take every ounce of control he wasn't sure he had.

  "I … I can't."

  She leaned close enough to tease him with that dainty, flowery scent. The same aroma that lingered on the silk bra that he'd dropped into his suitcase when he left Auberge.

  "Can't?" she asked, holding his gaze with a look so rich with promise and possibilities that it damn near knocked the wind out of him. "I seem to recall you don't know what that word means."

  Her smile was pure victory as she handed him a pen.

  He could do this.

  After Matt gave his keys to the Ritz-Carlton valet, he rounded the back end of his Ferrari to meet Paige, as another valet opened her door.

  He repeated his silent mantra, the one he'd started during their two-hour morning meeting about the VoiceBox launch event.

  He could do this. He could work on a project with a woman he was wildly attracted to and not seduce her. He could get the benefit of her ideas and business acumen—which was formidable—and he could walk away without having to get the view from on top of her.

  He wasn't a teenager crazed by lust-starved hormones.

  He made it around the car just in time to see that slinky dress slide up her thighs as she maneuvered out of the low sports car. A demon of an early erection threatened.

  Not a teenager? Okay. Then he was an adult crazed by lust-starve
d hormones. But he was also the born competitor. He'd just think of this as one major competition. The brain vs. the body.

  Good money was on the … oh, hell.

  She gave him a sunny smile. "The Ritz, eh? You're not thinking about checking out their function rooms are you?"

  "Not a chance. You won me over this morning." He led her into the lobby toward his favorite luncheon spot, The Terrace. "The event is going to be held on Halloween at Ashton Winery Estate," he assured her. "Your ideas are too good to pass up."

  At least, that was the reason he gave himself for signing the contract. Flimsy, but he'd hold on to it.

  They were seated at his favorite table on the brick courtyard of The Terrace, secluded among the flowers and trees, and serenaded by the cascade of a giant fountain.

  "Walker introduced me to this place," Matt told her after they'd listened to the waiter describe an array of Mediterranean-themed specials. "We used to come here for Sunday brunch when we were in college."

  Her eyebrow shot up in disbelief. "Pretty swanky place for a couple of Berkeley students."

  "Trust me, we hit the not-so-swanky places the night before." He dropped a linen napkin on his lap. "That was the great thing about Walker. You'd never know his background. He was always really down to earth. But after a week of midterms and all-nighters, he was the first to pull out his wallet and say, 'Matty boy, we need some decent chow.'"

  She laughed at his dead-on impression of the serious Walker Ashton.

  "And we'd come here and eat like, well, like starving Berkeley students on a trust fund. And he'd always pay." He shook his head in amazement. "Before Walker, I'd never even heard of the Ritz-Carlton."

  Paige took a sip of water and regarded him closely. "You didn't talk much about your childhood the other night. Where are your parents?"

  Good question, he thought wryly. Where are my parents? "My dad is MIA and has been for as long as I can remember."

  She frowned at the idea or the acronym, he didn't know which.

  "He left when I was a child and never made too much of an effort to keep in touch." He took a sip of water, making a conscious decision to barrel on with information he shared with few people. "And my mom … well, she's finally settled into a real home for the first time in her life and she seems to be getting her act together." Seems being the operative word. "I help her out a lot. She's better when she doesn't have to hold down a job."