Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  It was either a disciplinary message or a pep talk. With Karl, there wasn’t much of a difference.

  Karl was short, with a round belly that could have been jolly had he worn it with a white beard and a twinkle in his eye. Instead, he clothed himself in dark suits and his eyes reflected nothing more than a hard, black stare. Tori had never seen him twinkle. He was cold and precise, rarely showing anger or excitement. When he was agitated, as he was now, he ground out his words as if he were biting through a piece of tough steak.

  A buzz at Tori’s hip signaled the arrival of a message. She eased the BlackBerry from its holster and opened the e-mail.

  Are you in NYC?

  It was Brit.

  Stuck in a meeting. May not get out tonight. She glanced up and down as she wrote. Karl didn’t like to be ignored. Though he expected his own messages to be returned instantly, regardless of where you were, he didn’t like his meetings to be disrupted by people sending e-mails.

  Unacceptable. This is our last weekend. I’ll go there.

  She almost dropped the device in her lap. Brit? Come to Philadelphia?

  I might make it to NYC tomorrow, she wrote furiously.

  Or you might not. I don’t trust you.

  Tori could not hide her smile. It had been three weeks since she’d made the decision to let Brit drag her heart off a cliff. They’d spent every weekend together. He sent her flowers and wrote stupid e-mails about his day. He made her laugh and blush, sometimes in the middle of the same meeting. They listened to jazz together and made love until dawn, when, exhausted and sated, they fell asleep in each others’ arms.

  But life hadn’t disappeared, and Tori knew her ultimate commitment had to be to her job. Playing around with Brit was fun, perhaps even necessary. But work was her life. Work was the thing that would carry her after he’d left. Work would restore her after he’d lost interest and found someone new.

  She wouldn’t fall apart as her mother had, when her father left.

  I can work on the train, she tapped furtively.

  You’ll end up in the office. Besides, you’re desperate to see me. You can’t wait until tomorrow.

  Unfortunately, that was true. Three weeks had only sharpened her desire for his lean body, and the company of his sharp mind.

  Don’t you have work to do?

  I’m a short-timer. I don’t do work anymore.

  She snorted out loud at that one. Brit might be looking forward to his vacation, but he had a fierce loyalty to the company he had headed for ten years, and he had been working tirelessly to ensure it would be in good hands when he left.

  “Tori? Do you have anything to add?” Karl glared at her through bushy gray brows and she jumped guiltily.

  “What’s that? Er, no. As usual, you said it all, Karl.”

  He narrowed his eyes at the compliment—Karl was nothing if not suspicious—and then turned immediately to expound on the epic responsibility that lay in the hands of everyone around the table.

  That’s it. I’m getting in the car. I’ll see you in a few hours.

  Tori’s heart dropped. He was serious. She dug her nails into her palms and tried not to panic. At her insistence, they had spent all their weekends at Brit’s place. Tori claimed she wanted to go to New York anyway, to see Melissa. The truth was that she didn’t want Brit in her house. It would be too intimate, somehow, to have him there. His apartment was so clean, so sterile, it was like staying at a hotel. But her house…that was a different story.

  I may not be home until ten or eleven.

  I’m turning you off. I’ll call you when I’m in Philadelphia.

  Fretting over the thought of having Brit appear at her front door almost caused Tori to miss Karl’s half question-half command:

  “Now, Tori, why don’t you bring us up to date on the efforts of your diligence team?”

  Her fingers trembling with the need to write a stern message to Brit, convincing him to turn around immediately, Tori reluctantly pulled out the ten-page memo detailing each of the potential issues that could have significant repercussions on their acquisition strategy.

  She ruthlessly pushed aside all thought of that crooked nose and absurdly broad shoulders barreling toward her in that damn black Mercedes. “I would love to.”

  The rest of the meeting was agony. Tori kept a tenuous hold on her emotions and managed to appear professional and competent—or so she hoped. When the lecture was over and the other lawyers had left the room to continue their work in their respective offices, Karl pulled Tori aside.

  “Do you have a minute?” he asked, though he clearly expected she would.

  “Of course,” Tori said, her mind still spinning. She hadn’t eaten at home all week, so the kitchen would be clean, but the laundry was another matter. Her hamper was overflowing, the towels hadn’t been washed in ages, and who knew when she had last changed her sheets? Not to mention the layer of dust covering the mantle, the pictures on the walls, and the red ceramic mixer her mother had insisted should remain on the counter, in case either of them had the urge to make a loaf of bread.

  That had been four years ago, when her mother was still able to cook. The appliance hadn’t been used, or dusted, since. The whole house, really, belonged to her mother. Tori had only bought into the exclusive Chestnut Hill neighborhood because that’s what Jeanne had always wanted. Tori could barely afford the payments, even on the cheapest house she could find, but it made Jeanne happy, and that’s what mattered.

  Selling the house now would have felt like a betrayal.

  “What can I do for you, Karl? Did you have questions about the employee complaints?”

  His already narrow lips tightened, and Tori felt the first flutter of panic. He did not look happy. Had he noticed her e-mailing during the meeting? Lord, she felt like a kid being called before the teacher for passing notes.

  “Tori, I’m going to be straight with you. I don’t think the team is working hard enough. Akro is seriously considering taking our work elsewhere.”

  She blinked, the words slowly registering in her brain. “I’m not sure I understand. Everyone on the team has made this matter a top priority. We’ve been working fifteen-hour days all month—some of our associates haven’t taken a day off since June. The project is on track for the timeline you gave us. Is there something specific you are concerned about?”

  He adjusted the navy blue pants that hung precariously a few inches below his impressive girth. If anything, his eyes grew colder. “I’m concerned about you, Tori. I came in last weekend and you weren’t here. I tried to reach you in the office the weekend before that and you weren’t here then either. To be perfectly frank, you’re the only lawyer in at this firm I give a damn about, and I’m starting to question your dedication to this project.”

  “Nothing is more important to me than my work, Karl. You know that.” Adrenaline made her voice quiver. Karl could not be unhappy with her work. He could not.

  “I used to know that,” he corrected. “Lately I’ve begun to wonder.”

  She swallowed hard. “Wonder about me?”

  “Yes. It’s not only the weekends. Even when you’re in the office you don’t seem as focused. When I got here tonight, you were sitting around chatting. I certainly hope that time isn’t going to appear on my bill.”

  He was right—she had been joking with the other lawyers before he arrived. Usually they worked through dinner, but tonight someone had started talking about a bit they’d heard on The Daily Show and they had all started laughing. Before she knew it one of the associates had started doing horrible impressions, and they descended into pure silliness. They needed a break from the tension and it had felt wonderful. But Karl was right—it was out of character for her. Usually Tori didn’t waste time on frivolity.

  “We took a break for dinner. You can be assured I would never bill you for that.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I expect to get 100 percent of your attention, Tori. I know plenty of other firms
that can give me that attention if you aren’t interested.”

  “I intend to deliver 100 percent, Karl.” She straightened her shoulders and ignored the buzzing at her hip. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “I certainly hope not. As for the time line, we’re going to need to move it up a few weeks. I’ve got other issues I need to address this fall and I want this deal wrapped up by then.”

  Move the schedule ahead a few weeks? The very thought of it made her knees go weak. She’d have to put everything else in her life on hold.

  Everything.

  “Of course.” Tori nodded, and tried to keep her expression even.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Karl said.

  “See you tomorrow,” Tori echoed.

  …

  Brit turned on his phone as soon as he caught sight of downtown Philadelphia. He had hoped the drive from New York would give him time to clear his head, but he was as confused now as he had been when he left.

  What to do about Tori?

  He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and shot past a car dawdling in the fast lane.

  Beautiful Tori.

  Passionate, contrary, brilliant, driven Tori.

  He was leaving in five days. Was it possible he would never see her again? Could he really walk away from her? In three short weeks, he’d gotten used to having someone to confide in, someone who would listen to his internal struggles without judgment. Someone who understood him better than he understood himself. Though she rarely confided back, his gut told him that she knew what it was like to feel trapped. Perhaps even more than he did.

  She was, without a doubt, the most confusing female he’d ever come across. She resisted all attempts he’d made to drive their relationship deeper. Though he knew she visited her mother regularly at the nursing home, she never discussed it. When he tried to ask about her father, whose leaving had obviously had such a big influence on her, she made a joke and changed the subject. Sometimes he felt as if he understood her no better today than he had the first time they’d met.

  Except that wasn’t exactly true. He knew she had led Melissa through her interview with Solen with a combination of professionalism and wit that had instantly put Melissa at ease. A few days later, Melissa had been hard at work for Solen Labs, with a new passion and energy for life that Brit hadn’t seen for years.

  In three weeks he’d learned that Tori was smart and funny, and absolutely committed to those who wandered into her circle of protection. He’d learned that their bodies fit together like they were made for each other. She only needed to look at him with her melting brown eyes and he was at her feet, a slave to her pink lips and wickedly sensual hands.

  Yes, he knew Tori, but it was despite her best efforts. It was as if she had erected a wall around her private heart, one he could breach only when they made love.

  Which brought his thoughts around full circle. He was days from boarding a plane to Scotland, return date unknown, and his only regret would be leaving her behind. On the other hand, did he have a choice? She had made it clear she didn’t want anything more than a short-term affair, and he was hardly going to offer his heart to someone who felt nothing in return. In some ways this weekend felt like a test, a final effort to break down the walls she had erected around her heart to see what, if anything, lay on the other side.

  He hit number five on his speed dial.

  Tori answered the phone. “Where are you?”

  He smiled. She didn’t mince words, his Tori. No “hello, sweetheart,” or “can’t wait to see you, darling.”

  “Entering Philly. I have directions; I called to let you know I was close.”

  “How did you get directions?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Betsy. She e-mailed me earlier today because she knew you were going to be working late.” Thank goodness for Tori’s chatty, nosy, inappropriate secretary. She probably would have mailed him a key to Tori’s house if he had asked.

  Tori swore under her breath. “Look, I wish you’d kept your phone on. I’m going to have to work all weekend. You shouldn’t have come down.”

  “You’re not working all weekend,” he said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “We’ll talk about it when I get there. See you soon.” He closed the phone over her protests. He’d heard her moan about work before. She always brought a stack of documents with her to New York, but with a few well-placed kisses, he’d been able to convince her to put them down.

  It was their last weekend together and his last chance to move their relationship forward.

  Tori was stubborn, but he wasn’t called The Slayer for nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brit pulled to a stop in front of Tori’s house and double-checked the address. The house, a small Tudor with peeling paint and a look of disrepair, stood out among the row of well-groomed lawns, large brick homes, and stone Colonials. She lived here? He imagined Tori in an apartment close to town, something close to takeout and good coffee—two things she claimed made life worth living. She should be in a vibrant area, full of other young, driven people. Instead, he found her in an old, wealthy neighborhood full of art galleries and antique stores. A place she didn’t belong.

  Brit jumped out and walked past the beds of wilted petunias and half-dead verbena that flanked the footpath to her front porch. This, at least, looked like Tori. She was far too busy to worry about her yard.

  Tori opened the door as he charged up the front porch steps. She wore her oldest sweatshirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts.

  He dragged her into his arms before she could open her mouth and gave her a deep kiss, instantly molding her body to his.

  “You’re not playing fair, darling,” he murmured against her ear. “Those shorts should be illegal.”

  “They’re an old pair of men’s boxers,” she said, swaying against him as his mouth dropped into the curve of her neck. “Stop kissing me. We need to talk.”

  “Can’t we do both?” He slipped a hand under her sweatshirt and settled it on her hip, his thumb resting on the curve of her stomach. A familiar feeling. Her skin against his. Her mouth, yielding under the pressure of his lips.

  How could he walk away from this?

  “Brit, the door is open.”

  Without turning his head, he reached one foot behind him and kicked the door shut. “No it isn’t,” he said, and his hand moved higher, to touch one instantly erect nipple.

  For a moment, Tori responded, as he knew she would. But then she straightened, her body becoming rigid. She pushed him away. “I’m serious. This isn’t going to be a good weekend,” she said.

  “It’s never a good weekend,” Brit observed, only partly joking.

  Recognizing the stubborn set to her jaw, he turned and examined Tori’s home. The living room had a coved ceiling with a maple picture rail on the walls and maple trim around the doorways. A brick fireplace sat on one end of the room, flanked on either side by an old brocade sofa and matching love seat. Other than those pieces and a heavy old dining set, the house was bare. No rugs on the floor. No lamps or end tables. Unopened mail gathered in a pile on the dining room table, beside a bowl filled with plastic fruit. Built-in bookcases surrounded the fireplace, displaying a collection of Danielle Steele, Agatha Christie, and self-help books he knew she would never read.

  “Are you sure you live here?” he said, raising a quizzical brow.

  “Of course I live here,” she said crossing her arms over her chest. “What do you mean?”

  “It just looks…”

  “What?”

  It looks sad. Lonely. Is this what you come home to every night?

  His heart ached at the sight, but he knew he couldn’t say anything. If there was one thing he had learned about Tori, it was that she couldn’t tolerate pity.

  He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Empty. Like no one lives here.”

  “Well that’s a nice thing to say,” she huffed, turning away.

  �
�I don’t mean to be insulting,” he said. “It took me by surprise. It doesn’t look like you.”

  Stiffly, she gestured toward the back of the house. “We took out the rugs and most of the furniture when my mother’s balance started to fail. I don’t have any money for renovations.”

  “Why don’t we go upstairs?” he said, searching for a way to break the dark mood that hung over her.

  “Fine.” She threw back her hair and stomped up a narrow flight of stairs. The upstairs was a converted attic with a ten-foot ceiling along the ridgeline of the roof, tapering down at the eaves to three feet. Tori’s bed sat at an angle to catch the morning sun. Brit relaxed at the sight. The room was an utter and complete disaster, but at least it felt like a home. Piles of laundry spilled out of a walk-in closet and littered the floor. A desk groaned under the weight of enormous piles of papers, files, and binders.

  Hands on hips, Tori turned at the top of the stairs to face him. “So?”

  Brit walked around slowly, flipping through a pile of papers on a bedside table, wiping dust off the edge of a framed picture of Tori and her mother, and then cautiously lowering himself onto the bed.

  “Unlike some people, I don’t have a live-in maid, you know,” she added.

  He patted the space next to him on the bed. “Sit with me.”

  “No.”

  He wanted to smile, but he knew that would make things worse. Oh, how he knew this woman. Her defensiveness. Her moods. The need that lay underneath the prickly exterior.

  “Tori, I drove a hundred miles to see you. Can’t I even get a ‘hi, how are you?’”

  She slumped down on the bed. “I know. I’m a frightful bitch. I’m sorry.”

  He eased her into his arms. “You’ve had a long day. I understand.” After slipping off his shoes, Brit scooted back on the bed, and then guided her into position between his legs so he could rub her shoulders.

  “Ohh…” Tori sighed with obvious pleasure.

  “So, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”

  She talked while he massaged, describing her interaction with Karl Bulcher, a man Brit would cheerfully punch if he ever saw. He let her get it all out, knowing where she was headed. “So you see,” she finished, “I have to be there tomorrow morning. I don’t have a choice about this, Brit. And I need to be focused. I can’t afford to spend the weekend thinking about you.”