Rules of Negotiation (9 page)

“Are you sure?” Tori asked. She directed her gaze at the Armani tag.

Brit bowed. “What gentleman would not lay down his coat for a lady?”

Tori pulled off her own jacket and laid it beside his. “Ann Taylor,” she said as she dropped on top of it. “Not nearly as much of a loss.”

Brit gave her a mock frown as he settled next to her. “You can’t subject everything to a financial risk analysis, you know. Sometimes you have to let a gentleman make a grand gesture.”

Tori laughed. “I’ll let you make the grand gesture when it matters. Like when we’re on the helicopter.”

He shuddered. “Goodness, that’s morbid. I certainly hope I’m not required to make any sort of gesture, grand or otherwise, while we’re a thousand feet in the air.”

“I like to plan ahead.” She leaned back on her arms. A small group of children threw sticks and pebbles into the water as their anxious mothers hovered behind. To their right, a group of boys played football in a grassy stretch at the edge of the Great Lawn. Their game seemed to center around tackling, as no one had much luck throwing or catching.

“I gathered that. You’re a bit young to be handling transactions like this on your own, aren’t you?” he said.

“Technix is my client,” she said simply. “I’m not sure how they could stop me. And, I must admit, they make me run everything past one of the senior partners. Drives me crazy.”

“That sounds like the story of your life,” he observed. “I believe you’re what some might call an overachiever.”

Tori looked up, half-expecting to see disapproval, but only amusement radiated from his clear blue gaze. She pulled a clover from the grass and twirled it. “So I’ve heard.”

“But no husband, no kids. Aren’t you falling behind there?”

“What are you, the U.S. Census?”

“You’re a beautiful, sexy woman. I’m simply noting that it’s surprising some man hasn’t tied you to his bed long before now.”

“Hmm.” She thought for a moment about being tied to Brit’s bed. It was a nice thought. She shook her head to clear her mind. “Nope. I was engaged once, right out of law school, but he didn’t seem to have any trouble giving me the boot. It was for the best. I really don’t have time for a relationship. I’m going to apply for partner in a couple of years, and they’ll be looking hard at my numbers. I can’t afford to get lazy.”

“Somehow, I doubt that will be a problem.” He trailed one hand along the side of her calf. “I assume that means you aren’t dating anyone?”

“Ha!” She found another clover and pulled off its lobes, one after another, studiously ignoring the delicious tickle of his fingers. “I don’t even remember what that means. It’s a relief, really. No one expects anything from me, or gets frustrated when I forget to come home for dinner.” She gestured toward his hand. “But you must agree. I don’t see a ring on your finger.”

“I’ve got more family than I know what to do with,” Brit said. “Two brothers, a sister, and countless nieces and nephews. The last thing I need is more family.”

Tori laughed at his disgusted expression. “I forgot you had a sister. Tell me about her.”

“She’s a lot like you. Brilliant, driven…suspicious. She used to do research in a robotics lab out in Southern California. But then she went through a messy breakup, and a few months ago she moved out here. She’s been having a hard time since then.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

A muscle flexed in his jaw, and a dark, cold anger burned in his eyes. “So am I.”

Tori tried to lighten the suddenly dark mood. “Wait—I remind you of your sister? Doesn’t that sound a tad creepy?”

He flashed a white-toothed grin. “No. Unless there’s something creepy about appreciating strong women.”

Unsure how to stop the rush of pleasure that followed from the compliment, Tori decided a change of subject was in order. “I love Central Park. I used to jog here all the time when I worked in the city. Did you come here a lot, when you were growing up?”

“Sometimes. My mother didn’t like us to ride the subway alone. We found plenty of trouble to get into closer to home.”

“Trouble?” She arched a brow. “Brit Bencher, in trouble?”

“Well, let’s say we were lucky all we saw was the back of the truant officer’s car, and not the red and blue lights. You’d be surprised what three brothers can do, without even trying.”

“I see.” She studied his profile and the smooth olive cast of his skin. “You know, it occurs to me that you never told me why they call you Brit. I saw the real name on the papers today, you know. John Bencher the Third.”

He winced. “Some day, I’m going to change that. Legally, I mean.”

“What’s wrong with John? Seems like a perfectly reasonable name to me.”

“If you don’t mind following in your father’s footsteps, perhaps.”

She rolled over on her elbow. He stared off at the young children by the water, who had turned from rock throwing to heaving old crusts of bread at the ducks and squealing with delight when they honked at each other and fought over the white chunks.

“Didn’t you? I mean, didn’t you inherit Excorp from your father?”

“Yes and no. The company my grandfather founded manufactured radios. It was marginally successful and utterly boring. I had no interest in getting involved. I was interested in technology and high-risk projects with the potential for big payouts. My brothers nicknamed me Brit because I was fascinated with the UK. I even went through a period where I mimicked a Scottish accent, à la Sean Connery. I think I saw one too many James Bond flicks. I was determined to live there after I graduated from business school.”

Now that was an amusing thought. Brit, trying to pull off a 007 impression. “And?” she prompted. “Did you?”

“No. For all my talk of living in Scotland, I’ve never spent more than a few nights there at a time.” He laughed, but she could feel an undercurrent of tension in his voice, and see it in the sudden tautness of his jaw.

“What happened?”

“Life.” He shrugged. “By the time I graduated from college the business wasn’t doing well. My younger brothers were still in school. Dad was never a great businessman. He needed help. I did what I had to do. I reinvented Excorp, made some risky investments in our manufacturing process, and made us profitable. A few years later, we absorbed a couple of competitors and became even more profitable. Three years ago Excorp went public. It wasn’t exactly what I expected to do with my life, but at least I’ve been able to make sure my folks are supported, and no one has to worry about money any longer.”

“But no traveling?” she asked.

“Oh, I travel. I’ve been all over the world. The irony is, I rarely make it out of hotel conference rooms and high-rise office buildings.”

Tori swallowed hard, remembering how her heart had dropped when she learned of her mother’s diagnosis. How she struggled not to feel resentful for her lost opportunity, and the guilt that had piled up for thinking about herself when it was her mother who was suffering.

“I’m sorry,” she offered, unsure how to respond to the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

He grinned, breaking the solemnity with unexpected humor. “Don’t worry. I’m not dead yet. I figure there’s still time. Someday, I’m going to Scotland. It will be the trip that fulfills all those childhood fantasies.” He turned her hand over and tapped on her palm. “Now, I’ve told you about my name, so you’ve got to spill the beans about that clerkship. Remember?”

Tori froze. She’d never been good at talking about her family. What could say about her mother, anyway? Two nights ago, Jeanne had flown into a rage when Tori visited, screaming and throwing things until Tori left her room. The doctor said it was a common occurrence during the later stages of the disease. Ever since, Tori hadn’t been able to think about her mother without a feeling of panic.

“I…um…” she tried to speak but it was no use. The pain hit like it always did—with the force of an earthquake that left her reeling. She struggled to regain her composure, rubbing hard across her eyes and clearing her throat.

Brit reached out and stroked her hand. “Hey, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. You don’t have to answer.”

Tori shook her head, her throat locking. His gentle touch only made it worse. Damn it, she couldn’t fall apart like this every time someone mentioned her mother.

She sucked in a deep breath and forced out the words. “My mother has Alzheimer’s. She was diagnosed at the same time I found out about the clerkship. I never told her about it. We don’t have any other family around, and it wouldn’t have been a good time for her to move. So I went back home and got a job with Hartner. It was for the best. I like my job, and the money’s good enough for me to pay for her care. That’s all that really matters anyway.”

“Of course it is,” he said, squeezing her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” The fist that had closed around her throat relaxed, and she let out her breath on a sigh.

They sat together in silence until one of the football players came barreling their direction, running backward as he kept his eyes on the ball. He was a boy of eight or nine, thin and wiry, with dark black hair cut short and a ragged-looking shirt and shorts. Brit jumped up and caught the ball as it headed straight for Tori’s head.

“Sorry,” the boy said.

Brit sent the ball in a perfect spiral toward the group, who were now clumped in a group on the far side of the clearing.

The boy’s eyes widened as the ball sailed easily through the air. “Wow. I wish I could throw like that.”

“It takes practice,” Brit said. “You can learn. What’s your name?”

“Henry.”

“You boys want a few pointers?”

Henry nodded vigorously, but pointed doubtfully at Brit’s clothes. “My dad says he can’t play when he’s dressed for work.”

“You boys promise not to tackle me, and we’ll be fine.”

With a wink to Tori, Brit sauntered over to the gaggle of kids. They looked away nervously as he approached, but their faces cleared when Brit held out a hand for the ball and began to demonstrate his throwing technique.

Tori watched with a sinking heart.

He was supposed to be Brit Bencher The Slayer, not Brit Bencher the good-with-kids-family-man who loved strong women and sacrificed his own dreams to take care of his family. He was not supposed to understand about her mother. She should never have told him about her mother. They were spending one night together. No strings, no attachment. She was not in the market for a relationship and neither was he.

Under Brit’s watchful eye, the boys began to throw the ball back and forth among one another. After a few tries, the boy with the black hair threw the ball high into the air, where it formed an unsteady but distinct spiral, and then fell into the receiver’s arms. Everyone cheered, even Tori. Brit looked over with a grin, dropped a million-dollar wink, and then turned back to the game.

Tori’s heart fell right down into her toes. Her nails bit into her palm as she came to an unpleasant realization.

She could fall for him.

Damn it, she could fall for Brit Bencher.

Tori pulled out her BlackBerry and flipped through her messages at a furious clip. It was Friday evening and for once, she had nothing pressing to which she needed to respond. Instead, she dialed Betsy’s home number.

“Hello?”

“Betsy, this is Tori. Listen, I’m so sorry to call you at home, but I have some good news.” Helplessly, Tori let her gaze drift back to Brit, who was leaning over to assist one of the smaller boys with the football.

“Tori? Hold on a sec.” Betsy screamed something at her kids that sounded suspiciously like a threat to tie them up and put them in a closet if they weren’t quiet. A moment later, there was silence. “Okay, I’ve got about three minutes before they break something. What did you say? Something about good news? This has to do with The Slayer, doesn’t it? Are you finally taking my advice?”

Tori bit her lip as Brit engineered another decent pass from a tiny kid who looked like he couldn’t be more than seven years old. “I respectfully decline to answer the question,” she said. “But I am staying in New York a couple of nights. So you don’t have to go in to the office tomorrow morning. At least, you don’t have to on my account. Feel free to go in if you like. But I won’t be there.”

Betsy let out a whoop that was loud enough to startle a duck that had wandered too close to Brit’s jacket. In the background, Tori heard her yell, “I don’t have to work tomorrow, kids! I can come to the game!”

The sound made Tori feel like dirt. “Jesus, Betsy, why didn’t you tell me you had other plans? I could have found someone else to help me.”

With a note of obvious relief, Betsy replied, “As if I’d let anyone else work on that presentation for Karl? Not a chance. But now that you’re having a weekend of crazy sex with the hottest guy in NYC, I don’t mind saying that we had tickets to a Phillies game and my sister was going in my place. Do you need me to change your reservations? I’d be more than happy to—I can do that from home, even.”

Tori shifted uncomfortably on her jacket. “I didn’t say we were…er…”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I know exactly what’s going on there.” Tori could picture Betsy’s airy wave of her hand, and the knowing look in her eyes. “Listen, if he has mirrors on the ceiling, I want to know about it.”