by Olivia Logan
“If you didn’t know, slammed doors mean you’re not welcome.” Her voice was as cold as her eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Discussing date six,” he said while flexing his toes to assess if anything was broken. Nope, nothing.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, and we are going to Monaco.” He should have known by now she wouldn’t comply easily, so why then was he surprised by her snort of laughter?
“First you hang up the phone ...”
“Actually, you hung up on me.”
“Whatever. But then you have the nerve to come to my home and demand I go with you. Ordering someone on a date and requesting her presence are two very different things. Here’s a thought: Why don’t we put the wager on ice for now, maybe even for good.” She turned toward a large window, the catch in her voice making him pause.
“Halfway through?”
“Why not? After all, it has had the desired effect, hasn’t it? Your deal is being concluded quicker than before, and my ratings have risen.”
“The original wager was eight dates in one month. Or have your forgotten the hashtag?”
“Plans change, Jack. Move on.”
He frowned at the sudden lilt in her voice, the immediate cough after she had finished talking making him instantly suspicious. He knew her ratings had improved. Thanks to this alone, the egotistical owners of her station took great pride in advertising the results of the quarterly survey after blogging about the “biggest thing to hit radio in years.”
“Plans maybe. Wagers, deals aren’t as flexible.”
“And if I don’t want to go? What will you do—physically carry me?”
“I didn’t think my company or the location was that revolting to you,” he replied, his voice hard. “In fact, I got the distinct impression both were more than satisfactory.” He smiled tightly at her sharp intake of breath. So she hadn’t forgotten their kiss, either.
“Back to your default setting again, Harper?” she bit out. “And what did you mean by deals aren’t flexible? Negotiate!” She turned back around sharply, and he forced his eyes to move from the sight of her pert derriere to her face.
“We have been summoned for a week to attend a meeting with Nasser and Rakena.”
“Wait. Back up a sec. You want me to attend a week-long deal with you and Rakena and, I’m guessing, his new wife? Forgive my ignorance, but in my experience, most dinner parties ask you to bring a bottle of wine. I’m new on the meeting etiquette of bring a date.”
“Welcome to twenty-first-century business 101.”
“I would say that’s not funny, but I’m too shocked by the fact that you tried to crack a joke. A week? That’s all six dates left.”
“I am aware. I told you your tweets reach a global audience, especially where they also concern me.”
“You haven’t exactly helped by tweeting yourself. I did tell you to leave them to me, someone who actually knows her way around social media,” she said dryly, tiptoeing forward, the dark wood of the floor a sharp contrast to her creamy skin.
“And were they completely honest tweets, CJ?” he asked. He loved the crimson blush crawling up her neck, staining her cheeks in its dark hue.
“I ... um ... yes of course they were! But the question is, if you need to bring a date, then why me? After our last conversation, I’d thought that ...”
“This is business and they know who you are.” God help him. “I need you, CJ.” The four words echoed around the flat, cutting her off, the intensity of his tone surprising them both, the truth of his statement slicing through him. CJ’s light brown lashes fluttered down slowly, her nostrils rising as she inhaled slowly before opening again.
“Fine, Jack. I will go with you. I’m a professional, and a deal’s a deal for both of us, but I will continue to do as I have done, which is to tweet honestly. And as part of the bargain, I will be tweeting alone.”
He watched through hooded lids as she stepped forward, a small hand outstretched to shake his. He felt the manic fluttering of her pulse under his fingers, and he dropped her hand sharply, stepping back.
“Till tomorrow.” The words echoed off the high ceiling.
The door creaked at his exit. He wouldn’t look back to see if she’d closed it. He had to look forward. The prize was in his grasp. He just had to reach out and take it.
Chapter 8
Swinging the heavy vintage jacket across her arm, CJ pushed the damp hair from her face, her eyes drinking in the scene below her. The azure sea glistened in the afternoon light, reflecting the expensive white stone of the nearby buildings, lending it a peaceful, calming air. An air not helped by the heavy tap of masculine footsteps behind her that sent her already sensitized nerves scattering into the mild wind.
“The large yacht you see in the distance belongs to Rakena.” He didn’t conceal the steel in his tone.
Gathering her butterfly thoughts at his nearness, she drew in a deep breath, the exotic smells of the surrounding foliage filling her senses. “And are we staying on it?”
The light chuckle next to her made the hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she bristled at the unexpected sound.
“No, CJ. We are staying in the hotel over there.” He pointed with his free hand to a large ornate building dominating the waterfront, a familiar golden orb on its pinnacle making the rest of the buildings around it pale in comparison.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess. That obnoxious building belongs to ...”
“Me.”
“Darn it, Jack. You ruined the surprise.” A strained smile pulled at her mouth as her stomach dropped an inch. She knew that orb. Knew it because her mother would pick that chain whenever she felt the urge to take a sudden holiday away from the stresses and strains of life. Had Jack bought the hotel from the family her mother used to know? She couldn’t recall the name of the woman her mother had called her BFF before the friendship died after a few years.
“I take it the same arrangements as the Alps count?” CJ asked, refusing to budge at the sudden movement of the steel arm behind her trying to move her forward toward the waiting limo.
“We are sharing the penthouse suite. My suite,” he said, his tone final.
The shock of his statement overrode her dancing nerves brought on by the heat of his hand making her brain kick into gear.
“I’m sorry. I think the unseasonably warm, springlike weather has addled my brain. It sounded like you said we are sharing a suite.”
“I did.” He was clearly brokering no further discussion.
“Ignoring the fact that this is totally unacceptable, it leaves us with two options. One, since it is your hotel, you give me my own room, which I will more than happily pay for. Or two, I hope for your sake it has a comfortable couch or floor because there is no way we are sharing a bed.”
“As both of those options are unacceptable, I will give you a third.” His calm, almost put upon demeanor made her bristle further.
“Oh?” Her heart was hammering at heart attack levels.
“We use the two separate beds in the two separate rooms in the suite.” She didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss that cool smile or smack it.
“You could have mentioned that fact earlier.”
“And spoil the fun?” He turned his head away from her as the car slid to a gentle stop in front of the hotel’s grand marble entrance, the car door opening almost immediately.
She could do this. It was just like stepping into cold water: Relax into it and her body would acclimatise. Or go into hypothermia eventually leading to her death; she wasn’t sure which.
A large hand closed around hers, the heat from his touch as oddly reassuring as it was arousing, and her face heated under his sudden, steady stare.
“There are no press here, CJ. This is a private deal, and unlike the cinema, this is my property, my land.”
A shiver swept through her at his commanding tone, and she raised her chin, declining her head in a delica
te nod.
“In which case, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?” She slid her hand from under his and opened the door next to her. Draping the coat around her shoulders, she ignored the open-mouthed stares of the nearby crowd as she marched past his own open car door and stepped into the hotel entrance.
She couldn’t remember a golden orb hotel ever looking like this before. The combination of wall-to-wall white marble and shining chandeliers lent it a heavenly quality; perhaps the pearly gates were at the other end of the long walkway. She stepped aside as a smallish ball of fur, which she wasn’t sure was four-legged or two-, stomped past her. A small gasp made her turn, her eyes fixed like everyone else’s in the lobby, on the one man who had just entered. Entered and dominated the large space with ease. Jack had been wrong. She knew now. This wasn’t just his hotel. This was his domain, his world that he lived in with ease. A world she, on the other hand, knew she didn’t.
After Jack gave a slight nod to the uniformed man on his right, CJ found herself ushered toward a discrete lift. Who knew how many times before the man had said politely but firmly, “This way, madam” to other women. Not that she was jealous. Jealousy in her experience—or should she say through her listeners?—was a weak emotion that meant you didn’t trust the person you were with. Luckily, she knew exactly where she stood. Smack bang in the middle of a wager that had somehow contorted itself into a business deal involving a third party. It wasn’t like either she or Jack were pretending to be in love in order to get what they wanted. Though ... she scrunched up the jacket’s sleeve in her hand as the Willy Wonka glass-style lift climbed higher and higher, the dark burgundy walls of the hotel’s interior around it giving way to the view of the ocean.
She inhaled quickly at the sudden light, her eyes registering the drop beneath her. She swayed slightly, only to find a pair of muscled arms encircling her waist, pulling her close to his hard chest. She wasn’t sure which was having the more detrimental effect now: the thought of being in love with Jack or the practicality of his close proximity next to her. His suit jacket grazed her cheek, its softness in stark contrast to the usual steel grey color.
“Are you okay?” The deep timbre next to her ear didn’t help quell the flame either, and she stepped back, unsuccessfully shrugging off his arm only to find it wrapped tighter around her, pinning her to him.
“Yes, I’m fine.” If only the breathy denial sounded less breathy and more realistic. “Just a bout of, you know ... vertigo.” She smiled slightly at the genius of her quick thinking. That was realistic enough. It was either that or confess what really made her lose her balance.
“After skiing on the mountains and jet rides, now you are suffering from vertigo?” OK, he had a right to be suspicious. She could feel his dark eyes boring into the top of her head where she had successfully pinned the berry ends into a swirly high bun.
“Well, you know, that’s the funny thing about vertigo.” Way to go, CJ! She managed to wriggle free from his arms before meeting his gaze. She wasn’t that gleeful at the tingling in her body.
“What’s the funny thing?” he asked. He clearly held no trace of shared amusement.
“Vertigo is a bit like a nut allergy. One minute you don’t have it, the next minute you do. Crazy, eh?” she added dryly, pretty sure that the sharp flick of his eyebrow was not one of agreement.
The lift’s gentle ping signaled their arrival at their intended destination, and she drew in a sharp breath. There were two rooms. Two rooms. Shaking off the virgin nerves, she stepped pointedly from the lift, sure that shock was written all over her face.
She had expected more wall-to-wall white marble like the rest of the hotel. Even, if she were honest with herself, a white bear rug on the floor in front of an open fire. It was hard not to stare at the gigantic, dark brown leather chairs in front of the equally huge flat screen TV or the snooker table only a few feet away from a large dark wooden desk that would have looked more at home on Wall Street than in palatial Monaco.
“Interesting deco you have here. A bit different from the rest of the hotel.”
“Just so you know, the lights don’t turn on and off when I clap and the bed doesn’t rotate.”
Jack was too close; she schooled her face into a neutral mask, stepping away toward the dark wooden paneled doors on the opposite side of the suite. A partially concealed cabinet there reminded her of something from a James Bond movie. “Is that a bar?” she called over her shoulder.
“Yes. Do you want a drink?”
“Why not. After all, it’s twelve o’clock somewhere, isn’t it?”
“Actually, it is 3:40 p.m. here. A perfectly acceptable time to drink by anyone’s standards. The bar is always fully stocked. What would you like?”
CJ narrowed her eyes at his strong, steady movements. She hadn’t even thought of movements as strong before, and yet, like everything else, he seemed to take the book of what a man should look and behave like and throw it out of the window, alongside her common sense.
“A rose spritzer ... please,” she added. Yes, this may not be her idea of an ideal date, but she could remember her manners. And speaking of dates ...
“Just so we are clear, this ...”
“Is date six,” he finished for her, the creased dimples appearing in his cheeks much to her consternation.
Behind the bar, he was swift and sure—how many other times had he made the same drink? Not that she cared, of course. That’s why she was taking such a big gulp of wine. If she did care, she’d try to drink more slowly, like a lady.
Nodding at Jack’s reply, she turned toward the partially open door, the small glimpse of blue in the distance announcing it looked over the ocean. Perfect. Pushing the door open, she wrinkled her nose as the smell of fresh mint wafted around her. It was no surprise the dark brown theme had also made an appearance in here. A black-and-white landscape picture on the nearby wall caught her gaze and she moved closer, letting her coat drop to the nearby super king-size bed. She narrowed her eyes at the unusual rise and fall of the sand in the photo, a clear sign it had been disturbed. Judging by the precise rock and shells formation in the picture, whoever had taken it had not just taken it for the scenery.
“Right side or left?”
She turned her head toward the sound of Jack’s voice, ignoring the Sahara dryness of her tongue and the manic fluttering of her pulse at the image he presented languishing against the door frame, his suit jacket now discarded, allowing free viewing of his white shirt taut over arm muscles and chest.
Despite the dark furnishings, the afternoon light seemed to find him, lending his hair a golden halo quality.
Halo! Pffft. Who was she kidding? Halos were attributed to angels, and she knew without a doubt he was far from that.
“Right or left side of what exactly?”
“The bed. Though judging from where you’ve thrown your coat, I’m guessing left side.” His sinfully full lips made her stomach alternate between plummeting to her knees and flying with the butterflies.
“How about neither side. No sharing of rooms, remember,” she retorted, ashamed at the squeak in her voice. If she didn’t have a wine glass in her hand, she could reach for her coat without being too obvious. It would have been a rubbish barrier, but it would have been better than nothing.
“I did say that, but you have walked into my room.”
“Your room? I didn’t see your name on the door.” She folded her arms in front of her, feeling her face, torso, everywhere heat under his steady gaze as his eyes traveled from her shoes slowly back to her face.
“My room, CJ.”
“Fine. Be stubborn about it. You know, if you were a gentleman, and that seems to be a very big if, then you would let me have the room.”
“I wouldn’t know. That is one word I don’t remember being attributed to me, so I will have to take your word for it. Have you known many of these so-called ‘gentlemen’?”
“I’m guessing more than you have known ladie
s,” she retorted, pasting a saccharine smile on her face for good measure.
“Touché, Ms. Stratt. I hope you find the bed up to your level of high standards. I have had no complaints about it in the past. I should remind you that my clothes are in here. The en-suite is through the door at the back, and we are expected on Rakena’s yacht at 7:00 p.m.”
“Hold up. Just so I get this right. You are giving me the room, just like that?”
“Yes. Like you said, a gentleman would, and in case you have forgotten, that is the whole point of these dates.”
“To make you into a gentleman? I hadn’t realized you were Eliza Doolittle to my Professor Higgins.” Her sarcastic reply fell on deaf ears, judging from his stony expression.
“No. To show your listeners that I am not the ... what were the words you used again? Something about a silver-tongued individual. Unless of course you want to retract what you said.”
“And make it look like I give dud advice. No thanks. Date seven and eight it is then,” she replied, nodding determinedly.
“I have work to attend to before the meeting. I’m sure you can find something to do till we have to leave.” He let the door click silently into place as he left.
Inhaling deeply, she reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. This was not one of her brightest ideas by far. Instead of the childlike glee at winning, she was now left with the knowledge she had to sleep in the same bed were he slept with goodness knows whom.
Pulling her phone out of her pocket, CJ studiously ignored the small signs telling her she had been mentioned in tweets, instead zoning in on the fact it was only four o’clock, which gave her roughly two hours of time by herself.
Damn him and damn the bed! It looked so inviting to her exhausted body. Shaking her head vehemently, she eyed the dark brown leather chaise lounge in the corner, her body drawn instinctively to its plump seats. Tiptoeing across to it, she slid down gently, sighing lightly at the cool touch of the leather against her skin. She could at least grant herself an hour of such bliss.
