“Your grandmother is quite persuasive. I don’t need the money. But I do need a challenge.”
“Is that what I am to you? A challenge?”
He smiled, hazel eyes glinting. “That’s another question when I haven’t asked you anything.”
“All right, your turn.” She sighed warily, her tummy flipping with nerves and a hint more morning sickness. “Ask away.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
She blinked fast, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Seriously? That’s it?”
“Do you want a tougher question? Something more personal? Because I can think of more than one of that sort.”
“Fuchsia,” she blurted. “My favorite color is fuchsia. What’s yours?”
“Don’t care.”
“Then why ask me my favorite?” She couldn’t help but wonder.
“I’ve found I can tell a lot about a person by their choice. I catalogue those picks, like crayons in a box, and track the trends. It’s like analyzing data in the workplace.”
“Wait. Seriously?” She held up a hand as something else occurred to her. “You’re working for a jewelry empire and you don’t care about the nuances of beauty in jewel tones? Just an overall trend of some Crayola personality test?”
“I care about tracking sales data. I’m not a designer. I have people for that. A good boss knows who to promote based on job performance—not bloodlines.” He hinted at that distrust of nepotism again. “What made you choose to stay in the family business rather than strike out on your own?”
She searched for the right words to explain something innate. “It’s in my blood, all I can ever remember wanting to do. In fact, my earliest memories are of accompanying my grandfather to work.”
“What did you do at the company as a toddler?”
“You’ll have to wait. It’s my turn to ask. Based on all that cataloguing of favorite color trends, what do you think would be your favorite color—if you ever decided to choose one?”
“What?” He looked at her as if he was dizzy from following her through a maze.
“What type of person are you? If I’m fuchsia, what are you?”
“Um, navy blue, maybe dark gray.”
Why did she want to know? “You didn’t think about that, did you? I believe you just made up an answer.”
“Prove it,” he said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest. Even through the black shirt, she could see the outline of muscles in his arm. His smile was genuine, if not a little playful, and his eyebrow cocked with such arrogance that she couldn’t look away.
She scrunched her nose. “You’re not playing fair with this question game.”
He leaned forward again, closer this time. “I don’t know the answer to your color question and I really want to get to my question. What did you do with your grandfather at work?”
She found herself drawn in by the timbre of his voice as much as the steel in his eyes. “He asked me to help him make a necklace for Gran’s birthday. Picking out the stones. Choosing which of his designs I liked the best. It was...magical.”
“Your grandparents are important to you.” He was a perceptive man.
She needed to remember that.
“My grandmother is the primary reason I’m here. She and Gramps were more parents to me than my own—which is no great secret to anyone who’s been around for any length of time. I hate that I’m missing even a day with her on this trip, but this is what she wants.”
“If making your grandmother happy is that important, that brings me back to my first question. Why have you been avoiding me?”
There was no more hiding the truth from him or herself.
“I’m not sure how to be in the same room with you without thinking about the day we met.”
* * *
Amie’s admission still rattled around in Preston’s brain even hours later after they’d checked into their Los Angeles hotel on California’s renowned Gold Coast. He paced around the sitting area between their rooms, picture windows overlooking the water. Crystal, brass and high-end upholstery filled the place. He wasn’t much on décor, but he knew “good” when he was around it. He hadn’t grown up with this kind of luxury, but he’d grown accustomed to it over the years climbing the corporate ladder.
A knock sounded at the door. “Room service.”
Preston went to admit the catering staff, allowing them to set up the wet bar with a tray of fruit and vegetables, plus a selection of finger sandwiches and teas. He’d asked what a light lunch would be for a woman and he had to admit the spread looked good. There would be food at the gala tonight, but he thought Amie might like something ahead of time.
Tipping the servers, he went to Amie’s door and knocked.
“Amie?” The door nudged open. It must not have been latched in the first place.
A silver ball of fur streaked past his feet.
“Roscoe!” Amie streaked just as fast, wearing a T-shirt and cotton shorts that were...short. He probably shouldn’t have noticed that when she was chasing her escapee cat.
But her hair was in a topknot on her head. No jewelry anywhere. And she had a down-to-earth appeal that kicked him square in the chest. It took him a minute to move past that and notice that she sidestepped a baby grand piano and one-of-a-kind furnishings like a shifty running back, finally pouncing on Roscoe before he slipped into Preston’s room.
“Those were some moves,” he drawled, trying hard to lift his eyes from the sight of her bare thighs.
“I might not have had to move so fast if I’d had a little help.” She arched an eyebrow at him, no trace of makeup on features that didn’t need it.
“I was...distracted.” He couldn’t help a slow grin at her glare. “I’ll help now though. Do you need his carrier?”
He peered inside her bedroom and noticed a spread of papers on her bed. Sketches of jewelry designs that she’d inked in with bright, bold colors in snakeskin patterns.
“Wait.” She hurried over, brushing past him even as he moved into her room. “I don’t need the carrier.”
He couldn’t take his eyes off the sketches. “You did all these?”
It was a significant amount of work. They weren’t rough sketches. They’d been drawn in meticulous detail, large enough to really see the interlocking-chain design.
“It’s nothing.” She started gathering the papers, stacking them hurriedly, but carefully, too. Even as she juggled a cat in her arms.
“Nothing?” How could she write off such obvious hard work as nothing? “I hope you’re not taking them to a competitor.”
He was only half joking. Why else would she be trying to whisk them out of sight?
“Don’t be silly.” Skimming aside all the papers, she secured the cat in her bathroom, closing the door. “I saw the lunch spread out there.” She yanked a black silk robe off the top of her suitcase, colorful clothes exploding out of it in every direction. “It looks delicious.”
A curious response. Preston tucked it away, not wanting to risk upsetting the accord they were trying to find.
“I hoped there would be something you would like.” He followed her back out into the living area.
She slipped her robe on, covering up her luscious bare legs. But when she turned and smiled at him, he had to admit that was just as much of a treat.
“As it happens, I am famished.”
* * *
Later that evening, he twisted open a bottled water, waiting for Amie to finish dressing for their evening out—although thinking about her a door away showering? Not wise. Not when they had to spend so much time together.
He’d already changed into a tuxedo for the gala at the Natural History Museum. It was almost like taking Amie on a date—well, for him, anyway, since work permeated every aspect of his adult life.
A date?
Was that what this week was about? Starting up a relationship with her in spite of the fact he was fifteen years her senior—and her boss? Damn it, he didn’t want to be that cliché. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
The door to Amie’s room clicked and...damn.
He set his bottle down slowly. The sight of her knocked the wind out of him. He’d spent so much time keeping professional distance, sometimes the impact of her just caught him unaware. She carried off a boho style all her own. One of a kind in so many ways.
She stood in the doorway, wearing a rhinestone halter top attached to a filmy peach skirt to the floor. Buff-colored cowboy boots peeked out with diamond anklets around them. Her hair, normally loose, was gathered in a tight braid and fell over her right shoulder. Only Amie could carry off such an eclectic pairing.
God, she was magnificent, and his body fired to life in answer. Who was he kidding? He noticed her every minute of every day—whether she was in no makeup and a T-shirt, or dressed to impress.
He pulled a rose from the arrangement on the wet bar. “You look damn hot and I bet you know it.”
“Your flattery overwhelms me.” She rolled her eyes but took the flower anyway, bringing it to her nose and inhaling. “Mmm.”
“Plenty of people flatter you. You want to be respected for more than your looks or being a McNair, and I see that. Now, let’s go wow the business world.” He extended his elbow.
She stared at him in confusion for three blinks of her long eyelashes before she tucked her hand around his arm. “Lead the way.”
He guided her to the penthouse elevator and tapped the button, the touch of her hand searing through his jacket. “I meant it when I said your work speaks for itself, no last name needed.”
“Thank you, Preston. I appreciate that, truly,” she said as the door slid open and they stepped inside. Together. “You know all about my family—thanks to our infamous nepotism—”
“I didn’t say your family doesn’t deserve their jobs—well, other than your father.” He shrugged, wondering why he felt the need to shoot himself in the foot. “Sorry if that offends you.”
“I can’t condemn you for speaking the obvious.” She snapped the bud off the long stem and tucked the flower into her long braid that draped over her shoulder, anchoring it with ribbon at the end. “I’m curious, though... Back to our questions game, what about your family?”
He went still for an instant, weighing his words. “No chance of nepotism in my family. There was no family business to join into. My father worked for a waste disposal company, injured his back and went on disability. My mother worked for a cleaning service. Mostly cleaning condos for a real estate company.”
“It sounds like they had a difficult time financially.” She leaned back against a mirrored wall, the lights glinting off her sequined top.
They had, and he’d been so determined to do differently by his family, sometimes he’d forgotten the positive parts of his childhood. “My dad may have been laid up, but he studied with me every day. He wanted to make sure I had more choices than he did. Than my mother did.”
“Where are they now?”
The floors counted down as they descended toward ground level where their car waited, elevator music tuned to the Mozart station.
“I bought them a condominium in Florida, complete with maid service.” He may have failed his ex and his daughter, but he’d done right by his parents.
“You support them? That’s really lovely.”
“I have more than enough money. Why wouldn’t I?” His gaze dipped to the small of her back, visible in the mirrored wall behind her.
“Not everyone would. Do you get to see them often?”
“Not as often as I would like.” He pulled his eyes back up to her face, lingering for a second on the rose tucked in her hair. “I think you owe me about a dozen questions.”
“All right, then ask,” she answered with an ease that said he was making progress breaking through the awkwardness between them.
There was a chance for...hell, who was he kidding? He wanted a chance to have her again. In a bed. The attraction wasn’t going away. It increased every day and was wrecking their work environment. Tonight was just a reminder of how damn hard it was to be professional with her. He wanted to free her from the layers of fabric, feel her body against his again.
“I’m going to save my questions for later, after work.” He swept his arm toward the lobby, already looking forward to the ride back up the elevator.
* * *
Amie had been a part of Diamonds in the Rough since graduating from college with a double major in art and business. But until recently, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to the expanded business that went into marketing the product. She’d assumed the pieces would come together for her at the right time, especially after her cousin had stepped down to pursue his own dreams.
God, that was brave of him to do.
She felt like a coward right now, afraid to tell Preston about the baby. This week was supposed to be about finding that courage, and the more time she spent with him, the more questions she had.
She stepped out of the limo in front of the Natural History Museum, the red carpet filled with LA elite and top players in Hollywood. Diamonds in the Rough collections would be displayed throughout. The evening passed in a blur of schmoozing, seeing her rustic gem designs and others artfully showcased throughout the Southwest exhibit—beside everything, from a stuffed longhorn steer, to a locomotive light, to portraits of the diverse people who’d shaped Western history.
She was a part of this, the McNair legacy, and she couldn’t deny Preston was in command. He owned the room, quietly and confidently, alongside some of the most famous men and women in the country. Hooking them. No doubt there would be Diamonds in the Rough pieces adorning actors and actresses at music and movie awards shows.
By the end of the night, she felt light, excited about the business in a way she couldn’t recall since she’d been a child making a necklace with her grandfather. She just wished she knew what Preston thought of her designs when he’d seen those sketches earlier in the day. Why hadn’t he said anything?
But he had been thoughtful so far on this trip. The questions game had helped her learn things about him. The lunch he’d ordered—so obviously full of chick food that he’d selected items with her in mind—had been a sweet gesture, and so welcome, considering that her appetite really kicked in later in the day.
The business part of the event was winding down and the attendees were free to explore the museum for the remaining hour the company had rented the venue. Amie hooked arms with Preston, wondering if maybe, just maybe, they were going to find level ground after all.
She stared upward in wonder at the butterfly exhibit. Monarchs and a zillion other kinds she’d never thought to learn the names of glided, landed, soared again. Her imagination took flight along with them. “This museum was a genius idea for the display.”
“It’s about art. You design art every bit as beautiful, Amie.”
She stopped, turning to face him. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
A half smile ticked a dimple in his craggy, handsome face. “Considering how little we’ve talked, that’s not saying much.”
“You know, you haven’t been exactly accessible, yourself.” She wanted to touch him, to stroke those strands of gray at his temples and see if they had a different texture.
“What do you mean?” All hard edges, he made such a contrast to those delicate yellow butterflies drifting behind him.
“You’re a broody and moody workaholic.” Even with butterflies as a backdrop.
“I’m the boss. I have to maintain a certain professional distance, and I’m certainly not going to set a bad example by takin
g long lunches and checking out early,” he said with more of that broody moody authority. His mouth formed a tight line that she wanted to tease open.
“It’s more than that.” She tilted her head to the side, wondering if it was her imagination that his eyes lingered on her outfit now. And had all night, even amidst the A-list guests with plunging necklines. The thought sent satisfaction and desire through her. “You’re not the warm fuzzy, approachable type.”
“No. I’ve staked my reputation on being a leader not a team player. Besides, I’m also fifteen years your senior. You realize that, right?”
Did that bother him? She hadn’t thought about it beyond thinking how well he carried it. The gray streaks at his temples, the hard, defined angles in his face. And those keen, calculating eyes. The man exuded pure sex appeal and would no matter what age. But she couldn’t just dismiss what he’d said.
“The years between our birth dates would be an issue if I was a teenager. Ew. And illegal. But I’m far beyond that stage of life. So I don’t see it as an excuse for distant behavior—” she took the plunge for her baby “—outside the office.”
His eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying outside the office is okay?” He took a step closer, still not touching but near enough that one deep breath would brush her chest against his. “Because I was under the distinct impression you didn’t want to pursue the relationship because I’m the boss. And quite frankly, I agree that’s problematic on a lot of levels if not handled carefully.”
“Of course,” she murmured, having thought through all of them. “You’re right.”
He studied her for a long moment, eyes so perceptive she wondered if he could pluck her secret thoughts right out of her head. Instead, his voice lowered to a level that hummed along her skin.
“But you’re open to discussion,” he pressed. “What are we going to do about working at the same company when there’s still this connection?”
A butterfly landed on his shoulder and in that moment he was so very approachable. So much so, she couldn’t think about anything but how scared she’d been since that stick turned pink.
“I guess that’s what this week is supposed to be about.”
Pregnant by the Cowboy CEO Page 5
