by Linda Joyce
“Good morning, Mrs. Haywood. I’d be happy to sign.” He recognized her from charity and society events, or mostly photos he’d seen of them.
Through the magazine interview, he hoped to land new banking clients—being on the receiving end of female attention was an added perk—and the wife of one of St. Louis’s wealthiest citizens was singling him out, waving his picture at him and asking for an autograph. What a lucky day!
He’d been schmoozing Mr. Haywood for nearly a year. Rumor was, Mrs. Haywood had the money, and Mr. Haywood had married up. Way up. Maybe the way into Haywood’s financial decision-making process rested with the Missus rather than the Mister.
“Shall I personalize this?” he asked, taking the pen from the woman and flashing a smile, his most charming, he hoped.
“Just your signature, please. I plan to auction you off.”
“Auction?” What? He managed to maintain a smile while scrawling his signature boldly on the magazine cover, but little pricks of wariness raced to his neck. His jaw tightened.
“The autographed magazine, at a ladies tea, will go to the highest bidder. I was wondering…have you ever considered a photo shoot…without a shirt. I could sell a lot of postcards of you.”
“Me?” Could he be more lame in his responses? The woman would think him a total dud rather than a sophisticated dude. He stifled a laugh. A mental image of a room full of designer-dressed society women trading postcards of half-naked men flashed in his mind. “Ah…I’d never considered that.” He handed back the pen and magazine not knowing how else to respond. She asked a question, but he sensed it wasn’t a request. Beefcake photos could make him the laughing stock of the financial world.
“Charming. You’re brilliant with money and still have some humility.”
Her word game and scrutiny set his nerves firing caution signals again. The woman might help him, but she could surely ruin him. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Haywood.” He held out his hand searching for a polite exit. “I’m not really that photogenic.”
Her gaze dropped to his hand, then lifted and locked on his eyes, holding his full attention. “This is Beatrice and Saraphina.” She pointed to the women accompanying her. He nodded in reply and silently prayed he hadn’t offended Mrs. Haywood.
“Bye, now,” the women said in unison, before turning, waving, and leaving him alone with Mrs. Haywood. Had she planned this meeting? The hair on the back of his neck began to rise. If so, why?
“Mr. Britton. I’m having a party on Friday. I want to introduce you to my niece. I think, after reading this article about you”—her gaze traveled up and down him—“the two of you have a lot in common.”
Something about her voice, her words, made him want to cover his balls. Maybe Harris Haywood wore the pants, but his wife told him which pair to put on. “Oh?” He didn’t move in the same social circles as the Haywoods, but surely a niece of a wealthy family didn’t need help finding a date…or a mate. But come to think of it, in all his research about the family, he couldn’t picture a niece.
“I’m sure you’d find her…very compatible. Pick her up in a limo and bring her to the party next week. I’ll send you her address.”
Was the woman really pimping out her niece to him?
Trying not to appear dumbfounded or plain asinine, Craig flashed what he hoped was an easy-going smile. “Thank you for the invitation. I’m sure I’ll enjoy meeting her, Mrs. Haywood. What time shall I pick her up?” His brain screamed, “No! Don’t do it. It’s a trap of the feminine kind.” But after a year’s worth of work to create a hint of an inroad to the Haywood organization, he couldn’t stand by and allow it to blow up in his face like an egg cooked in a microwave. “This is business,” he repeated silently to quash the uneasiness thumping in his chest.
“Eight p.m. But don’t arrive before nine thirty.” She placed her hand on his arm and gave his bicep a squeeze. “If I were twenty years younger Mr. Britton…I think my husband will be calling you about some business. Today.” The woman stepped beside him, patted his ass, then turned and left without a backward glance.
Craig swallowed hard. With Mrs. Haywood, he was out of his league. His rising career could burn and fizzle out of sight in less than a nanosecond.
What if her niece didn’t like him?
About Linda—Award-winning author Linda Joyce writes about assertive females and the men who can’t resist them. Linda’s a big fan of jazz and blues. She attributes her love of those musical genres to her southern roots, which run deep in Louisiana. If you walk-through several New Orleans cemeteries you’ll find many of her ancestors buried there. She penned her first manuscript while living in Japan, the country where her mother was born and raised. Linda, her husband, and their four-legged boys enjoyed a dozen years in Kansas, the inspiration for the Sunflower series. Now she and her family live in Atlanta, Georgia.
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