by Joan Kilby
“I am, actually.” She followed him into the kitchen and perched on a barstool, idly flipping through the stack of unopened envelopes piled on the counter. “What are all these?”
“Invitations.” He pulled jars of mayonnaise and mustard from the fridge, along with sliced meats and cheeses and a French baguette. He’d learned to make his own meals after his mom died, before his dad dumped him on his aunt and uncle. Nowadays, his fridge was stocked with wagyu steaks and gourmet delicacies, but his favorite food remained the humble submarine sandwich.
“When did you become so popular? Holy crap, is this the crest of the Australian Consulate?” She stared at him. “What’s going on?”
He might as well tell her the worst of it. Scott flipped over the glossy magazine lying on the counter. His face stared out from the cover with the caption, “Seattle’s hottest young entrepreneur. Sexy, rich, and single.”
Cassy gave a wolf whistle.
Scott shrugged and carried on making the sandwich. Being the man in that picture vindicated all the grinding years of work to achieve success. However, accolades weren’t what drove him. And he hated that his notoriety brought him to the attention of society matrons who wanted fresh meat for their charity functions.
“Since this story broke last week, I’ve been inundated with requests for my presence at every social event in town.”
“You must be beating women off with a stick.”
“It’s a pain in the ass. Completely nuts.” He fielded at least three calls a day from women who had seen the magazine article and wanted to hook up. Some made an excuse that they were reporters working on a story while others bluntly asked him out on a date. One deranged woman actually wanted him to father her baby. “People recognize me now when I walk down the street. Strange women call me out of the blue. They take up the valuable time that I would prefer to be spending on my work.”
“I hope I’m not going to be a distraction,” Cassy said. “I’d planned to stay here since you said you had room but maybe I should get a serviced apartment.”
She will be a distraction.
The thought came without warning. Scott pushed it away and slapped on the top of the sandwich. That fleeting moment when he’d hugged her earlier had to be an aberration, a fluke. He’d never been attracted to her before. Well, not for years. At any rate, he’d never given in to that attraction, not wanting to threaten their friendship. And he wasn’t going to give in now. He liked women—a lot—but even the sexiest woman was no match for his self-control.
“You won’t distract me. We don’t have that type of relationship.” She gave him a dry twist of her mouth and he added, “Right? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Lots of men would love to…” Fuck you silly. The words just popped into his mind. Jesus. Where had that come from? Flustered, he tried to regroup. “I mean…”
“Shut up, Scott,” she said, unperturbed. “I get the picture. If we haven’t hooked up before now, it’s not ever going to happen. Anyway, you’re not my type. Hurry up with that sandwich. I’m starving.”
Only too happy to abandon the subject, he cut the baguette and passed her half.
“What are you going to do with the invitations?” she asked, chewing. “Am I supposed to answer them?”
“Write back and send my apologies. Make up any excuse you like.” He bit into his sub. Mustardy mayonnaise oozed out and he licked his fingers. “Think of yourself as my firewall, protecting me from everything that tries to tempt me into deviating from my strict work schedule. If I’m going to beat those assholes at PacTech I need total tunnel vision. Blinders on, head down.”
The phone rang.
“Let it go to the machine,” Scott said.
Too late. Cassy snatched up the receiver. “Scott Thornton’s residence.” She winked at him with a little smile. “How may I help you?”
Faintly, he could hear a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Sorry, but his girlfriend wouldn’t like it,” Cassy said. “Who is his girlfriend?” She glanced over at Scott, eyebrows raised.
He shook his head. He hadn’t been out with anyone in months. No time.
“I am, so get lost,” Cassy said to the caller. She hung up and grinned at him. “Firewall.”
“You’re good.” But Cassy calling herself his girlfriend made him uneasy and he didn’t know why. “Who was on the phone?”
“Jessica Mulgrave from some Tacoma newspaper. She wanted an interview—over dinner. She didn’t fool me for a second. She wanted in your pants. I fixed her.”
“Except that now Jessica Mulgrave is going to spread the news around that I have a girlfriend.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’re too busy to go anywhere in public, so no one will be monitoring who you’re with. Unless you suddenly find me”—she leaned over and lightly blew in his ear—“irresistible.”
The top button of her dress had come open, revealing a glimpse of lace and curving breast. He jerked his glance away. No, no, no, no. This was Cassy, his buddy, his pal. She was like a sister to him. He should say something snarky, but his brain didn’t seem to be functioning properly. “I, uh…”
She punched him hard in the shoulder and, while he was rubbing the bruise, she grabbed his half of the sandwich. “Want to watch TV? There’s an old movie on this afternoon, Roman Holiday with Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn.”
“Get real! We’re going to watch a basketball game.”
Whew! She’d been joking. Of course she’d been joking. Cassy had said it herself—he wasn’t her type. Which was good. He had enough problems without getting hot for his best friend.
But when they moved across to the living room to sit in front of the wide screen plasma TV and she stretched her bare brown legs to prop her feet on the coffee table, he positioned himself at the opposite end of the leather couch. Living in the same space might be more challenging than he’d thought.
Chapter Two
The following Friday, Cassy knocked once on Scott’s office door and walked in, skirting a mountain bike and a rowing machine to get to his desk. He was seated in front of a massive computer surrounded by three monitors, tapping furiously at the keys.
“We’re going to a cocktail party tonight,” she announced. She’d had a week to learn the office routine and tidy up his accounts, all the while planning her strategy to find an angel investor. She’d been having a ball doing it. Now she couldn’t wait to start putting her plan into action.
He didn’t look up, didn’t even acknowledge her. She tapped a pen on the notebook in her hand, waiting for his attention.
Scott had a strict rule that he was not to be disturbed while he was working. However, he’d dragged her away from her home and business to do a job and she was damn well going to do it. Typical of Scott that he didn’t fully comprehend what he’d asked of her. He could do advanced calculus in his head but he couldn’t figure out that all those social invitations he wanted her to refuse were actually his ticket to success.
“Hel-lo. Earth to Scott.”
Finally, he glanced up, his fingers still poised above the computer keys. Frowning, he said, “I told you…”
“Listen up, because you’re busy and you only have time to hear this once.” She slapped her notebook on top of a pad of scribbled calculations. “I drew up a list of potential investors in the Seattle area.”
Scott quickly scanned the list. “How come there are only three? And what’s this about a cocktail party? You know I’m not interested in socializing.”
“This is the A-list of investors,” she explained. “We target the big guns first. If we fail with them, then I’ll draw up a B-list. First up is Ray White, owner of BioTech Enterprises, and a philanthropist renowned for giving seed money to medium-sized companies about to break into the big time.”
“I’ve heard of him. He also has a habit of taking over those companies he helps.”
“You don’t have to sell.”
“Ever heard of a hostile takeover?”
“I do. But I’d planned to create jobs here in the States.”
“That’s noble of you, but we need to be realistic. The labor costs…”
“Local manufacturing,” he insisted. “Part of your brief is to make that happen. I’m serious about this.”
Cassy met his gaze steadily, but she ended up blinking first. A wise general not only picked her battles, but also chose when those battles took place. “We’ll discuss that later, when we find your angel investor.”
She stabbed a finger on the third name on her list. “Lorraine Dempsey is a mining magnate from Australia. She inherited a fortune in iron ore mines and the Chinese resources boom has turned her company into a global steel empire. Now she wants to diversify and she’s over here looking for investment opportunities. She’s going to be at tonight’s cocktail party at the Australian Consulate. She’s our target.”
“I don’t have time for cocktail parties. You were supposed to spare me all that. Send her our prospectus and arrange a meeting when she’s had a few days to look it over.”
“We’ll do that, too. But you can’t discount the impact of schmoozing in a social atmosphere. Especially with women. They like the personal touch.”
Scott got to his feet and paced to the window overlooking the landscaped grounds of the light industrial park. His folded arms strained the back of his shirt across his broad shoulders. He stood with his long legs spread, narrow black jeans hugging a muscular butt and thighs. Cassy dragged her glance away from his sexy ass to the top of his head. May sunshine, rare as diamonds in Seattle, streamed through the window and set off fiery sparks in his dark brown hair. Damn, but he was hot.
“You’ll have to come with me, pretend to be my girlfriend,” he said.
“Naturally.”
He glanced at her over his shoulder, an odd, unreadable expression on his face. “That won’t bother you? After all, I’m not your type.”
Why was he making a big deal? A fine thread of tension imperceptibly tightened the atmosphere in the office. “This is part of my brief. You’re certainly paying me enough. I’ll put on a clown suit and waltz through Pioneer Square if that’s what it takes to get an investor for your Dreamcatcher.”
“So it won’t cause any problems for you back in Bellingham with a real boyfriend? You haven’t mentioned anyone in ages.”
Oh, so that’s what he was getting at. It wasn’t about him and her at all. She covered her unaccountable disappointment with a shrug. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
Scott perched on the edge of a table covered in computer printouts of calculations. “Just out of curiosity, what is your type?”
Charismatic intellectual with a body like an athlete and a vulnerable heart he protects with work, work, and more work.
“Come on, Scott. You’ve known me since we were seven.” Why did he want to know? Was it at all possible that he wondered if she’d ever be romantically interested in him?
“Back then your type was any boy who could catch tadpoles in a jar.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Update me.”
“The last guy I went out with was Daryl, a real estate agent.”
“Hell, Cass, you can do better than that.”
“He was a nice guy. And real estate is good, honest work. At least he was honest.”
“So why did you two break up?”
“I wasn’t ready to settle. I mean, settle down.” She kicked at an exercise ball. It bounced off the rowing machine and came back to hit her in the shin. Typical. Typical of what, she didn’t know. Just…typical.
“You bought a house with a backyard and a picket fence. All that’s missing is a dog and a cat and two-point-three children. And yet you’re alone.”
“I’ve got Rupert.” Cassy turned away to hide the sting she was afraid would show on her face. Scott would never deliberately hurt her, but sometimes he didn’t realize how blunt he sounded. His casual observation stabbed deep, and the sharpness of the pain put her on the offensive. “You should count yourself lucky those things are missing from my life. If I had a dog and kids and a husband I wouldn’t be able to drop everything and race up here at your beck and call. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
“It tells me you’re a good friend. A great friend.” He paused and said simply, “The best friend I’ve ever had.”
Friends. So much for her vain hope that he might wish she was interested in him. She kicked the ball again. “Why are we talking about this anyway? I don’t want to argue, or explain who I’m seeing or not seeing, or what I’m doing with my life.” She laughed, trying to lighten up. “If I want this kind of interrogation I’ll call my mother in Spokane.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. I was just curious. We’ve drifted a little the past few years.”
It was true. As she gazed at him, so gorgeous and smart and strong—so caring—she suddenly realized why she hadn’t made the effort to see more of him. It was hard to be around him, just being friends but wanting more and knowing it was never going to happen. Shit. She’d been kidding herself if she thought she was over her crush.
But neither had she gone too far away from him, either, like to Harvard. Jeez, was that what was holding her back? How dumb was that? At the very least, she could have done an MBA right here in Seattle at the University of Washington. Why hadn’t she?
“Well, we’re together now. Working, sharing an apartment.” She dug deep and found another smile. “It’ll be like the old days.” Except now that her inconvenient attraction had resurfaced, those innocent days were gone for good. Briskly, she gathered up her notepad. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
Cassy shut the door behind her and strode through the open-plan office, trying not to feel depressed about Scott. It was great that they were such good friends. He’d given her the hugest compliment just now. Really, there was nothing to feel bad about.
From the corner of her eye, she saw three heads bob above cubicle partitions in her wake. Hello! So far, the geeks were friendly but shy, her nice breasts notwithstanding.
Tom was thirty-five going on fourteen, and wore sweatshirts with slogans and mismatched socks. He usually worked in the adjoining lab, supervising a team of assistants, but today he was in the office. Park was a South Korean whiz kid with a buzz cut, a neckerchief, and red Converse high-tops, who was plugged into K-pop all day long. Leonard was twenty-two going on fifty with Coke-bottle glasses and, beneath his lab coat, a checked shirt tucked into pleated pants.
Leonard rose, knocking over his chair. He made an attempt to right it and while he was bent over, his glasses fell off. Cassy smiled and crouched to retrieve them. Whoops! Showing a little too much cleavage for the average nerd brain to handle.
Scott was supersmart like these guys, but what attracted her was his more rounded personality. He was sexy and sporty and he had passions besides science, like mountain biking, social justice, and native flora and fauna. The geeks were great in their own way but Scott was in a class of his own.
Cassy smiled sympathetically at Leonard, who’d turned bright red. With a sheepish grin he ducked back into his cubicle. She went back to her own desk in an alcove near the lobby door, and did a Google search on Lorraine Dempsey. Within seconds she had fifty thousand or so matches. Excellent. She would research the woman thoroughly and brief Scott before the cocktail party tonight.
When she’d bookmarked several sites to read later, she did another search and pulled up a list of boutiques. Her plan was to leave the office early and shop for a hot dress. As Scott’s ersatz girlfriend it was important that she look glamorous and sexy.
Friend. Best friend. Best friend ever. Damn it, it wasn’t enough. Scott was so sure she wouldn’t distract him. As his office manager and financi
al consultant, she applauded his self-control. As his best friend, she admired his confidence. As a woman whose vanity had been piqued, a tiny voice inside said, We’ll just see about that.
…
That evening, Cassy studied herself critically in the mirror. The plunging neckline and discreet side slit showed enough skin to be tantalizing but not slutty, and the silky red fabric was snug enough to highlight her curves without revealing any unsightly bulges. Perfect.
The Australian Consulate was hosting the cocktail party so that its trade delegation could meet American businessmen and -women. No doubt the guest list would also include attractive young females handpicked from among Seattle celebrities.
In other words, tonight would be a war zone. As Scott’s front line defense against these women, she needed to pull out the big guns. Or in this case, the big girls. She tugged down the neckline, exposing another quarter inch of cleavage. Not that her girls were so very big, but they were firm, and that counted with guys. Or so she’d always been led to believe.
She twisted her hair into a loose knot, made the final touches to her makeup, spritzed on perfume, and slipped into a pair of red high heels. As she walked down the carpeted hallway to the living room, her stomach gave a little flutter. Would Scott notice her appearance? Would he care?
He was standing in profile, gazing out the floor-to-ceiling windows. He’d earned his “sexiest man” tag despite his habitual attire of T-shirts, jeans, and mountain biking gear. When he was dressed up and freshly shaven, with his hair slicked back and his athletic physique showcased in a narrow black dress suit, well, he shot to the top of the sexy stratosphere.
She followed his gaze. Past the Olympic Peninsula, far out to sea, a frontal system was rolling in off the Pacific.
“Looks like I won’t be able to ride tomorrow…” He turned as he spoke and his words faded away. For a moment, he just stared at her, speechless. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Wow! You look amazing.”
