Capable enough?
She stared up at the arrogant bastard. But the coolness in his gaze stilled her fury.
Two can play this game, dude.
Carson nodded, taking the envelope in her fingers. She placed it close to her, but didn't move to open it. "Thank you for the offer. I'll take a look at the contract and get back to you." She studied his face as she paused. Inscrutable, except for a flicker of something in his golden gaze. "How long do I have to make a decision?"
"You have twenty-four hours."
4. MAREK
MAREK WATCHED HER EYEBROWS TWITCH. She was trying to remain cool, unflappable. And he would have been fooled. Had he been human.
He rose smoothly. For a big guy, he knew he was quick on his feet, a trait of the bear.
He watched her, scented the subtle change in her pheromones, heard the sudden increase in her heartbeat. So, she found him attractive. So what? Most females did. Must be another bear thing, especially now, as he grew older and remained without a mate.
Most women didn't even warrant a blink in response. But this woman was different.
"Just a day?" She arched an eyebrow.
Marek kept his features under control and let her continue. "It's a fairly important decision. I'll need my lawyer to go through the contract itself."
He nodded. She had a point. Which impressed him. Though he'd wanted to move this thing along as fast as possible, he did believe in playing fair.
"How long will you need?"
"Two days should do it," she said briskly, her slender fingers clutching the envelope the same way she had held the microphone as she sang a moment ago, and for a moment, he imagined those fingers curved around something else entirely more satisfying.
Marek strained for control, and slipped his hand into his pants pocket. He tilted a business card to her, held between two fingers. "Call me if you have any questions."
She stared at the white square for a moment, then reached out for it.
Her fingers brushed his as she took the card, her eyes widening at the spark of awareness that rippled from the contact with his skin. He gave her a cool nod and made his way through the crowd until he exited the club. It was warm inside, but the searing heat he was feeling had nothing to do with room temperature and everything to do with one particularly hot singer.
Hopefully, the two days he'd given her would be enough. She'd been professional, polite. More than he could have asked for considering his borderline rudeness.
Who was he kidding? He'd been downright cold.
He hoped he hadn't blown it. The band needed her, more than she knew.
Marek dragged in a breath of fresh air as he strode to the car parked at the curb. Greg, his driver, was walking around the limo to open the door for him, but Marek waved him off as his phone rang inside his pocket, a little too close to the dull throb in his groin.
He fished it out of his pocket and flicked it open as he opened the car door with the other hand. "Marek."
"They think they found it." The air around him stilled and he paused.
Dominik's deep voice came down the line, his words making Marek hold his breath. "Are they sure?"
"Nothing sure about anything. You know that, brother. But for what it's worth, it looks like the info's solid."
Marek nodded to himself. "Location?" he asked, sliding into the car and shutting the door behind him.
"Off the east coast. About a hundred miles. Some place called the Hudson Canyon."
"When do they dive?"
"A week. Permits, money. Bureaucratic shit." Dom sounded tired. Marek knew the feeling.
He let out a heavy breath. "All worth it, brother."
He could almost see Dom nodding, the glint of silver at his temples gleaming, making him look wiser than his years.
Marek cleared his throat. "Thanks for keeping me in the loop."
"Sure. We all have a lot riding on this."
Marek hung up, thinking that was an understatement.
The very fabric of their lives depended on this find.
5. CARSON
SHE WATCHED HIM LEAVE, AND despite the job offer--which could potentially be the opportunity of a lifetime--all she could think about was his tight ass. He moved smoothly, raw energy flowing off him in waves. He seemed larger than life in the room, and despite the numerous other suitably attractive males, in Marek Sarkozy's presence, every single one of them faded into nothing.
She let out a sigh, one she'd been holding the entire time she'd watched his exit. He never once looked back.
"Who was that delectable piece of ass?" asked Kat, her voice filled with excitement as she plunked herself in her seat and reclaimed her drink.
"Accurate choice of words," Carson said, grinning as she handed her his card. "Marek Sarkozy. He manages Ursus Major."
"Shut up." Kat's eyes were wide as she stared back at the already closing door. "Those Sarkozys are all so delectable."
Kat knew more about performers, indie or otherwise, than Carson ever would. Not that she didn't listen to other artists' music, it was just that she spent a good portion of her days writing songs, practicing songs, and covering songs. The little time she had free from that regime was spent performing them on stage.
"Give it here." Kat held her palm open and it took Carson a few seconds to realize she meant the envelope with the contract. Carson shook her head, annoyed at the fuzz-brain that Mr. Sarkozy had left behind. The man was no longer in her presence, but she still felt overwhelmed by his personality.
She slid the envelope over to Kat and watched as her friend ripped it open and skimmed the words. Carson had no qualms about Kat reading stuff that related to dollars. The girl had plenty of her own. Kat Carter's father was old money, his pockets so deep Kat could live off her trust fund for five lifetimes and then some.
She also happened to be a pro bono lawyer with a local firm, using her time to benefit those in need. Her aim in life was giving, which was slightly sappy but totally Kat. Kat was also Carson's unofficial technical assistant, uploading files to social networks and managing her online activity to the extent of interacting with people online as if she was Carson. If she would agree, Carson would hire her.
But she always claimed Carson couldn't afford her.
Right now, Carson's lawyer's eyes were scanning the document line by line, until at last, she looked up and passed the document over to her. Heavy paper, gold embossed emblems on the cover page. Looked like a lawyer only money could buy.
Boy, am I out of my league.
"If you want to try this out and add it to your repertoire, the contract is good to go." Kat looked impressed. She was never impressed by contracts.
"I'm not sure I want to do a temporary gig." Carson frowned, smoothing the document out on the table.
"Firstly, you don't turn down a band as popular as Ursus Major. Secondly, you don't turn down money like that unless you're just plain stupid. And thirdly, you're bored out of your mind. Time to kick things up a notch."
"You noticed?" Carson hid a smile and pretended to read. Her eyes skimmed the numbers, eyebrows raised at the row of zeroes behind the first digit.
Color me shocked.
"Of course, I noticed. Think I'm blind?"
Carson shrugged, not wanting to get into the nitty gritty of Kat's astuteness. She had a brilliant legal mind, amazing financial knowledge, and incredible social media awareness, but her prowess with the male of the species sucked.
"So," she prodded. "You taking the offer?"
"I am taking the offer, but I'm not going to let him think I'm desperate. He came to me, remember?"
"Sure," Kat said airily. "I didn't mean say yes immediately. Let him wait. Good not to appear overeager."
"You should talk," Carson said grimly.
"Come on, Carson. I'm not in the mood for a lecture."
"Sometime you need a lecture." She glared her darkly. "Damon isn't the type of guy you want to blow off so quickly. At least give the dude a chanc
e."
"I'm considering my options."
Carson snorted. "Don't take your sweet old time about it, okay? A guy that hot won't stick around too long."
"I won't. Hot got me in trouble before, you know. I'm happy to take my time. You on there other need to start thinking without your vadge, for once. That Sarkozy is a sight for sore eyes."
Carson huffed, but she didn't respond.
Kat slid off the chair. "Let's go. I got a deposition to prepare, and you need to rack up some Ursus Major listening time. No sense in making a decision until you decide if you actually like their music."
The girl had a point.
6. CARSON
CARSON SHIFTED IN THE BED, raising a hand to her face to shade it from the bright sunlight. She wriggled, pressing her ass against the mattress, letting out a frustrated grunt. She couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up aroused. The heavy, hot throb between her legs must have had something to do with those deliciously unsatisfying dreams she'd had.
With a sigh she tightened the muscles in her legs and pushed off the mattress, heading into the shower, thoughts of Marek's hands and mouth doing things to her body that were sinful and altogether too delicious floating in her head
She pushed him from her mind. It was all well and good daydreaming, but cold reality said he was off limits. Business was business. No lines would be crossed, not if she could help it.
Listening to their music had been educational, reminding her again what she'd enjoyed about their work. Soft rock that leaned whichever way the mood preferred, sometimes hard and vibrant, sometimes soft and sexy.
They claimed the band equally wrote all their lyrics, but Carson knew as well as anyone that sometimes bands wrote the song together, which technically meant that one member came up with the lyrics and everyone put the music to it. Which was all well and good, but some of the words to their songs were inspiring, and so incredibly deep.
As she left the bathroom, the sounds of Ursus Major drifted through the apartment. She shared the place with Kat; the apartment had come courtesy of the trust fund and Carson had always felt a little weird living there. But Kat had insisted, saying she was afraid of sleeping alone at night.
And Kat's parents, despite their aloofness, seemed to appreciate that their daughter had some company.
The coffee was on and Kat was dressed, her slim frame encased in a dark grey suit complete with creamy silk blouse and killer black heels. Carson didn't think the woman understood the irony of wearing Armani to represent the poor and the destitute.
Or then again, maybe she does.
Kat lifted her gaze from her tablet as Carson poured the dark brew into her favorite mug, it's claim "To Keep Calm and Sing a Song" always bringing a smile to her lips. "Don't forget to call ahead and let him know you're coming."
"Know I'm coming?" Carson echoed, sipping slowly, feeling humanity filter into her brain.
Kat groaned. "You really should read the paperwork." She pointed a manicured finger at the contract lying on the counter a few inches from her elbow. "The cover letter states that you must let him know within the agreed timeframe and that you need to call and arrange a meeting. He wants your signature before you two head off North."
"Head off North?"
She was shaking her head. "They have a place in Crescent City where they practice. The letter says you need to be prepared to remain there during the practice period. You get to take weekends off, unless the group feels things are getting behind. The next tour starts in three weeks, so you're going to be practicing pretty much twenty-four-seven."
Carson touched her throat. "I wouldn't want to do that."
Kat rolled her eyes. Even she knew that practicing with musicians meant a lot of waiting was done by the lead vocalist. Then she sighed. "Read the damn letter and book the appointment to meet him. I'd suggest you do it today and get it done with. One extra day of practice may help in case you guys start running behind on your schedule."
Carson nodded. Kat was right. No need to play for time when she'd already decided to sign on the dotted line.
Kat rose and pocketed her phone, then hurried out in a flurry of perfume and threats if Carson didn't obey her instructions, leaving her alone with the letter and her thoughts.
Carson sighed and reached for the contract, then skimmed through it, figuring there was no time like the present. She took the business card that Kat had so efficiently clipped to the top of the contract and dialed the number without missing a beat.
She was surprised when a woman picked up, her voice slightly raspy in a sexy way. She immediately got Carson's hackles up with her request that she spell out her name, and explain her reason for wanting the appointment.
Was she a servant or a personal assistant?
Carson shook her head. It didn't matter, did it?
Before the conversation was over, the woman had confirmed a dinner reservation with Mr. Sarkozy at Joshua's, a well-known restaurant where patrons usually booked days in advance.
Carson was impressed.
Eight sharp, dress code formal, and a car would pick her up at seven thirty.
The woman hung up before Carson could stress the fact that she hadn't wanted dinner, nor did she need the car. She just needed five minutes to show up, say yes, and sign the paperwork.
Carson glared at the phone. Too bad phones didn't come with cradles anymore. It was a damned sight more satisfying than slamming it on the table.
She had the whole afternoon to decide what to wear, eventually settling on the same dress she'd worn the previous night. It was partly because it was either that or the scarlet number that Kat had bought her in an effort to sex up her image, and partly because she wanted to ensure that Sarkozy got the message that he wasn't anything special, and that she wasn't going out of her way for him.
She got in a few hours of practice, going over the songs in their latest album since that would be the one they were touring. She was good with words, and it didn't take long before she was familiar enough with more than half the album to sing along with confidence.
The ringing of the phone disturbed her as she was hunting in her closet for her heels. I was Miss Annoying Raspy Voice advising that Carson hadn't left an address for the car.
Carson gave it to her through gritted teeth. The woman put the phone down before Carson could even say thank you. For the second time in one day, Carson wanted to smash the phone. Who was she, this woman who had the ability to rile Carson up with one misplaced husky breath? And why the hell was she allowing her to do it?
Carson slid into the dress, adjusting the generous cleavage so it wouldn't look too much like her boobs were overflowing from the neckline. A light dusting of makeup later, she slipped on her heels and had just picked up her clutch bag and the contract when the doorbell rang.
Carson grabbed a brilliant aquamarine silk shawl from behind the door and was throwing it over her shoulders when she opened the door to find herself face to face with Marek Sarkozy.
"You." The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
"Yes. Me." His lip curled up in one corner, although the amusement didn't reach his eyes.
Oh, boy.
"Sorry, I thought..." She decided to stop talking because she had to close her mouth or she'd be gaping at how good he looked. A black tailored jacket hugged his broad shoulders, and he'd deigned to wear a tie tonight. She imagined it must be uncomfortable for him, considering the last time she'd seen him he'd been unbuttoned and untied.
He nodded briskly. "Normally I would have sent the driver up, but this isn't normally. You're to be a member of our team and you will be treated as such. The contract may be temporary, but you are far from the inadequate understudy in this equation."
Nice of him to say so.
Carson merely nodded, unable to come up with a suitably gracious response.
Had she known she'd be sitting in the back of a car with this man, she would have chosen the red dress, not for its provocative
ness, but for the fact that it had a long skirt that didn't have a super sexy slit that came all the way to upper thigh.
It was the only thing she hated about the dress, but she usually got away with it during performances because standing in the dress didn't show too much leg.
But sitting in this dress was a dangerous thing.
7. MAREK
WHY THE HELL WAS HE picking her up from her door, Marek asked himself for the tenth time.
He'd rung the doorbell, his feet sinking into the deep lushness of the pale carpet in the hall.
Nice digs.
And when she'd opened the door, she'd taken his breath away. Even with the scant makeup, she was beautiful: deep blue eyes, generous lashes, tan skin, not to mention that cleavage.
She'd thrown that damn blue silk thing over her shoulders all too soon, and his view of that delicious flesh had disappeared.
Now, she sat across from him in the back of the limo, the fabric of the dress cascading to the floor, exposing a great deal of creamy thigh. More than she was comfortable with.
Not that she showed it.
Her face had remained serene as she slid along the seat and shifted her legs so they tilted left, allowing the fabric to part along the edge of her leg. Still, an intriguing view left so much to his imagination that Marek was contemplating doing something there in the back of the limo that would have crossed the line into unprofessional
But he held himself in check, amazed at how much it took to restrain himself.
What the hell is wrong with me? She isn't much different than all the other women I've known. And yet...
The car slowed as it reached the restaurant, which Marek was now considering an error in judgment. He should have done the normal thing. Met her at Rafe's offices, signed the deal in the boardroom, and sent her on her way. He couldn't recall what, but something had made words pop out of his mouth that he hadn't expected.
A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) Page 2
