Tempting the Billionaire (12 page)

Eat crow or forever hold her peace.

She was tired of being pragmatic and practical. So far all her careful plotting had gotten her was divorced and temporarily jobless. If an incredibly attractive single man wanted to take her to bed—an idea that made her hair curl even more—why shouldn’t she be allowed to say yes?

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, eyes on the pen in her hands. “I’d like to have some more of those cookies.” In case he missed her double entendre, Crickitt looked up and reiterated, “I may have been remiss on Saturday…when I said no.” Her heart tapped out an SOS, but she refused to take back her words.

On second, third, and
fifteenth
thought, what Shane had offered at the waterfall wasn’t all that unreasonable. He was a busy CEO working five to six days a week. That didn’t leave much time for a girlfriend. And, if she were being honest, it was too soon after her imploding marriage to consider a relationship. Keeping things casual didn’t have to mean they didn’t care about each other, only that they wouldn’t have impractical expectations.

Shane came to the corner of her desk and sat, reminding her of the passionate kiss they’d shared. How he’d held her while she cried. How it felt to have his arms around her. How charming and funny he’d been.

Shane touched her arm, sending a rush of warmth through her body, buoying her hopes. Then he spoke, sinking them.

“No, Crickitt, you were right.” He spread his hands. “And hey, look at us, practically back to normal already.”

He gave her a friendly pat. “It’ll pass.”

I
t’ll pass?

It wasn’t what he wanted to say. What he wanted to say was,
Yes, Crickitt, you were wrong. Let’s take the rest of the day off so I can show you how wrong you were.

Okay, that wasn’t quite it, either. But something…something other than agreeing that their sleeping together was a bad idea.

Which it was.

Shane growled and stood from his desk, pushing his hands through his hair in frustration.

It wasn’t like him to waffle over decisions. He weighed the options, came to a conclusion, and never looked back. Instinct and life experiences granted him a solid gut he could trust. Even in the most difficult of situations.

As he’d been so often lately, Shane was hit with a memory of his father.

It was a Friday afternoon when Shane learned of his father’s lung cancer. He may never have found out if it wasn’t for his father losing his house. Sean August called to ask Shane for a loan to “float him through to the next month.” When Shane asked what happened to the last loan, he found out through a series of shouts and swearwords that it had gone to pay for chemo.

Angry that he hadn’t known sooner, Shane was half tempted to ship the old man off to a care facility and let him be a belligerent pain in someone else’s ass. Over the last twenty years Shane saw his father exactly twice a year, and only because Shane insisted.

Despite their virtually nonexistent relationship, Shane had relented, opening his house to his father, inviting him to live the remainder of his days with him. If Sean appreciated it, he never said. Shane avoided Sean’s side of the house as much as possible, until his father’s cancer progressed. Once he was too weak to speak, Shane sat by his side. Accusations and apologies clogged his throat, but Shane said none of them. His father’s clouded, watery eyes held judgment until the end.

It hadn’t been the easy thing and sure as hell hadn’t been the convenient thing, but it was the right thing. And Shane knew it.

Like hiring Crickitt was the right thing. And subsequently, preserving their professional relationship was the right thing. It was his first decision, the right decision, and he should have stuck with it.

He sat in his chair with a huff and keyed in his computer’s password. “I’m an idiot,” he grumbled.

“You have your moments.”

Lori LaRouche stepped through his open office door and shut it behind her, walking through his office like a model on a runway. She lowered herself into a guest chair and gingerly crossed one lithe leg over the other. “Have a minute?” she asked, her painted red lips parting into a predatory grin.

“You could make an appointment.”

“You could make time for an old friend,” she countered.

He’d never been good at letting people down, especially women. It was one reason he didn’t get into relationships. He didn’t have to end them, or worry that they might end in abject tragedy, if they never started. But Lori was the one to let him down not so gently all those years ago. Lately, he worried he’d have to return the favor.

“I’m here on business, peanut,” she teased with a wink. “You can relax. I won’t pull a Mrs. Robinson cougar thing on you.” She sent an admiring gaze down his body. “Not that we both wouldn’t enjoy it.”

“What can I do for you?” Shane asked, adding, “Professionally speaking.”

Lori’s smile was at odds with the sadness in her eyes. Shane knew she’d never married. And he’d never seen her with a regular companion. He wondered if she was lonely, and if in fifteen years, he’d be just like her.

“Good boy, get down to business,” she said, pulling a notebook out of her handbag. “I have a few ideas regarding my makeup line.”

T
he warm trill of female laughter followed by the rumble of Shane’s voice wafted through his closed office door. Crickitt paused on her way back from the fax machine, tempted to press her ear to the wood and find out what was so darn funny. Whoever she was, she sounded dazzled. Shane had his charm-o-meter dialed up to ten.

Another ripple of laughter permeated the air.

Maybe eleven.

Crickitt curled her lip, nearly hissing at the door before stomping into her own office. But she’d had her chance, hadn’t she? She’d been kissing him, and he’d kissed her back. So pleasantly distracted by his clever mouth, she willingly stepped over the line before remembering she’d been the one to draw it.

Besides, she justified, stacking a pile of papers and stapling them with inflated importance, she’d likely spared herself the humiliation following an office fling. Who knew how Shane defined “casual”? Casual to him might mean Crickitt in his bed one night followed by a revolving door of other women.

She rejected the visual of Shane as a billionaire playboy the second she thought it. His little picnic speech never hinted at the fact he wanted to sleep around. He just didn’t want her getting too comfortable. Maybe so he wouldn’t have to dredge up the courage to dump her a decade later like Ronald had.

Her cell phone rang and she latched on to Sadie’s incoming call like a lifeline. “Tell me to stop worrying incessantly.”

“Stop worrying incessantly,” Sadie parroted. “Is this about your hot boss?”

Crickitt needlessly lowered her voice. “I’m not answering that question.”

“Don’t waste your time,” Sadie said, a hard edge outlining her normally hard voice. “All men are bastards.”

She was tempted to agree.

“Did something happen between you and Aiden?” Crickitt asked.

Sadie was quiet for so long, Crickitt checked to see if her phone dropped the call.

“I called to tell you I can’t do drinks tomorrow,” Sadie said.

“Is everything okay?” Crickitt’s Spidey senses were tingling.

“Of course. I have to work, that’s all,” Sadie snapped.

Concern overtook her need to be polite. “And you and Aiden…?” she pressed.

“Are no more,” Sadie said tersely. “It had to end sooner or later.”

Crickitt knew her best friend was hiding something. There was a ribbon of sadness beneath Sadie’s attitude, she could feel it. Shane stepped into her office before she could quiz her further. She uttered a quick apology and promised, “We’ll talk later.”

She placed the phone on the cradle as Shane introduced the woman at his side. “Crickitt, this is Lori LaRouche, owner of—”

“LaRouche Cosmetics,” Crickitt finished, standing to extend a palm.

Lori removed her hand from Shane’s arm, almost reluctantly, and shook Crickitt’s hand.

“I’m familiar with your brand, Ms. LaRouche. All natural, no animal testing, chemical-free. It’s an impressive line of skin care.”

Lori curled her lip, assessing Crickitt as she would a spider skittering across her vanity.

“Lori has some ideas for her marketing campaign,” Shane said.

The request was unusual. Established clients were typically filtered to specialized teams within the company. Shane’s expertise was in landing clients, and he’d made it clear time and again that was his primary focus. Evidently he was making an exception for Lori LaRouche.

“Certainly,” Crickitt said, giving no hint she found the request odd. She gestured for Lori to sit in the chair across from her desk. “Ms. LaRouche, should I call down for coffee?”

“Lori,” she corrected. “No coffee,” she said, and then added with a feral curve of her lips, “but I’d love a martini.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Shane said, patting the door frame before heading back to his own office.

Crickitt lifted her phone and rang Keena’s desk. She wasn’t sure how easy it would be to scrounge up a bottle of gin, but surely Keena could—

“Front desk,” Keena answered.

“Hi, it’s Crickitt.” She sent a smile at Lori, but the meticulously dressed client was busy examining her nails and ignoring Crickitt entirely. “Is there any way I could get a—”

“Three blue cheese olive martini, extra dirty, straight up?” Keena finished.

“Um, yes, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

Minutes later, Keena arrived in the office balancing a very full glass in one hand. She placed a black cocktail napkin on Crickitt’s desk and rested the glass on top of it. Lori watched her every move, somehow managing to slide a look of disgust down her nose even though Keena was standing over her. Crickitt was beginning to think it was the way she looked at everyone.

“Thank you, Keena,” Crickitt said when it was apparent Lori wasn’t going to.

“You are welcome, Ms. Day.” Keena flashed one of her dazzling smiles, not looking the least bit bothered or intimidated, then turned to leave.

Maybe it’s just me.

After Keena had gone, Lori took a leisurely sip of her drink and let out a harrumph. “This will do,” she said on a heavy sigh.

Clearly, Lori LaRouche was used to getting what she wanted. A thought that made Crickitt scowl when she thought of Lori and Shane.

“Now,” Lori said to Crickitt, “let’s talk.”

Crickitt dutifully pulled a yellow pad in front of her and clicked her pen.

“Number one,” Lori began. “The labels look cheap. Get rid of the gold. Simple black and white. Number two, the bags. Earth-friendly and hideously ugly should not be synonyms. Kraft brown is for grocery bags, not LaRouche Cosmetics.”

“Got it.” Crickitt scribbled the information onto the pad. They sounded like simple requests but would require several quotes from alternate suppliers.

“Last,” Lori said, pausing to drink down half of her martini. “Home shopping. I’d like to be on QVC by the end of this summer.”

“Home shopping,” Crickitt said. “Who’s handling that aspect of your marketing?”

“Why, you, of course. I wouldn’t hire a company other than Shane’s for my baby. He’s the best.”

“We appreciate your business,” Crickitt said, ignoring the suggestion lacing Lori’s voice. She jotted a note on her yellow pad to Google how to negotiate a television deal.

“You’re pretty.”

Crickitt lifted her head and met the older woman’s shrewd, dark eyes. “Um, thank you.” Crickitt could have paid her a similar compliment. Lori was beautiful.

“I always wanted Shane to settle down with a nice girl,” she said in a motherly fashion.

“Oh, we’re not—”

Lori made a rude noise and waved one bejeweled hand dismissively. “Don’t even. That boy has been mouthwatering for ten years,” she said, her voice trilling in a
not-so-
motherly fashion. Then Lori said something that drove Crickitt’s suspicions home. And parked them in the detached garage. “He’d be worth it, you know. Even if you lose this job. Although, I suspect if he found the right girl”—she speared Crickitt with a look that made her want to fidget—“he’d forget about being so damn formal all the time and allow himself to finally enjoy life.”

After their meeting concluded, Crickitt saw Lori as far as her office door. Lori promenaded down the corridor and ticked down the stairs in her pointed, heeled shoes. Crickitt felt as if she’d been visited by the ghost of Katharine Hepburn. Or Mae West. She still didn’t know if Lori was someone she liked, but she did have an undeniable “I am woman, hear me roar” quality Crickitt could appreciate.

“She’s really something, huh?”

She turned from Lori’s retreating figure to see Shane leaning on his door frame, his arms crossed over his chest. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see interest, even blatant appraisal for Lori, reflected on his face, but as much as she tried to imagine it there, it wasn’t. What she saw was admiration. Respect.

It didn’t keep a catty remark from tumbling out of her mouth. “She thinks you’re
something
, too.”

Shane’s eyebrows went up and with them the corner of his lips. “You think so?”

Ignoring his fishing, she spun toward her office and tore a page from the legal pad where she’d been making a list of Lori’s requests.

Shane stood in front of her desk. “That was a long time ago.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Crickitt said, avoiding his eyes to make unnecessary notes on the paper in front of her.

“Yes, you do.”

She forced herself to look at him.

Shane crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her. “There’s nothing between us now,” he said.

Bristling, she clutched her pen. Was she this transparent? “It wouldn’t matter to me if there was.”

Shane stared down at her, a scowl on his cleanly shaven face. Crickitt felt her face warm under his scrutiny, abruptly reminding herself that she was his employee. She was
way
overstepping her boundaries. And not in a fun-roll-around-on-a-picnic-blanket way.

“I’m—I didn’t mean for that to come out that way,” she said. “Your past and Lori’s is none of my business. I was out of line. It was…”

She stalled, even though she knew exactly what it was. A surge of jealousy paired with regret. Lori knew what Shane meant by “something casual,” and Crickitt was far too unadventurous to find out.

“…unprofessional,” she finished.

Shane held her eye for so long, heat crept along her collar. Just when she was sure he’d call her out, he said, “I’m leaving for a meeting in a few minutes.”

Instinctively, she glanced at her desk calendar.

“You don’t know about it. I’ll be out of the office the remainder of the day.”

“Okay,” she said. She should be relieved Shane was discussing his agenda instead of whatever continued to brew in the air between them. She should be. But she wasn’t.

“Feel free to take off early if you need to. You work too much.”

She didn’t respond, studying his blank face for signs of anger. Or desire. She saw neither.

He peered at the floor for one endless minute before concluding the conversation with a clunky, “Okay, I’ll, uh, let you get back to it.”

“Okay,” she repeated, her chest tightening as he left her office.

Why did she feel like an adolescent whose steady boyfriend just dumped her? She needed to go back to thinking of Shane as her boss, and
only
her boss. Then everything would be fine.

Just fine.

A prickle of awareness crawled up Crickitt’s spine as she stood in the break room stirring soy milk into a fresh mug of coffee.
Shane.

She started to offer a neutral “good morning,” but the words hovered unsaid in her throat.

He approached slowly, taking each step as intentionally as a jungle cat stalking his prey. Which might have sent her hormones into a tizzy if it wasn’t for the serious expression on his face. The pleat in his brow matched the crease running down his starched sleeves.

Something was wrong.

“I’ve arranged a meeting with a firm in Georgia,” he said, voice as rigid as his posture.

“Okay.”

“They’re interested in opening another branch of August Industries.”

“That’s great.” She’d been expecting bad news. Expansion was a good thing, wasn’t it?

He clenched his jaw, then concentrated intently on the task of filling his mug. Without meeting her eye, he mumbled, “It requires a week’s worth of travel. Overnights, hotels.”

Oh.

Understanding dawned like puzzle pieces sliding together. She’d wondered why he’d been acting weird. He’d ducked out of her office yesterday after the awkward exchange over Lori, and this morning he’d avoided her. Now she understood why. They were going out of town together. And if his body language was anything to go by, he was just as nervous about it as she was.

He leaned a palm on the countertop behind him and stared down at her. When his eyes met hers, they softened, inviting her to him, drawing her in.

Like a moth to the flame…

She took an impulsive step toward him.

Laughter sliced through the air behind her as Keena, and Brigit from legal, stepped into the break room. Their voices hushed as they flicked glances from Crickitt to Shane, who straightened and donned a practiced smile on what Crickitt had come to know as his “business face.”

Crickitt pivoted on her heel and busied herself putting the soy milk back into the refrigerator.

Whatever conversation Keena and Brigit were having had died since they walked into the room. They refilled their coffee and tea mugs exchanging forced good mornings while Crickitt and Shane stayed on opposite sides of the room from one another.

When the women left, Crickitt blew out a tormented breath. She hadn’t missed the deliberate look Keena had exchanged with Brigit, or the knowing brow Brigit had lifted in response. No, those two definitely hadn’t missed the tension crackling in the air between August Industries’ CEO and his personal assistant.

Shane had told her not to worry about work if they did embark on a physical relationship, but how could she not? Who knew what Keena and Brigit had said to one another—were already saying to other co-workers—about Crickitt and Shane?

Shane had moved to look out the window, coffee in hand, his eyes focused on something in the distance or maybe nothing at all. She traced the planes of his face, ending on the thick, almost black fan of lashes shielding his eyes. Was he worried she might back out of the trip? That she couldn’t handle being close to him after what happened at the waterfall?

Can you?

She’d admit shared meals and traveling together in the confines and seclusion of the back of a limo might provide a few awkward moments, but it wouldn’t be different from any other day. Like now. Just being close to him caused her body to tingle with awareness.

Memories of pressing against his chest, the feel of his lips, swamped her. It had been too easy to get lost in the feel and smell of him…

She cleared her throat, prepared to ask when they were leaving.

Shane spoke first. “Do you feel comfortable handling things while I’m away?”

Wait. What?

As if she’d asked the question aloud, he said, “I’m taking Murphy.”

Crickitt frowned. “Peter Murphy?”