Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  Tori laughed at his disgusted expression. “I forgot you had a sister. Tell me about her.”

  “She’s a lot like you. Brilliant, driven…suspicious. She used to do research in a robotics lab out in Southern California. But then she went through a messy breakup, and a few months ago she moved out here. She’s been having a hard time since then.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  A muscle flexed in his jaw, and a dark, cold anger burned in his eyes. “So am I.”

  Tori tried to lighten the suddenly dark mood. “Wait—I remind you of your sister? Doesn’t that sound a tad creepy?”

  He flashed a white-toothed grin. “No. Unless there’s something creepy about appreciating strong women.”

  Unsure how to stop the rush of pleasure that followed from the compliment, Tori decided a change of subject was in order. “I love Central Park. I used to jog here all the time when I worked in the city. Did you come here a lot, when you were growing up?”

  “Sometimes. My mother didn’t like us to ride the subway alone. We found plenty of trouble to get into closer to home.”

  “Trouble?” She arched a brow. “Brit Bencher, in trouble?”

  “Well, let’s say we were lucky all we saw was the back of the truant officer’s car, and not the red and blue lights. You’d be surprised what three brothers can do, without even trying.”

  “I see.” She studied his profile and the smooth olive cast of his skin. “You know, it occurs to me that you never told me why they call you Brit. I saw the real name on the papers today, you know. John Bencher the Third.”

  He winced. “Some day, I’m going to change that. Legally, I mean.”

  “What’s wrong with John? Seems like a perfectly reasonable name to me.”

  “If you don’t mind following in your father’s footsteps, perhaps.”

  She rolled over on her elbow. He stared off at the young children by the water, who had turned from rock throwing to heaving old crusts of bread at the ducks and squealing with delight when they honked at each other and fought over the white chunks.

  “Didn’t you? I mean, didn’t you inherit Excorp from your father?”

  “Yes and no. The company my grandfather founded manufactured radios. It was marginally successful and utterly boring. I had no interest in getting involved. I was interested in technology and high-risk projects with the potential for big payouts. My brothers nicknamed me Brit because I was fascinated with the UK. I even went through a period where I mimicked a Scottish accent, à la Sean Connery. I think I saw one too many James Bond flicks. I was determined to live there after I graduated from business school.”

  Now that was an amusing thought. Brit, trying to pull off a 007 impression. “And?” she prompted. “Did you?”

  “No. For all my talk of living in Scotland, I’ve never spent more than a few nights there at a time.” He laughed, but she could feel an undercurrent of tension in his voice, and see it in the sudden tautness of his jaw.

  “What happened?”

  “Life.” He shrugged. “By the time I graduated from college the business wasn’t doing well. My younger brothers were still in school. Dad was never a great businessman. He needed help. I did what I had to do. I reinvented Excorp, made some risky investments in our manufacturing process, and made us profitable. A few years later, we absorbed a couple of competitors and became even more profitable. Three years ago Excorp went public. It wasn’t exactly what I expected to do with my life, but at least I’ve been able to make sure my folks are supported, and no one has to worry about money any longer.”

  “But no traveling?” she asked.

  “Oh, I travel. I’ve been all over the world. The irony is, I rarely make it out of hotel conference rooms and high-rise office buildings.”

  Tori swallowed hard, remembering how her heart had dropped when she learned of her mother’s diagnosis. How she struggled not to feel resentful for her lost opportunity, and the guilt that had piled up for thinking about herself when it was her mother who was suffering.

  “I’m sorry,” she offered, unsure how to respond to the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

  He grinned, breaking the solemnity with unexpected humor. “Don’t worry. I’m not dead yet. I figure there’s still time. Someday, I’m going to Scotland. It will be the trip that fulfills all those childhood fantasies.” He turned her hand over and tapped on her palm. “Now, I’ve told you about my name, so you’ve got to spill the beans about that clerkship. Remember?”

  Tori froze. She’d never been good at talking about her family. What could say about her mother, anyway? Two nights ago, Jeanne had flown into a rage when Tori visited, screaming and throwing things until Tori left her room. The doctor said it was a common occurrence during the later stages of the disease. Ever since, Tori hadn’t been able to think about her mother without a feeling of panic.

  “I…um…” she tried to speak but it was no use. The pain hit like it always did—with the force of an earthquake that left her reeling. She struggled to regain her composure, rubbing hard across her eyes and clearing her throat.

  Brit reached out and stroked her hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You don’t have to answer.”

  Tori shook her head, her throat locking. His gentle touch only made it worse. Damn it, she couldn’t fall apart like this every time someone mentioned her mother.

  She sucked in a deep breath and forced out the words. “My mother has Alzheimer’s. She was diagnosed at the same time I found out about the clerkship. I never told her about it. We don’t have any other family around, and it wouldn’t have been a good time for her to move. So I went back home and got a job with Hartner. It was for the best. I like my job, and the money’s good enough for me to pay for her care. That’s all that really matters anyway.”

  “Of course it is,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” The fist that had closed around her throat relaxed, and she let out her breath on a sigh.

  They sat together in silence until one of the football players came barreling their direction, running backward as he kept his eyes on the ball. He was a boy of eight or nine, thin and wiry, with dark black hair cut short and a ragged-looking shirt and shorts. Brit jumped up and caught the ball as it headed straight for Tori’s head.

  “Sorry,” the boy said.

  Brit sent the ball in a perfect spiral toward the group, who were now clumped in a group on the far side of the clearing.

  The boy’s eyes widened as the ball sailed easily through the air. “Wow. I wish I could throw like that.”

  “It takes practice,” Brit said. “You can learn. What’s your name?”

  “Henry.”

  “You boys want a few pointers?”

  Henry nodded vigorously, but pointed doubtfully at Brit’s clothes. “My dad says he can’t play when he’s dressed for work.”

  “You boys promise not to tackle me, and we’ll be fine.”

  With a wink to Tori, Brit sauntered over to the gaggle of kids. They looked away nervously as he approached, but their faces cleared when Brit held out a hand for the ball and began to demonstrate his throwing technique.

  Tori watched with a sinking heart.

  He was supposed to be Brit Bencher The Slayer, not Brit Bencher the good-with-kids-family-man who loved strong women and sacrificed his own dreams to take care of his family. He was not supposed to understand about her mother. She should never have told him about her mother. They were spending one night together. No strings, no attachment. She was not in the market for a relationship and neither was he.

  Under Brit’s watchful eye, the boys began to throw the ball back and forth among one another. After a few tries, the boy with the black hair threw the ball high into the air, where it formed an unsteady but distinct spiral, and then fell into the receiver’s arms. Everyone cheered, even Tori. Brit looked over with a grin, dropped a million-dollar wink, and then turned back to the game.

  Tori
’s heart fell right down into her toes. Her nails bit into her palm as she came to an unpleasant realization.

  She could fall for him.

  Damn it, she could fall for Brit Bencher.

  Tori pulled out her BlackBerry and flipped through her messages at a furious clip. It was Friday evening and for once, she had nothing pressing to which she needed to respond. Instead, she dialed Betsy’s home number.

  “Hello?”

  “Betsy, this is Tori. Listen, I’m so sorry to call you at home, but I have some good news.” Helplessly, Tori let her gaze drift back to Brit, who was leaning over to assist one of the smaller boys with the football.

  “Tori? Hold on a sec.” Betsy screamed something at her kids that sounded suspiciously like a threat to tie them up and put them in a closet if they weren’t quiet. A moment later, there was silence. “Okay, I’ve got about three minutes before they break something. What did you say? Something about good news? This has to do with The Slayer, doesn’t it? Are you finally taking my advice?”

  Tori bit her lip as Brit engineered another decent pass from a tiny kid who looked like he couldn’t be more than seven years old. “I respectfully decline to answer the question,” she said. “But I am staying in New York a couple of nights. So you don’t have to go in to the office tomorrow morning. At least, you don’t have to on my account. Feel free to go in if you like. But I won’t be there.”

  Betsy let out a whoop that was loud enough to startle a duck that had wandered too close to Brit’s jacket. In the background, Tori heard her yell, “I don’t have to work tomorrow, kids! I can come to the game!”

  The sound made Tori feel like dirt. “Jesus, Betsy, why didn’t you tell me you had other plans? I could have found someone else to help me.”

  With a note of obvious relief, Betsy replied, “As if I’d let anyone else work on that presentation for Karl? Not a chance. But now that you’re having a weekend of crazy sex with the hottest guy in NYC, I don’t mind saying that we had tickets to a Phillies game and my sister was going in my place. Do you need me to change your reservations? I’d be more than happy to—I can do that from home, even.”

  Tori shifted uncomfortably on her jacket. “I didn’t say we were…er…”

  “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I know exactly what’s going on there.” Tori could picture Betsy’s airy wave of her hand, and the knowing look in her eyes. “Listen, if he has mirrors on the ceiling, I want to know about it.”

  “Betsy!” Tori looked back at Brit, who was headed her direction. “Don’t worry about my ticket, I’ll take care of it. You’re the best. And tell me next time you’ve got something going on over the weekend, okay?”

  Betsy’s voice turned serious. “You may be a demanding workaholic, but you’re also the best boss I’ve ever had. The game wasn’t a big deal. I’d have told you if it was. I’m glad you’re staying. You need this.”

  Tori found her attention slowly slipping away as Brit approached. He had unbuttoned his top button, exposing smooth olive skin that begged to be touched.

  “Anything else I should know about?” She tried for calm. “Any emergencies in the office?”

  Betsy snorted. “Oh please. If there’s an emergency, you’ll probably hear about it on that damn BlackBerry before I get wind of it. You go run off and enjoy your weekend of naughtiness. It isn’t as though you haven’t earned it.”

  “Yeah, right,” Tori said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  “Bye.”

  Betsy started hollering at her kids before she hung up the phone. Tori slipped her phone into her purse, her gaze lingering on the deep V of his shirt.

  “Trouble at home?” Brit asked.

  She forced her gaze back to his face. His eyes crinkled at the corners, and a faint sheen of perspiration glistened on his forehead. “Actually, I made someone very happy. My assistant was going to have to work tomorrow, and now she doesn’t.” She forced the words over her suddenly inarticulate tongue.

  “That should get you a card on Boss’s Day.” Brit offered his hand. “We should probably head back. They don’t like it when you’re late at the helipad.”

  “Are we still going through with that?”

  “Absolutely. You don’t like heights, remember? I’m hoping you’ll be terrified and have to fling yourself into my arms for comfort.”

  She snorted. “Sorry. I, er, exaggerated. I used to go rock climbing with friends in college. I’m not really scared of heights.”

  He grabbed his jacket from the ground and shook it out with a snap. “That sounds like a challenge. What’s the penalty?”

  “For what?” She peeled her coat from the flattened grass.

  “If you’re wrong. If you’re grabbing my hand and saying your prayers when we take off.”

  They walked back to the paved path and started for the car. He extended his hand to join hers and they fell into a natural rhythm. His touch sent a warm shiver from her palm to her stomach, and then down to her toes.

  “How would you know?” she asked. “What’s to stop me from lying?”

  “Oh, you won’t lie,” he said. “And if you do, I’ll know. I’ve seen your poker face, remember?”

  Tori kicked a stick from the path, feeling almost giddy with pleasure at the very presence of the man by her side. She considered her options.

  “I’ve got an idea.” She leaned over and whispered into his ear.

  He nodded approvingly. “Sounds acceptable.”

  “What about you? What if I take one look at your puny helicopter and laugh in the face of danger?”

  “First of all, never insult the size of a man’s helicopter. Second, that’s not the terms of the bet. I’ve seen you in action, remember? You’re already tough as nails. You probably laugh in the face of danger five times a day. We’re talking about grabbing my hand.”

  His words had the odd effect of silencing the girlish pleasure that had been running through her veins. Tough as nails. That’s what everyone thought about her. The doctors at Langston Estates would say, “Some families don’t want these sort of details, but we thought you would, Ms. Anderson.” Her partners joked about giving her the most difficult clients. “Tori can handle him,” they’d say. “She’s a tough nut herself.”

  No wonder Phil dumped me. Who wanted to date a tough nut?

  “I see.”

  “Hey, that was a joke.” He peered over at her. “Haven’t I already paid your forfeit today?”

  She forced a smile. “I suppose you have.”

  “Well then, I suppose I have nothing to lose.”

  He had nothing to lose. Tori only wished she could say the same for herself.

  Chapter Ten

  An hour later, Tori got the first inkling that she was going to owe Brit a special favor later that night. At least when she’d been rock climbing, she’d been attached to a rope. This was entirely different. They were surrounded by plastic, in a tiny bubble that seemed entirely too transparent for comfort. The seat belt seemed marginal as their only piece of safety equipment. Shouldn’t they be wearing parachutes? Or at least a full body harness?

  The blades of the chopper made a whumping sound as they started up, gradually going faster and faster, until the noise turned into one loud whine, not unlike being in the very back row of a 747 when it was taking off—times ten.

  Brit grinned as Tori slipped the wide earphones over her head. They instantly canceled the background noise, and she was surrounded by the smooth sound of Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue. Brit’s voice sounded over the music, oddly intimate even though she couldn’t hear it from his lips.

  “I ordered us some mood music. Are you feeling all right? You’re looking pale,” he said.

  The seats were surprisingly comfortable, smooth leather, with a padded headrest and cradle surrounding her upper body. They were squeezed in shoulder to shoulder, her knees inches from the back of the pilot’s seat.

  “I’m fine,” she said, swallowing hard.

  “Don’t worry, mo
st people have a moment of panic before they lift off,” Brit said. He held out his hand. “Do you want to squeeze my hand? It might make you feel better.”

  His eyes were twinkling with mischief. Tori kept her hands in her lap. She’d been set up. He knew this would happen.

  “Welcome to the tour, Ms. Anderson, Mr. Bencher.” The pilot’s voice came over the headphones.

  He sounded confident. Tori appreciated that confidence. She only wished he didn’t look like a twenty-year-old college kid. There was an age requirement for pilots, wasn’t there?

  “We’ll begin by flying down the Hudson River to New York’s harbor. From there, we’ll take a close-up look at Ms. Liberty and Ellis Island, and then turn toward the Verrazano Bridge. On the way back up the river, we’ll take you past the Financial District and the Empire State Building.”

  Tori took deep, calming breaths. She had never been scared of heights before. What was wrong with her?

  “It’s a combination of the small quarters, the loss of control, and the unfamiliar feeling of a vertical takeoff,” Brit said, reading her mind. “Really, it’s okay. You can squeeze hard, I won’t mind.”

  He held out his hand again. Tori ignored it and formed her own into a fist.

  “You’re not going to take my hand, are you?” Brit said.

  “When we start falling from the sky in a death spiral, and not a moment before.”

  “Would it kill you to show some weakness?”

  Tori turned to glare at him. “I can be weak,” she said, tightening her jaw as the helicopter lurched the first few feet off the ground. As the ground receded below, she swallowed hard and tried not to panic. “At the right time. For a very good reason.” She tried not to look out the window. “Do they have those bags in helicopters? You know, the ones they put on the planes? The waterproof ones?”

  “You’re thinking too much again,” Brit chided. “You’re forcing me to take drastic steps. Now hold still, this is for your own good.”

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  Too surprised to put up a fight, Tori let him kiss the butterflies from her stomach. By the time he pulled away, she realized she had grabbed his hand and was holding on as if her life depended on it.