by Kat Cantrell
She processed that for a long moment. “That’s the real reason you asked me to trash the plan, isn’t it? You’re worried that my coaching strategy will interfere with your need to do the opposite of what your father wants.”
“I’m worried that I’ll spend six months in the CEO chair and fail,” he told her harshly. “That’s the danger here. I will never be like my father, could never be. Refuse to be. That means I already have a ninety percent probability of not hitting that billion-dollar mark. It’s not rocket science. I can either become a jackass, in the mold of the last two LeBlancs who have steered this ship, or lose my inheritance. Do you blame me for avoiding that reality for a paltry hour?”
“But Val, you’re forgetting a critical piece of this,” she said. “I’m here. You’re not in this alone, and I’m going to help you. I already agreed to use a different strategy. Why not wait to see what I can do before bemoaning your chances?”
“Because.” Bleakly, he tossed the rest of his uneaten snow cone in the trash. “I’m asking you to do something outside your realm of expertise. You excel when your client already has a shark mentality. You’re honing what’s already there. This situation isn’t like that, and the odds are already stacked against us both.”
“Stop it, Val,” she said so fiercely that he did a double take. “The only thing in this scenario that is outside my skill set is your fatalistic attitude. We’re in this together and, if nothing else, you’ve done as I’ve asked. You’ve been honest with me about your weaknesses, and I can use that. No, I’ve never coached someone like you. But that doesn’t mean that I have nothing to offer. It means we’re going to do this thing together. I am firmly on board. Even more so now. Give me a chance to prove to you that I can be the asset you sorely need.”
There was not one ounce of frost in Sabrina’s voice, and it climbed on top of his taut nerves, leveling him out somehow. Who would have thought she’d be the one soothing him through a freak-out? “Sorry. I do believe in you. It’s the suits. Even trying on small pieces of one made me insane.”
Of all things, that made her smile. “I’m sorry too, but that was a necessity. We’ll skip the haircut though. Your best strategy is going to be embracing who you are. Heightening it to the nth degree. You’re clearly missing a really important point in all of this. Xavier has been the CEO of LeBlanc for almost five years. He hasn’t hit the billion-dollar mark, and I can guarantee you that’s been on his radar. So why hasn’t he done it?”
Xavier had said as much. Val shrugged, impressed that she’d picked up on that. “I don’t know, timing? He told me he has dominoes set up.”
“Of course he did. He wants to be able to slide into his office later and tell the board that he had as much as or more than you did to do with hitting that goal, or else he might be out of a job in the future.” Sabrina got so animated with making her point that her half-melted snow cone came perilously close to sloshing out of the cup. “The point here is that maybe what LeBlanc needs to propel it forward is you, Val. That’s what’s been missing all this time. Instead of some diabolical manipulation scheme, maybe your father hoped you’d find the magic button.”
Something unfurled inside Val’s chest as he drank in Sabrina’s sincere expression. There was no chance in hell what she’d described had graced his father’s thought process for even a quarter of a second. But the fact that she’d made so many out-of-the-box connections encouraged him nevertheless. Sabrina would be that magic button if for no other reason than because she’d proven exactly what she’d said she would—that she could be an asset.
And it didn’t escape his notice that instead of Val relaxing Sabrina so they could work together, she’d done that for him. With style. She might be a far more effective coach than he’d ever dreamed.
Which only increased the complexity of the dynamic here. If they were a team, truly working together toward this goal of attaining his inheritance, how smart would it be to introduce a personal element to their relationship? Sabrina wasn’t a woman he could romance and then move on when things fizzled. They had to be tight, like gears on a clock, until this inheritance test was done. Sex might complicate that.
He cursed. There was no might in that statement. His perverse need to push women away before they did it to him could easily bite him with Sabrina. The best thing to do would be to maintain professional boundaries and set his sights elsewhere.
“So, are we good here?” she asked and licked the last spoonful of snow cone into her gorgeous mouth. It was so provocative that he had a physical reaction, way down deep in his gut, where all of the instincts that he fully trusted lived.
The only way to know for sure what kinds of complications would come from romancing his coach would be to take that next step.
“Not yet.” Since her hands were occupied with the cup, he took the opportunity to sate his curiosity. He tipped up her chin and laid his mouth on hers before she could open it in protest.
The second their lips touched, the ever-present spark between them exploded, and he was instantly sorry he’d initiated this kiss while so many variables weren’t in his favor.
And, worst of all, her mouth opened under his, inviting him in, and she made a noise in her chest that heated his blood beyond anything he’d ever experienced before. Sabrina was kissing him back, and the significance of it carried implications he hadn’t prepared for.
The kiss deepened almost automatically, sweeping him away in the power and beauty of it. He wished he could start over, draw out this kiss differently with a level of anticipation that would heighten it. There was only one first kiss with a new woman, and he wanted to savor Sabrina’s.
Except she broke it off irrevocably by wrenching away and stepping back, her eyes huge and limpid, snow-cone cup listing in her hand as if she’d forgotten how her grip worked. She was so beautiful with her lips plumped and red from the syrup that he had to seriously check his urge to drag her into his arms.
“Why did you do that?” she whispered. “I told you I don’t sleep with clients.”
“Kissing is not sex,” he informed her raggedly, his chest so tight he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. “Though I’ll consider it a win that your brain jumped straight to that after a simple kiss.”
“There was nothing simple about that.” The frost had climbed back into her voice. At least he knew now how to melt it. “You shouldn’t have done it. I dated your brother, for God’s sake. That alone should make me off-limits.”
But it didn’t. She’d thrown that out as a shield and, if anything, the fact that she could compare him to Xavier meant that Val had more incentive to come out on top. Figuratively, literally and every other way because he was not the LeBlanc who would end up cast in a bad light when he got her between the sheets.
“You can’t deny that there’s something between us, Sabrina. You felt it in that kiss as much as I did.”
“That’s irrelevant. We’re working together, and we need to maintain a level of professionalism.”
Which wasn’t a denial. He couldn’t help but take a perverse sense of satisfaction from that. And that the complications between them seemed to fade when he was kissing her. Everything else stripped away, leaving only the barest level of basic human desire.
Yeah, the only way he’d stop wanting Sabrina would be if he stopped breathing. He could hardly fathom how she’d found the will to end that perfection, and all he could think about was getting her into his arms again.
“Now we’re good,” he told her.
Six
Fortified by Sabrina’s timely reminder, Val spent a hellacious week jumping feetfirst into LeBlanc. Endless board meetings blended into marathon sessions with the chief accounting officer, who first had to educate the interim CEO on how to read jewel industry financial reports, then scarcely concealed his impatience with the nineteen billion follow-up questions Val had for the man.
> Did these people want him to succeed, or what? He’d read some financial reports in his day. The nonprofit he ran did have to appropriately account for donations and expenses, or they risked losing their 501(c) tax-exempt status. But the accounting for a corporation was different. Not Val’s fault.
Regardless, he had to get this or die trying.
After a round of field trips to nearby retail outlets to monitor the sales end of the spectrum, Val wished dying was higher on the option list. The only reason he even registered how long it had been since the last time he looked up was because the suit shop had called to say his order was ready.
Had it been a whole week since he’d dragged Sabrina to the tailors and then bared his soul over snow cones? Blearily, he glanced at the date on his computer screen and had to concede that time did in fact fly even when you were not having fun.
The only bright spot came at 7:00 a.m. when his coach popped by for their daily debrief. She’d put their dynamic into stark perspective by acting as if that kiss hadn’t happened, and he’d let her, strictly because he’d needed the step back too, or his concentration would be shot. It would be too easy to fall into a place where all he could think about was a repeat.
Instead he let her energy galvanize him. Seeing Sabrina first thing in the morning put him in the right frame of mind to tackle the rest of his packed schedule. Unfortunately, that had been hours ago, and he needed a hit of Sabrina now. Fortunately, he had a good excuse to call her, as well.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed.
“Sabrina Corbin.”
Val grinned and tipped his chair so he could put his feet on the corner of Xavier’s desk, a guilty pleasure he indulged in as often as he could. “I know. I called you. If you really wanted to throw me off, you should answer Hal’s Mortuary.”
“‘You stab ’em, we slab ’em’?” Sabrina’s eye roll came through the line loud and clear.
He laughed, the first time he’d felt like doing that all day. God, she was something else. “You have my number in your contacts. There’s this handy thing that your phone has. Caller ID. When it rings, it tells you it’s me.”
“Did you specifically dial me up to school me on phone etiquette, Val?”
No, he’d called specifically to hear her voice. It still did a number on him, soothing the savage beast of capitalism that ran rampant in this building. And sometimes her voice took on this ragged edge that had all of these interesting nuances in it. Especially when she said his name. “Depends. If I ask you to dinner, are you going to shoot me down again?”
“Most definitely.”
Great, then he could skip that for today and move right in with something guaranteed he’d get a yes. “Then I called to tell you that you can just say Hi when you answer the phone. You don’t have to be formal with me. Except for tonight. Be formal with me tonight.”
“What’s different about tonight?”
“I have a thing. An event. I need a plus-one—”
“No.”
“Come on, you didn’t even let me get the whole sentence out.”
“I didn’t even have to,” she informed him with the slightest tinge of amusement coloring her tone. “I’ve already told you I don’t date clients.”
“Oh, this isn’t a date.” Not if her knee-jerk reaction was no anytime he so much as breathed the word date. That’s what made this whole setup perfect. “It’s a meet and greet for local artisans, and I have intel that says all the hot up-and-coming designers will be there. LeBlanc needs both hot and upcoming. This is me playing to my strengths, being myself, and me, myself and I need to be at that event.”
He could have the best of both worlds—business and pleasure. If Sabrina gave him the slightest sign that mixing the two would cause problems, he’d reel back the pleasure side and focus on business. He still needed his coach by his side to gloss over deficiencies Val might have considering he’d never wooed talent before.
“Great. Have a good time.”
That sounded like a woman about to hang up the phone. “I can’t do this without you.”
“You not only can, you will,” she informed him frostily.
Wow. They’d gotten through the first week together, and she’d been true to her word thus far, playing for the team without blinking an eye. Try to throw in the slightest curve ball and she flips out. Interesting.
“Sabrina. Think for a sec. I’m asking you to go with me to an artisan event. These people are looking for sponsors. It’s the whole reason the organizers do it, so those looking can find. I have an opportunity to be the highest bidder, so to speak, but I need you to make sure I don’t screw it up.”
He had absolutely no intention of screwing up, but he also had no intention of attending this event without a plus-one. It would look bad. And he didn’t want to spend the evening alone.
“Please,” he threw in. “I can’t bring a date. I need to focus on business, which will be much easier with you on my arm.”
Ha. How he got that out without being fried by lightning bolts he’d never know. But he could feel her wavering, hear it in the slight hesitation on her end of the line.
“I’ll drive my own car.”
“The hell you will,” he growled. “The CEO of LeBlanc arrives at events in a limo, and his companion does too. Humor me.”
She sighed. “You say that a lot.”
“Because you need a lot of convincing to do things that normal people just nod their head at and agree to without coercion. What can I do to seal the deal? Offer to lend you a necklace from LeBlanc’s private collection?”
“Val, please.” But the noise she made in her throat clued him in that she wasn’t necessarily opposed to the idea.
He sat up. “Really? That would be something you’d like?”
Geez. That was the key? Jewelry? At last—a use for the rocks his family peddled. He’d have draped Sabrina in ropes of diamonds days ago if he’d known that would hold some kind of magic to get her on his arm for a dress-up event.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to,” he informed her blithely, his tongue firmly in cheek. “Stop protesting. Pick you up at seven. Oh—text me the color of your dress.”
“Why?” she asked somewhat faintly.
“It’s a surprise.” He ended the call, totally giddy over how that had gone and not the slightest bit ashamed about it.
Val had a date with Sabrina Corbin. Before the end of the night, he’d either have made some headway with her on a personal front or determined a new game plan. He might not have all the skills he needed to run LeBlanc—not yet anyway—but he sure as hell could seduce a woman, especially one who intrigued him as much as Sabrina did. All he needed was the right opportunity and a clear sign that doing so wouldn’t jeopardize his end goal with his inheritance.
His phone lit up with a one-word text message from Sabrina: Red.
His favorite color. Coincidence? Or fate? Oh, yes, tonight was going to be interesting.
* * *
Valentino LeBlanc in a tuxedo should be illegal. Barring that, Sabrina was pretty sure it was the missing eighth deadly sin because the wicked, sensual edge to her companion had the definite potential to kill her before the night ended.
She should have slammed the door in his face and climbed into bed with a book. Instead, she’d taken his offered arm and let him escort her to the long, black car at her curb. She should have her head checked. If nothing else, maybe a psychologist could explain why she couldn’t get that kiss out of her blood. The memory of it heated her at odd moments, when she should be focused on work.
Like now.
Being crammed into a limo with him? Torture. Never mind that the vehicle could seat ten and there was a good foot of space between their thighs. Didn’t matter. Val’s presence was so dominating and so impossible to ignore that they could be
on opposite ends of a football stadium and she’d still have this heightened sense of awareness prickling her skin.
He felt it too. There was no way he’d missed the snap, crackle and pop that had made the atmosphere of the limo come alive. Probably she shouldn’t have worn this dress. It was too...backless. Too bold. Provocative. She had a much more appropriate beige dress that covered everything and made her invisible.
But the moment she’d flipped that switch in her head that meant she’d rationalized going to this event with Val, she knew she’d wear this one. The artistic crowd had a different set of rules when it came to style. Blending in wasn’t a goal, and she’d had a perverse need to keep up with the other women who’d be in attendance and surely dressed to the hilt.
The driver pulled away from the curb, and Val hit the button to raise the tinted dividing panel, the one that plunged the back of the limo into complete and utter privacy. She swallowed and opened her mouth to protest when Val pulled a wide, flat box from a hidden compartment on his other side.
“For you,” he said silkily and popped the hinged lid.
Fire and ice tumbled over the length of velvet. She gasped at the intricacy of the necklace, the delicate lines of filigreed platinum that held what had to be hundreds of diamonds and rubies. It wasn’t a necklace but a celebration of what extreme, stark beauty the earth and humans could create together. “Val, I can’t wear this.”
But she wanted to. How bad was that? She’d never been impressed by expensive things, but the necklace could hardly be described as merely a bauble purchased by someone with more money than sense. The design flowed almost as if it was alive, and it commanded attention. She’d have every eye in the place on her.
“You not only can, you are,” he corrected and pulled the ends loose from their moorings. “You’ll be on the arm of the CEO of LeBlanc Jewelers. There are certain expectations. You do want everyone to believe LeBlanc is the industry leader in diamonds, don’t you? The necklace is a walking advertisement.”
Without any fanfare, he looped the priceless jewels around her neck and fastened the clasp, letting the stones settle around her neck, cool and beautiful.
