by Helen Lacey
“Got a call from O’Neill’s this morning,” Otis said the moment she dropped her bag in the small room she used as an office in the back of the greenhouse. “They said that fancy fertilizer you wanted is back in stock.”
Otis Duke, in his midseventies, had a bad leg and back, but he knew more about roses and camellias than anyone she knew. She’d known him for years, ever since she was a fifth grader, in fact. Back then he was younger and fitter and had worked as a groundskeeper for the elementary school. When he was laid off due to restructuring, he’d found it impossible to get another job because of his age. But Robin wasn’t fazed and had offered him a part-time position the moment Kate hired her. Otis was her right hand and a good friend. She also had two other staff who worked a rotating schedule.
Robin dropped her keys in the bowl on her makeshift desk and turned to face Otis. “Great, thanks. I’ll head into town to pick it up later.” She grabbed the clipboard hanging on a hook by the door. “We have to pull up the three flower beds around the rotunda today so we can plant them out with the pansies that arrive tomorrow. I drew a quick sketch of the design,” she said and pointed to the outlines. “We can use Swiss chard here, and I thought we could try using ornamental cabbage around the edge for something a little different this year.”
Otis nodded. “Good choice. You certainly have an eye for this stuff. Mrs. Fortune stands a good chance of taking a prize this year.”
Robin was certain that Otis cared more about the annual prizes awarded by the local arbor society than either Kate or Sterling, but she nodded agreeably and gave him a copy of the plans. They had a busy day scheduled and needed to get started. And this time, Robin thought as she walked through the greenhouse and headed for the toolshed, she wouldn’t get waylaid by any kind of dazzling Frenchman.
Of course, her dreams had been plagued by images of Amersen Beaudin and his brilliant blue eyes. And broad shoulders. And hot body. But she supposed the man couldn’t help it if he was sex on legs. It was pure genetics that made him so damned attractive. And, she figured, a good slug of charm.
Just stay immune...
That should be easy. With a little luck, she’d never see him again.
That decided, Robin got started on the day’s chores and, after a quick trip into town to pick up the fertilizer she’d ordered, spent the remainder of the morning working on the beds around the rotunda with Otis. She was about to get to her feet and stretch out her back when the old man moved around to the patch she was digging up and called her name.
“What?” she asked, looking up.
“You know that fancy limo that was here yesterday?” he said, both brows raised.
Her insides twitched. “Yes.”
“It’s back.”
* * *
Amersen had spent the better part of the past sixteen or so hours thinking about Kate Fortune’s proposition and what it would mean if he decided to get involved. The hotel room, as swanky and comfortable as it was, had been a little cloistering, and he’d spent some of the morning walking the streets of Austin, familiarizing himself with the place. It was a nice city, and in an odd way, its diversity reminded him of Paris.
Kate called midmorning to arrange a meeting and he agreed quickly, eager to have a more detailed conversation with her about the proposal. The opportunity to be part of the Fortune portfolio appealed to him, but it also felt like a red flag waved in front of a bull.
He wasn’t ready to be outed as Gerald Robinson’s biological son, especially since Gerald clearly had no interest in him. And the closer he got to anyone named Fortune, the greater the risk of that happening. But to dismiss the business potential...that could turn into career suicide. He wanted to expand his brand through Europe and into the United States, and he wasn’t going to let an insignificant fact such as being Gerald’s illegitimate son derail those plans.
When the limo pulled up outside the ranch house, he had all his usual resolve back with a vengeance. And yet, as he got out of the limo and walked up the path to Kate’s home, he was foolishly thinking about the woman in white. She’d invaded his dreams the night before—with her beautiful hair and sassy mouth—and he wanted to see her again. He looked toward the rotunda and tried to ignore the disappointment that briefly constricted his chest.
Stay focused, Beaudin.
Kate greeted him warmly, dressed impeccably in black and white iconic Chanel.
“Thank you for coming back to see me,” she said. “Coffee?”
He nodded. “Sure. So, you said you had some more detail from our discussion yesterday?”
“Yes,” she replied and poured coffee for them both. Once they were both seated, she pushed a narrow gray folder across the coffee table. “Take a look.”
Amersen flipped through the pages, reading quickly, scanning the proposal with interest. The outline was brief but detailed enough to pique his curiosity.
“Amersen Noir,” she said and smiled, her brows arched. “It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t deny her savvy. Piggybacking on the success of his nightclub made good business sense.
It was cologne. High-end and obviously expensive. And with his name on the bottle. There were stats, graphs and a mocked-up illustration of the product.
“It’s an interesting concept,” he said quietly. “Although, as I said yesterday, I’m not sure my name alone is enough to successfully market a new fragrance.”
She smiled. “Your name and your image. And as with any new product, there would be an extensive brand campaign...billboards, media, advertising targeted to the customer this product would be designed for—primarily eighteen-to thirty-five-year-olds with significant disposable income. Much like yourself,” she added and smiled again. “Interested?”
“Intrigued,” he replied. “Conceptually, it’s an attractive idea. But I’m still not convinced my...image, as you put it, would be enough enticement as a selling tool.”
“You’re being modest.”
Amersen laughed. “Once you get to know me, Ms. Fortune, you’ll discover that modesty isn’t something I’m known for.”
Her mouth curled. “I’m quite aware of your image, Amersen. And your reputation. You’re successful, hardworking, arrogant, opinionated, brash and cynical. And that’s what this product and campaign needs. I think you possess that elusive Midas touch. And I want to capitalize on that, because it’s good business.”
Kate was frank, which he liked, but her confidence didn’t entirely allay his concerns. “And what if these arrogant, spendthrift workaholics don’t come to the party?”
“They will,” she assured him. “I have a sense about these things. So do you,” she said pointedly. “That’s why you’re a millionaire many times over. And why you pour so much effort into your nightclub and your wine brand. Young men will buy this product because they want to be like you. And young women will buy this product because they want their young men to be you.”
He raised a brow. “That’s quite an endorsement.”
“It’s all in the proposal,” she said and motioned to the folder in his hand. “We tested the market, did some core group evaluations...the results all came back positive. But if you need more, let’s say, immediate assurance, just bear with me a moment.”
She stood and walked toward the small writing desk by the fireplace. She made a quick call, fiddled with a few files on the desk and then turned back to him. Amersen got to his feet and was about to speak when the door opened and a young woman suddenly stood at the threshold.
It was her.
Only this time she wasn’t wearing a white dress. She wore jeans, a shirt and boots and held gardening gloves in one hand. Still, he’d never seen a more beautiful woman in his life. Her eyes were brilliantly blue, her long hair cascading down her back. And she had curves that were so damned sexy that his libid
o did a wild leap.
“So,” Kate said, looking toward the younger woman. “What do you think?”
“What do I think?”
The sexy drawl made his blood surge.
“Of him,” Kate replied, waving a hand. “First impressions. And be brutally honest.”
Amersen ignored the notion that he was suddenly about to be studied like something under a microscope. His ego was healthy enough to take a little visual assessment. Plus, it gave him time to look her over in return. And he did look. Every second stretched like elastic. She didn’t say a word; she simply let her eyes roll over him, up and down, and he did the same, missing nothing, lingering in places that in other circumstances might be considered highly inappropriate.
When his gaze returned to her face, she was waiting for him, and the connection was so hot it was visceral. He didn’t imagine how her mouth parted fractionally, or how her cheeks were now tinged with color. But she didn’t back down. She met him stare for stare. She had gumption by the bucket load, and he suddenly discovered that he liked gumption...a lot.
Finally, she spoke. “Ms. Fortune, this man is hot.”
Amersen bit back his amusement at her outrageous response. Because he was hot...right under the collar. And she knew it! There was flirtation in her dancing blue eyes. And awareness. And mischief. He knew those things well. They were usually his trademark when confronted by an attractive woman. Only now, with this woman, he felt as though the tables had been well and truly turned.
“Amersen, this is Robin Harbin,” Kate said. “She’s the master landscape gardener here at Sterling’s Fortune.”
Robin.
“Good morning, mademoiselle,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t find any kind of ring on her left hand. He didn’t, which pleased him. Still, a woman who looked like Robin Harbin wasn’t likely to be unattached. “It’s a pleasure to meet you...again.”
“You’ve met before?” Kate’s voice was filled with interest.
“Briefly,” Robin replied, her gaze still locked with his. “Yesterday, in the rotunda. I was telling Mr. Beaudin how you like people to be on time for appointments.”
Kate laughed softly. “Such a reputation I have.”
“Sometimes,” Robin said and smiled, “reputation is enough to make an accurate assessment.”
Amersen held her gaze. It was a very pointed remark, and they both knew it. She knew enough about him to come to some kind of judgment. Certainly, it was easy enough to click a few buttons on a computer and discover who he was, since he spent much of his time working social media to his advantage. But he knew what she’d find if she dug a little. Gossip and innuendo. Inflated facts about his lifestyle. Sure, he lived his life to the fullest, but if he slept around as much as the media reported, he’d have little time for anything else.
“And sometimes you shouldn’t believe everything you read,” he said and smiled lightly.
“True. But I generally trust my instincts.”
Amersen bit back a grin.
“So, Robin,” Kate said quietly, “Amersen was just saying how he wasn’t sure his image is enough to sell a high-end fragrance. What do you think?”
She looked him over again, and Amersen felt himself twitch all over. He was sure this woman, with her sexy drawl, worn jeans and gardening gloves, wouldn’t have any kind of clue what it took to successfully market a product like an expensive fragrance.
But she didn’t look the least bit overwhelmed by the question. She shrugged one shoulder and tilted her head a fraction. “Well, he’s certainly attractive enough. And has a distinctive online status. All things considered, I can’t see why it wouldn’t be a successful venture. And sometimes good business is about risk, correct?”
Now Amersen laughed. “You know this, do you?”
Her chin came up, defiant and annoyed. “I know opportunity when I see it.”
For a moment, he wondered if she was talking about the fragrance...or something else. The awareness between them was undeniable, and Amersen was astute enough to recognize a woman’s interest.
“Yes,” he said, briefly motioning to her appearance, “I’m sure you see much opportunity from your position out in the garden bed.”
Her chin rose again, higher, more defiant, more annoyed. And then she laughed, as though she found him hilarious. “And I’m sure you’re one of those men in love with the sound of their own voice.”
Kate cleared her throat, as though sensing the sudden tension developing. “Ah, Amersen,” the older woman said quietly, “Robin is more than simply a gardener. She has a degree in plant biology and often—”
“I’m sure Mr. Beaudin isn’t interested in my qualifications,” she said, gently cutting Kate off.
And she was right. He wasn’t interested in her qualifications. But he was interested in her. More so with each passing second. “My apologies if I offended you, Miss Harbin.”
Sure, he apologized. But he didn’t mean it. And she knew it!
She waved an uninterested hand, but even that seemed fake and insincere. One thing about her—she couldn’t take criticism. He bit back a grin, realizing they had a common trait, and decided he liked her more with each passing second.
“So...Kate,” Amersen said and gestured to the folder in his hands, “shall we get back to business?”
The older woman nodded. “Of course.” She looked toward Robin and smiled. “If you’ll excuse us?”
“Certainly,” she replied and glanced at him as though he was something unpleasant.
“Thank you for your help, mademoiselle,” Amersen said and raised a brow. “It was most enlightening.”
“Anytime,” she said and smirked. “See you around the gazebo. Or not.”
Then she turned and left the room.
“That’s Robin,” Kate said, as though to remind him.
But Amersen didn’t need reminding. Earlier he’d made the decision to stay in Austin for a few days. He wanted time to think over Kate’s business proposal.
And he wanted time to get Robin Harbin into his bed.
* * *
Gorgeous, yeah. Nice...definitely not! That was all Robin could think as she stomped her way back to the greenhouse, fuming from head to toe.
She was still steaming when Otis approached her half an hour later and said he would be spending the rest of the day in the small orchard at the rear of the big house. And still pissed an hour after that when she was elbow-deep in potting mixture in the orchid hothouse, slicing through the soil with a small, pronged fork. Using her pent-up energy made her feel better...and took her mind off a certain unbearable Frenchman. She’d made up her mind that she never wanted to see him again. Or speak to him. Or share air with him.
“Do you always attack your work with such...enthusiasm?”
Amersen.
Robin took a deep breath and straightened her back, then pivoted on her heels and turned to face him. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the jamb, hands in his pockets, jacket open and his tie a little askew. He looked like he belonged on a billboard and her treacherous, damned libido started jumping around like a jackhammer.
“Are you lost?”
He smiled a stunning, megawatt smile that did little to alleviate the way her blood was now surging through her veins from a combination of loathing and lust. She’d already decided she hated him and had no intention of changing her mind on that score. He could smile at her all he wanted.
“No,” he replied flatly. “I was looking for you.”
Her suspicions soared. “Why?”
“Because I think I offended you earlier.”
She smiled übersweetly, plunged the fork into a pot and pulled off her gloves. “I’d have to care what you think to be offended, wouldn’t I?”
“I meant no disrespect, mademoiselle.”
“Sure you did,” she shot back quickly. “You wanted to put me in my place, and you did exactly that. I mean, what would a mere gardener know about big business...right?” She smiled again, with so much saccharine sweetness it made her teeth hurt.
He laughed deeply, and the rich, sexy sound echoed in her ears. Damn. Why couldn’t he be old and ugly? And not possess charm by the bucket load? And why had he come looking for her? It certainly wasn’t for some half-meant, absurd apology.
“Let me take you to dinner to make up for my...offense.”
He wanted to take her to dinner? Like, on a date?
She laughed out loud. “You’re not serious.”
“Perfectly.”
She laughed again, this time without humor. “Ah, no, thanks.”
“Do you need some time to consider the request?”
His formal, ridiculous manner turned her humorless smile into a scowl. “What I need, Mr. Beaudin, is to never see you again. Go away. I have work to do.”
“Surely you must take a break,” he said and pushed himself off the door frame. “If not tonight, perhaps tomorrow night?”
He strolled toward her, arms loosely at his sides, but with a stealth she found both exciting and annoying. She wanted him gone. “Give it a rest, Amersen,” she said, using his name for the first time and stretching out the vowels with an exaggerated drawl. “Your blue eyes and sexy accent might work in the city, but out here in my greenhouse, there’s no one to impress.”
“Except for you.”
His ego was astounding!
“I’m not interested in being impressed by you.”
“Why?”
