Bidding on Her Boss

by Rachel Bailey

  He resisted a chuckle. Many of his employees would try to drag out their one-on-one time with him, especially if they’d already spent money on an opportunity to impress him. Not Faith. “You realize you’re out with the person in charge of the entire chain of stores, right? You’re not playing hooky.”

  She shook her head, unmoved by his reasoning. “We have a lot of orders to fill before I clock off.”

  “What time do you finish today?” he asked, an idea forming in his head as he said the words.

  “Three o’clock.”

  “That’s in two hours. How about I pick you up then and we go on our second date?” Since she wouldn’t let him buy the dates back from her, it was probably better to get them out of the way as soon as was practical.

  “Sure,” she said as she stood. “But do me a favor and don’t come back to the store. It won’t help my popularity in there.”

  It was a reasonable point. He liked that she thought that way. She could have used the opportunity to gain points against her manager, perhaps engage in a game of one-upmanship, but he’d come to see that wasn’t the way Faith operated.

  He pushed a paper napkin across the table and took a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Give me your address and I’ll drop by your place at about three-thirty.”

  She leaned over and wrote her address on the napkin before pushing it back to him and leaving.

  He watched her walk out, taking in the sway of her hips as she moved, and then looked down at the napkin in his hand. After her address, she’d written four words. I like the beach.

  A grin spread across his face. He was already looking forward to this afternoon way too much.

  Four

  By three-twenty, Faith was waiting at her front door. She wanted to be ready to dash down the front steps when Dylan arrived because the last thing she needed was him knocking on her door. Being alone with him would lead to the possibility of her dragging him inside and repeating that kiss. And knowing there was a bed in the next room couldn’t be good in that situation...

  The beach suggestion had come from the same train of thought—she knew they had to go somewhere public. Though she’d also wanted it to be informal so she had a chance to question him casually and get more insight into what he was looking for with the catalog, to make her next attempt more likely to succeed. She had high hopes of getting the information while sitting next to him on the sand and not having to look him in the eye.

  At three twenty-seven, his Porsche convertible drew up, and she pulled her front door shut behind her, hiked her beach bag higher on her shoulder and jogged down the concrete stairs to the road. She loved the idea of owning a convertible, of having the wind in her hair as she drove, but the sheer expense of the model Dylan owned simply served to reinforce the differences between them.

  “Have you got your swimsuit in that bag?” he asked as she slid into the passenger seat.

  Was he kidding? Being half-naked in his presence could be disastrous. And seeing him in board shorts, his bare chest dripping with water...? Yeah, that was only going to lead to trouble. Whether they’d be in public or not, her willpower had its limits.

  Though, she thought as she glanced over and took in the red-and-white-striped T-shirt that bunched around his biceps and stretched across his shoulders, perhaps his covered chest wasn’t going to be much easier to cope with.

  She faced the windshield and shrugged. “I was thinking more along the lines of sitting on a towel with the sand between my toes.”

  “That sounds safer,” he said as he pulled away from the curb.

  So he was still having trouble, too. Interesting. They talked about the weather and made other small talk until he found a park and they stepped out into the sunshine.

  He looked down at her Hawaiian print bag. “Did you bring a towel, or should I get the picnic blanket?”

  “You keep a picnic blanket in your car?” She couldn’t help the smile—it seemed such a sweet thing for a playboy like Dylan to do. Although maybe he used it to seduce women under the stars...? Her smile faded.

  “My brother Liam and I took his daughters, Bonnie and Meg, for a picnic a couple of weeks ago. The blanket is still in the back.”

  Her smile returned. She’d read the newspaper stories about Liam Hawke’s engagement to Princess Jensine of Larsland—everybody had—and seen the photos of Liam’s tiny baby, Bonnie, and Jenna’s daughter, Meg, who was only a few months older than Bonnie. She just hadn’t quite imagined Dylan actually interacting with the little girls. Which was probably unfair—by all accounts, the three brothers were close.

  She hitched the bag over her shoulder. “No, I have a towel.”

  He nodded and set the keyless lock. They found a spot on the white sand to spread out her towel. The beach was fairly quiet, so there was no one else close enough to hear them, but there were still people around— people swimming in the sparkling blue Pacific, a couple of guys throwing a Frisbee back and forth, couples on towels farther away, occasional joggers.

  Dylan slipped off his shoes and rolled up his chinos before sitting at the other end of the towel, leaving plenty of space between them. She wasn’t facing him, which was supposed to be safe, yet her attention seemed to be located on his bare ankles, which she could see out of the corner of her eye. Why had she never noticed how attractive men’s ankles were before? Or was it something special about this man’s?

  She swallowed hard and brought her focus back to her career. These dates were for her career.

  “Mr. Hawke, you—”

  “Dylan,” he said, interrupting her. “‘Dylan’ is fine when we’re alone.”

  “Are you sure?” A light breeze toyed with the hair that had escaped her clip, so she tucked it behind her ear. “If we become personal, won’t we risk...?” She didn’t know how to end that sentence, so she left it hanging.

  He pulled his legs up and rested his forearms on his bent knees. “I hardly think using my first name will lead to me leaping on top of you here on the towel. Besides, ‘Mr. Hawke’ is too formal for the beach.”

  As soon as he’d said the words me leaping on top of you, she had trouble drawing breath. For a long moment, she couldn’t get past the image of him above her, feeling his weight pushing her into the sand. She bit down on her bottom lip, hard. It seemed that he was right—using his first name wasn’t the problem since she hadn’t said it yet.

  “Okay. Dylan.” She gathered a handful of towel and the sand beneath it and gripped tight, as if she could draw strength from the beach itself. “You mentioned that the catalog didn’t have anything like the designs you saw me do when you were at the store.”

  “That’s true,” he said, his voice deep and smooth. “We don’t have anything like them.”

  She twisted around a little so she could see his eyes, but more importantly, so he could see hers and know she was serious about this. “Will you give me another chance to submit a design? One that’s more...me?”

  A slow smile spread across his face, and he nodded once. “I was hoping you’d still want to submit. Hawke’s Blooms needs at least one Faith Crawford design between the covers of its catalog.”

  “Thank you,” she said, excitement building inside. She’d been pretty sure he’d be open to looking at another arrangement, but even so, she hadn’t wanted to count her chickens before they hatched. This time she’d blow his socks off.

  “But,” he said, “explain this to me, because I still don’t understand. You’re ambitious enough to use your savings to get access to me, yet you don’t want a promotion.” His expression was curious. It didn’t feel as if the man who’d offered her the promotion was asking this time—it was more like a friend asking.

  She looked out over the blue Pacific Ocean, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore lulling her into feeling at ease. “I like wor
king with flowers. Flowers make people happy. They make me happy.”

  “So, what do you want out of your career, Faith?” His voice was soft near her ear, but she didn’t turn, just watched the rhythmic pounding of the waves.

  “I want to keep growing as a florist, to move on to new experiences and places, to be doing bigger and better arrangements all the time.” She risked a glance at him, wondering if she dared tell him the size of her dreams. She’d never told a soul—had always been scared people would laugh at her.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” he asked, his gaze encouraging.

  There was something about him looking at her like that. He could ask her anything and she’d probably tell him. She nodded. “One day, my arrangements will grace important places, large-scale events—they’ll reach hundreds, maybe hundreds of thousands of people and bring them happiness.”

  One side of his mouth pulled into a lopsided grin. She looked back at the waves crashing on the shore and the children building sand castles. “You probably think that’s silly.”

  From her peripheral vision she saw him reach out as if to run a hand down her arm, but he let it drop a moment before he touched her. She felt his gaze, however, remain trained on her. “I think it’s amazing.”

  “You’re not teasing?” she asked, turning to him, hardly daring to breathe. She wanted so badly for him to be telling the truth.

  “I’ve heard a lot of reasons that people have chosen floristry before, and most of them were really good. But I think yours is my favorite.” His voice was soft, intimate. Despite sharing the beach with countless other people, it was as if they were completely alone on the towel. From a distance, they might look like any couple together for an afternoon, and the idea was exhilarating.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  There was silence for a long moment when all she could hear was her own breath. Then Dylan rubbed a hand down his face and sat a little straighter. “So is there a destination for your life’s plan? Somewhere in particular you’re headed?”

  She picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through her fingers. “Not really.” In fact, the idea of reaching a destination made her uneasy. “I guess I’m more comfortable staying on the move.”

  “Hmm... There’s more to that answer, isn’t there?”

  She looked up, startled that he’d seen through her. Again. Then she nodded. “I’ve moved so much in my life, changing everything each time, that I’ve become something of a rolling stone.”

  “That makes me wonder, Faith Sixty-Three.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you moving all the time because you want to, or are you worried that if you stop, you’ll sink?”

  She laughed softly. “That’s ridiculous. I move because I want to. I like my life this way.”

  But was that true? Something inside her tensed at the thought. Perhaps she was more comfortable choosing to move on, being a step ahead of anyone who might make her leave. That little girl who was always waiting for the axe to fall was still inside her. A cold shiver ran down her spine. Honestly, she was only comfortable if she decided to move on her own terms—jumping before she was pushed. If she jumped, she was in control of the situation, so since she’d become an adult, she’d been jumping from place to place. So far she’d avoided being pushed away.

  Not that she’d ever admit that to Dylan Hawke—she’d pretty much reached her limit on sharing. Yet this was still the most open she’d been with anyone, and it didn’t scare her the way it usually did. Why was that, exactly?

  She took in his strong profile, his dark hair that was moving in the gentle breeze, the day-old stubble that covered his jaw. She felt safe with him.

  “You know,” she said, feeling this was something that he should know. “I haven’t told anyone this before. About being a rolling stone.”

  His green eyes softened. “Thank you for sharing it with me.” His forehead crumpled into lines and he swallowed. “And it seems only fair that I repay your honesty in kind.”

  “Yes?” she said and held her breath.

  “The night we met, you asked if I’d ever had a dream of my own.” His voice was stilted, as if he hadn’t put these thoughts into words before. “I didn’t answer you, but the truth is, no. The only dreams I can remember having are the dreams I have in common with my family for our business.” His gaze was piercing, looking deep within her. “Are you shocked?”

  She swallowed hard to get her voice to work. “I’m honored you shared that with me.”

  “And if we’re being completely honest,” he said, his chest rising and falling faster than it had only minutes ago, “I have to tell you that I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more than I do in this moment. But I can’t let myself.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut against the truth, but he deserved to know he wasn’t alone. Deliberately she opened her eyes again and met his gaze. “I’ve never wanted to kiss a man this much, either. Ever since the moment our lips first touched, I’ve been thinking about doing it again.”

  He groaned and let his head fall into his hands. “I’m not sure if I prefer knowing that, or if it was easier not thinking you felt the same.”

  She sighed, understanding how he felt. “You’re not the only one feeling the chemistry. But I don’t want to act on it, either.”

  Without looking up, he reached across the towel and intertwined their hands. The slide of his skin against her fingers made her breath hitch. Holding his hand was such a poor substitute for what she really wanted, but it would have to be enough.

  * * *

  Dylan refused to look down at where his fingers were wrapped around Faith’s. If he acknowledged it, he’d have to break the contact.

  What were they doing at the beach, anyway? She’d been clear from the start that she’d bought the time with him to help her career. Since this was their second date, he should be doing something for her career now.

  Reaching a decision, he released her hand and jumped to his feet. “Come on. There’s somewhere I want to take you.”

  She looked up at him warily. “Where?”

  Her meaning hit him—he’d said he wanted to kiss her and then held her hand. It was natural she would think that next he might push the boundaries further. “It’s job-related, I promise.”

  He held out his hand again, but this time it was to help her up. She took it and he pulled her up to stand in front of him. She was so close he could feel her body heat. She smelled of flowers, which was no surprise given that she’d been handling them all day, but also of strawberries. His gaze dropped to her lips, which had a slick of red gloss coating them. She was wearing strawberry lip gloss. His pulse spiked, imagining the flavor when he kissed her.

  Abruptly she released his hand and stepped back. “You said we were going somewhere job-related?”

  He picked up the towel and shook it with more force than was necessary before answering. “I want you to see the Hawke’s Blooms flower farm.”

  Her eyes lit with the same passion she’d shown when she talked about her future. “I’d love that!”

  As they walked back to the car, then drove out of LA to San Juan Capistrano, where the farm was located, she peppered him with questions about the farm’s capacity and stock.

  “Have you always had it out here?” she asked once they drew close.

  He nodded. “We moved here when I was a kid. My parents had been farmers, so when they came out to California, they tried their hand at growing flowers. They wanted something that would give their three sons opportunities and thought this was the way to do it.”

  “From your success, I’d say they were right.” Her voice held no trace of flattery. It was an honest observation, and it had more weight for it.

  “Yeah,” he said, allowing satisfaction about the business he’d built with his family to fill his chest. He owed his parents mor
e than he could ever repay. Not that they wanted anything other than to see their sons happy and thriving, but he’d find a way to show them how grateful he was one day.

  “So, whose idea was it to sell the flowers as well as grow them?” Faith asked.

  “We had a roadside stall when we started.” He smiled at the memory. “Dad would sell to the flower markets, but every weekend, Adam and I would go with Mom and sell whatever we had left.”

  “What about your other brother?”

  He chuckled. “Liam prefers plants to people, so he’d stay home with Dad. And it’s a good thing he did—it was Liam’s breakthroughs with new flowers that put us on the map.”

  “I was really impressed with his Midnight Lily. The customers have been loving it.”

  “It’s a great flower,” Dylan said, feeling a surge of pride. The new blue lily had been launched a couple of months earlier and had been selling like crazy ever since.

  She lifted one foot up, rested it on the seat and wrapped an arm around her knee. “So you and your other brother were stuck selling by the roadside?”

  “There were three of us there, but the sales came down to our mom and me. Adam always saw himself in a more...managerial role.” Adam had set himself up behind the stall in what Dylan and his mother had called “Adam’s office.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her cock her head to the side. “How much management does a roadside stall need?”

  “Even though I teased him about trying to get out of work, he probably worked harder than any of us. He made posters and put them on stakes by the road, experimented with price points and kept a chart of the sales so he could work out what to stock. During the week, he was always doing something to our stall, too. Either painting it a different color to see if that attracted more people, or constructing new benches for the flower buckets from wood he salvaged.”

  “Sounds like quite the entrepreneur.” There was a smile in her voice.