by Holly Jacobs
"That's fine. I'll see you then." She glanced at her watch.
"Do you have another appointment?" he asked.
"Yes." She wondered what to tell him, and opted for as much honesty as possible. "There's a local businessman interested in buying the store."
"So, you're selling or expanding?"
"Not me, my mom. And yes, she's weighing the possibilities. She's just not sure what she wants to do with the business."
"So when you're not brokering deals, and researching expansion for your mother's company, what do you do?"
"I was an account manager for LM Co. in San Diego until recently. They downsized the department, which is a nice way of saying I lost my job. So I'm home in Pittsburgh, settling my uncle's estate, helping out my mom and looking for a new job."
"Same field, or something altogether different?"
"I loved my life and want it back. Same type of job, back in California." The answer came easily, but she realized she'd never even questioned what she'd do next. She'd just blithely started applying to similar companies for similar jobs in southern California.
Why?
Losing her job meant she had a clean slate. She could go anywhere, do anything.
Did she really want to go back to her old job?
Of course she did, she told herself. But she felt a little niggle of doubt.
"The earthquakes don't bother you?" Conner teased.
"The snow doesn't bother you?" she countered, concentrating on the man across from her and tabling questions about her future.
"We don't get that much snow in Pittsburgh."
"And we don't get that many earthquakes in San Diego. Everything's a trade-off, I guess."
"Trade-offs. Yeah, I know about them." The words sounded glib, as if they were part of their conversational tennis game, but she sensed there was more to Conner knowing about trade-offs. She waited, thinking he'd explain, but he just sipped his coffee.
Finally, the silence dragged on a beat too long, so she asked, "You don't ever dream of getting out of Pennsylvania and seeing the world?"
"Once upon a time." There was a hint of wistfulness in his voice. "But then I grew up, faced my responsibilities, and here I am."
Yes, there was definitely a story here. She could sense it. But Conner's expression all but screamed off-limits. So she changed the subject. "So, tell me about Saturday's wedding. . . ."
He did just that. Another big society-type gala. The wedding was at the cathedral and the reception at Lapari. "Just wear something simple. Black slacks, a white shirt. Something that doesn't say 'guest,' but does say 'professional."
"Got it, boss." She saluted him.
He laughed. Morgan had a feeling it wasn't something Conner did often. He had more of a brooding, film noir feel to him.
She glanced at her watch. Time to go get ready for her next meeting. "I'm sorry, but I do have to run."
"Meeting that other man." He shook his head in mock dismay.
"For someone who's between jobs, my schedule has been very full of late." She glanced at the check and put down the money and an ample tip. He looked as if he was going to protest, so before he could, she said, "Remember, I invited you, so this one was on me. Thanks, Conner. I look forward to—" she wanted to say getting to know you better, but settled for "—working with you."
"Me, too."
CONNER WATCHED AS MORGAN Miller, his new impromptu assistant, walked out of the coffeehouse.
There was something about her story that didn't quite click, though he wasn't sure what it could be. Her explanation made sense—helping her mother weigh all the options for the business.
To sell, to expand, or just to remain status quo.
But still. . .
His cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID. "Hey, Ian. What's up?"
"I'm heading home. He gave me great news."
The he in question was his brother's doctor. When Ian didn't share just what the great news was, Conner asked, "Well?"
"Hurry home after your meeting and I'll fill you in."
Conner couldn't remember the last time he'd heard Ian sound so pleased. "The news is that good?"
He laughed. "Even better."
Conner remembered the moment two years ago when he'd gotten the call about Ian's accident. He'd been packing his bag for his first overseas job, filled with excitement and a sense that he'd made it.
But that one call had changed everything. Worse than letting a dream job go, he'd had to let go of his carefree, slightly irresponsible brother. Ian had become serious, focused.
He'd grown up.
Maybe they both had.
And somewhere along the line, they'd both lost that sense of excitement about life, about its possibilities, and they'd accepted what was, putting aside what could be.
But Ian's tone said he'd recaptured some enthusiasm with today's news.
"I'll be there soon," Conner promised. "If it's that good, maybe we should plan on celebrating. It's been forever since we went to McGarrity's."
"That would be great. But don't rush your meeting on my behalf. The news will keep."
"The meeting's done. She had another appointment."
"So, was she as hot as you remembered?" Ian asked.
Conner didn't have to think about his answer. "Even hotter."
"Good. It's about time you dated."
"This was business, not a date."
"Who says it can't be both?"
"I don't want another relationship. I want. . ." Conner wanted his carefree life back, but saying that to his brother would sound cruel. It would seem as if he was complaining, and that was the last thing he'd ever do. He'd made decisions that needed to be made, decisions he'd make again in a heartbeat. He didn't regret them, but that didn't mean he didn't sometimes wish that things were different.
"I want to play the field," he finished.
"Well, there's nothing saying you can't start by playing with her."
Morgan Miller didn't strike him as a player. She'd been all-business in her casual jacket and well-pressed jeans that screamed trying-to-look-casual, even though she didn't quite pull it off. No, she was Professional with a capital P, in a totally hot sort of way.
She had these weird streaks in her brown hair. They weren't blond, weren't exactly red, either. He'd lost the thread of the conversation more than once as he tried to figure out just what color they were. Reddish-blond was a lame description, but it was as close as he could come.
"I'll think about it," Conner promised. "I'll be home soon."
He clicked his cell phone shut and wondered about Ms. Miller.
It had been a long time since he'd pursued a woman. His life had revolved around work and Ian's needs. There just hadn't been time for much else.
But Ian didn't need him as much now.
Maybe Conner had time to play the field.
No, not the field.
Morgan Miller.
Yes, maybe he should seriously consider mixing business with pleasure.
CHAPTER SIX
E.J., You know me—I want a plan. I want to know what comes next. But what, if despite all my planning, I get it wrong?
SOMETIMES, BUSINESS COULD be pleasure, Morgan thought as she spotted one man alone at the coffeehouse.
"Mr. Jameson?" Morgan asked, though she was pretty sure the khaki-clad, polo-shirted man was the one her mother had sent her to meet.
"Yes?" He looked puzzled.
"Hi. I'm Morgan Miller. My mother asked me to take this meeting with you."
He gave her an appraising look, then a slow smile spread over his face. "That was very considerate of her."
He stood and pulled out her chair, then gently tucked it under the table after she sat down.
Morgan wasn't used to such courtly manners. Pulling out a chair or opening a door would never have occurred to Marvin. Truth be told, it would never have occurred to her to expect it, though she did like it.
"So, Miss Miller—" he began, his voice s
ilky and low.
She interrupted. "Please, call me Morgan."
"Morgan, then. I'm Mark." He waved down the waitress. "What would you like to drink?"
"Just a diet cola, thanks," she told the woman. "Now, Mr. Jameson." At his raised eyebrow, she corrected herself. "Mark. My mother said you're interested in purchasing Oakland Chair and Dish Rental?"
"Before we start, do you mind if I asked why your mother sent you?" He paused half a beat, then added with a smile, "Not that I mind."
Was he flirting with her?
There was a sort of teasing tone to his not-that-I-mind comment, and a suggestive look in his eyes. Not offensive, but inviting.
It had been years since she'd been flirted with.
Having Marvin off and on again meant that the men in her circle never quite knew if she was on the market or not. Either that, or they simply weren't interested in flirting with her.
Even earlier with Conner, she'd felt a spark, but she wasn't sure she would call any part of their conversation flirting.
So though it had been a long stretch since she'd been involved in a flirtation, she was pretty sure she still recognized the signs—in which case Mark Jameson was indeed flirting with her.
She struggled to remember what his question was.
Ah, why her mother had sent her.
"Mom has worked at the store for years, but being an owner is a whole different ball of wax. Managing things isn't her cup of tea, but it's mine, so she asked me to hear you out."
"Where do you work?" He smiled encouragingly, his eyes locked with hers, giving her his total attention.
"I did work in midlevel management at LM Co. in San Diego, until they downsized my department. Downsized me, more specifically." Maybe she shouldn't have said that. She could have phrased it so it didn't sound as if she'd been canned. "I'm back in Pittsburgh while I weigh my job options."
There. That sounded better. Weighing options was definitely nicer sounding than desperately looking for a new job.
"Are you looking for something locally? Jameson, Inc. is always looking for up-and-coming businessmen. . .and women."
There was a certain something in his voice as he tacked on that "women." Something that said he'd not only noticed she was a woman, but liked that she was.
And despite the fact he wasn't giving her any Conner-like shivers, she enjoyed that he was definitely flirting.
"To be honest, I haven't given any thought to staying in Pittsburgh. I may have grown up here, but over the last few years San Diego has become my home. I'm anxious to get back."
"If you change your mind, let me know. We'll talk."
"I will." Okay, time to get this conversation on the proper track. "But right now, I'd like to talk about Oakland Chair and Dish Rental and why you're interested in purchasing it."
"We're looking to acquire some good, stable businesses in the greater Pittsburgh area. I've done some checking, and of course would need a more thorough examination of the books, but on the surface, it appears that the store would meet our criteria and give Jameson, Inc. a solid platform to start with, and substantial room for growth."
"Growth. That's the other option I'm exploring for my mother. I do think that any offer we discuss would have to take into account the untapped potential that OCDR has for growth. I know I've been out of town for a long time, but the store's untapped market is a no-brainer."
Mark slid her a file. "That's my initial offer, based on fair market for the two buildings and an estimate of your mother's stock on hand."
Morgan took a sip of cola, opened the file and found his bottom line. . .then promptly snorted her cola through her nose. It was far more generous than she'd anticipated. "Just an estimate?"
"A low one, I think. Like I said, I'd need a full inventory and client list to be sure, but Neil, our chief appraiser, tends to be rather thorough, and even his estimates are generally on the mark."
"Well." Morgan didn't know what to say. The figure that was still swimming in front of her eyes was more than she'd imagined.
With that kind of money, her mom would be comfortable.
More than comfortable.
"My mother asked for my assistance recently, so I'm afraid you're ahead of me on facts and figures. I need to make some calls, check out what real estate in Oakland is going for, and check out the inventory. . . ."
"Take your time, Morgan. You take a look at what's what, and I think you'll find my offer is more than fair."
"That would be good."
"And rather than meeting at my office, or at your mother's, maybe we could meet for dinner? Faline's, maybe?"
"Faline's?" She was tempted to let out a low, appreciative whistle, but decided it would be less than professional. Still, Faline's was one of the nicest places in town to eat. Park at Station Square, ride up the incline to Mt. Washington. The view at the top was phenomenal, and Faline's food supposedly to die for—if the prices didn't kill you. "I lived in Pittsburgh for years and have never been there."
"Great." He smiled a definite Pierce Brosnan as James Bond sort of smile. "How does Saturday look for you?"
She thought about the wedding and Conner, and shook her head. "Sorry. I already have plans."
"Ah, competition. I enjoy competition. Next Monday then?"
"Monday. That would be fine."
"Then it's a date." He gently placed a hand on hers and flashed her an endearing grin.
A date.
As in a business dinner date?
Or a date date?
Morgan just nodded and said, "Yes, that would be wonderful."
"Do you mind making it early? I have to work the next day. Maybe at six?"
"Early's fine. Six is good," Morgan assured him. "So, Monday then."
His hand was still on hers. She waited expectantly for that rush of adrenaline, of awareness. Waited for her pulse to race and her hands to sweat.
Nothing.
Nada.
Zilch.
That was so odd.
She felt slightly confused as she stood and said, "Thank you, Mr. Jameson. I will look into your proposal and we can discuss the business in depth on Monday."
"It's Mark, remember? And although I'm hoping to discuss the business, I'm hoping we'll have time for some small talk as well."
"Small talk?" she parroted.
"Unrelated to business," he clarified. "Movies, sports, politics. That sort of thing."
"Right. I'll see you next week." She turned and started to hurry out, but he called her name and she turned back. "Yes?"
"You're forgetting my proposal." He picked up the file and handed it to her.
She reached for it and their hands brushed and she felt a slight zap of awareness. It wasn't quite the shock of instant attraction she'd felt with Conner—her pulse wasn't racing and she was pretty sure there wasn't a drop of perspiration anywhere on her body—but there was at least a little something there.
Yes, B. Mark Jameson was definitely more her type than Conner was, even if her reaction to him wasn't as strong.
"And could I ask you a favor?" Mark asked.
"Yes?"
"When you bring along the Chair and Dish Rental information could you also bring a résumé?"
"Why?"
"Like I said, Jameson, Inc. is always looking for talent."
"After this brief meeting, there's no way you could know if I have talent or not. Maybe they downsized my position or maybe I was just covering the fact that they fired me."
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could suck them back in.
Here was a man interested in hiring her. Even if she planned on going back to California, there was nothing saying she couldn't at least explore other opportunities.
He laughed and shook his head. "No, Morgan Miller, you weren't fired."
"You're right, I wasn't." She didn't ask why he was so certain. She continued, "And yes, I'll bring you a résumé, though I'll warn you, I meant what I said, I'm really not look
ing to stay in Pittsburgh."
"Who knows? Maybe I can make it worth your while." He shot her another smile. "It's been a pleasure. Truly, a pleasure."
"Uh. Thanks." Clasping the file, she hurried from the restaurant.
A business date.
He was interested. She might be a rather recent reentry into the dating pool, but she knew he was interested in her.
And he was perfect for her. The perfect combination of suave good looks and business acumen.
Perfect.
And there had been the tiniest spark when they'd touched.
Very tiny.
Almost minuscule.
But still, it could be built on.
And building a small lustfest with a man like Mark wasn't such a bad idea. . .not a bad idea at all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
E.J., I'm overflowing with men. I've met one who isn't my type, but really does things for me. Things you and I decided long ago not to discuss in depth because you tended to go all big brother on me, wanting to defend my honor. Then I met another who is decidedly my type, and although he stirred only a little interest, I think I can make something of it. Finally, I got home and had a phone call from Marvin. He misses me. When he said that, it made me realize I didn't miss him. Not at all. I guess that's telling. I didn't say that to him—I don't like to be unkind. But I was firm about our absolute zero chances of getting back together. E.J., how did I let things go on that long with him? It makes me question other decisions I've made in the past. E-mail as soon as you get home, or better yet, call. I miss your big brother advice, even if it does sometimes make me crazy.
"OKAY, BOSS, JUST TELL ME where to start." Morgan tried to sound chipper and self-assured, though she had a nervous buzz in her belly that she just couldn't seem to shake.
She was wearing a pair of black pants and a white blouse, as per instructions. She'd been ready at two. Neither clothes nor promptness were the source of her anxiety.
To be honest, she'd been on pins and needles all morning and wasn't able to determine exactly why.
It wasn't as if her job with Conner was going to be taxing. As a matter of fact, it would be a piece of cake. She'd do whatever he asked as she supposedly checked out the reception and tried to find new inroads for OCDR.
