The Sunday Arrangement (7 page)

“I’d
love a glass of chardonnay or Riesling if you have it,” I said without
hesitation. Business or not, a flight with such an inquisitive, sexy man called
for a glass of white wine. Maybe something to drink would keep my mouth
preoccupied and prevent me from flying off the handle again if he dared to
probe too deeply.

She
nodded with a smile that didn’t quite reach her furrowed brow and turned her
head to Pierce.

“And
I will have a root beer with crushed ice.”

“Coming
up,” she said.

I
watched her mountainous heap of frizzy hair as she walked toward the front of
the plane before turning toward my new business partner. I arched an eyebrow at
him. “I would have taken you for more of a Scotch man, Mr. Maverick.”

“Pierce,
please,” he said, adjusting the stack of papers he had set on the table. “I
don’t really like to drink, actually, only if the occasion calls for it. My father
is the Scotch man. I’ve liked the taste of root beer since I was kid, so I
never really changed. A bit juvenile, I know, but the fizzy caffeine is a bit
of a stress reliever for me. Reminds me of a time I wasn’t always so
painstakingly busy.”

“Better
than drugs and alcohol, I suppose.”

“Exactly,”
he said, snapping his fingers. “You know, I think we’ll get along just fine
together, Ms. Hart.”

I
ignored his comment and looked out the window as the jet taxied down the
runway. Our opinion of soda was going to do very little to ease the tension
between our two families and this upcoming project. Something in the back of my
mind wondered why he was so easy, so nonchalant about everything. His sudden
kindness and interest in my life made me wary of what he had up his sleeve.

Once
we reached altitude, the attendant came back with our drinks and placed them on
the table in front of us. She apologized profusely about not getting them to us
sooner. Something about not being strong enough to open the bottle of
chardonnay, which I initially thought was her strange attempt at humor. As I
smelled the wonderful white wine in my crystal tumbler, a sense of calm
immediately washed over me at the familiar scent. My father had fostered my love
for the smooth elixir when I was a teenager. He would bring home an expensive
bottle from his office supply and some quick-and-easy drugstore flowers whenever
he’d missed dinner—a cheap, last-minute apology to my mother. Little did he
know, he was putting a Band-Aid over a gaping wound. Eventually, his lame
attempts at forgiveness stopped altogether. Maybe he saw that a bouquet of half-dead
daisies wasn’t going to revive his half-dead marriage.

I
took a sip of the exquisite chardonnay and closed my eyes. The refreshing liquid
effortlessly slid down my throat. It was possible the only thing my father and
I had in common was our love for a smooth white wine. He always kept the jet
fully stocked.

When
I looked up, Pierce was staring intently at me.

I
immediately turned away, distracted once again by his intensity and by the
weak-in-the-knees feeling he constantly created in me.

“We
aren’t, you know,” he whispered.

“Who
aren’t what?”

“We
aren’t all assholes.”

I
glanced back his way just in time to watch him lick his warm lips. Any comment
I might have had to combat his claim left me as I saw his tongue practically
dance on his lower lip, taunting me. My first impression of Pierce was that he
was the biggest of the assholes, but now my lust for him clouded my opinion. It
overpowered me and left me completely breathless in his presence.

He
loosened his tie, as though reading my very thoughts. “Now, Ms. Hart. Let’s
review some of these logistics.”

I
took a long gulp of my father’s fine wine.
Bottom’s up. This was going to be
a long flight.

            “So
how long have you worked for your father’s company?” he asked before taking a
sip of his soda.

“Full-time
since I was twenty-three, so almost three years. But I worked as an intern
every summer of college,” I said. “I suppose you could say I was destined to
climb the corporate ladder.” My fingers fiddled with the paper napkins on the
tray, eager for a distraction. “I’m surprised your father allowed you to work
for him without at least a master’s degree,” I added.

 He
smirked. “Like I told your father, I have had the appropriate education and
training for this job. My father saw to that.”

“Well,
I will wait to see this
training.
”

He crossed
his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you like me?”

I
shook my head. “It’s not that I don’t like you. I just don’t know you. And for
one thing, our fathers have never gotten along. I guess I’m just predisposed to
not liking you.”

“So
you are allowing a three-decade-long feud to dictate your opinion of me?”

I crossed
my arms over my chest, mimicking him. When he put it like that . . . “No.”

“Well
maybe I don’t like you much either,” he quipped. “Your arrogance is a bit
overbearing, you know.”

My
mouth practically hit the floor. “My . . . my arrogance?”

He
grinned playfully. “Don’t act so surprised, Ms. Hart. You’ve shot down nearly
all of my ideas, and you’ve made it very clear that you’re wiser and more
experienced than I will ever be.”

I
gulped. Had I really been that bad?

“I
think you’re surprised?”

“Only
because I’ve been thinking the same thing of you since the moment I saw you in
my father’s office. It’s a slight turnoff.”

A
cloud of silence enveloped the small cabin of our jet. No one had ever called
me arrogant. Knowledgeable, proud, hardworking—yes. But never arrogant.

“I
say we start with a clean slate,” I said. “We’ve obviously both been trained to
hate each other, deservedly so or not. Let’s act like true business partners
who have never worked together before. Maybe then we can get through this
project alive.” It
was
the adult thing to do.

“All
right.” He held his hand for me to shake, and I took it. “I’m glad we can come
to a type of truce. I’m only a ‘slight turnoff’?” He smiled. “I am what I am.
I’m not changing that for anyone.”

I tried
not to look at him. I hadn’t even realized I had said “slight.” He seemed amused
by it. We spent the rest of the flight in small talk and a faintly comfortable
atmosphere developed. Was there hope for this project, after all? It didn’t
seem like it could be so easily resolved.

~*~*~*~

It
had been three days, and none of the lots or buildings we’d looked at were
suitable enough for Mr. Maverick. That one was too large. This one was too
cramped. The other wasn’t glamorous enough. It wasn’t facing the right
direction. His methodology in selecting a piece of property for the casino was
both fascinating and infuriating. Each morning I took him to several different
locations Monica had booked for us. At the site, he’d step out of the limo,
crinkle his perfect nose, and grab a fistful of the earth. Slowly, he let the
dirt fall from his hand as though he was waiting for a sign from Mother Nature
amid the dry crumbs of earth. “This isn’t her,” he always said. “It’s close,
but not quite there.” And back in the car we’d go, just as quickly as we had
arrived. Vegas wasn’t exactly a foreigner to casinos; we weren’t breaking new
ground. Why did the lot have to be so particular?

Frustrated,
everything in me wanted to take over this aspect of the project and just pick
one. Every minute Pierce dallied over some insignificant detail was precious
time wasted. We needed to get the ball moving and fast. Other projects were
missing me. And maybe no one but Mom and Kat were missing me back home, but
that didn’t mean I wanted to spend weeks on end in Vegas with a practical
stranger . . . no matter how good-looking he was.

Every
day required an incredible amount of self-restraint. I wanted to call my dad. I
wanted to bitch.
He doesn’t even have a real reason! All of the lots I’ve
shown him are perfectly acceptable.
This project was mine, after all. If I
was going to run it, shouldn’t I be calling the shots in its infancy?
Apparently, as Peter didn’t mind reminding me, it was part of our contract with
the Mavericks. They got to select the construction site. It was probably a
tactic my father used to make them happy during negotiations. Still, time was swiftly
ticking away and so was the truce Pierce and I had come to a few days ago on
the jet.

“What
about this one?” I asked as I grabbed my thick, black hair and swept it up into
a ponytail. We stood in front of an abandoned building on the outskirts of
Vegas. Windows were missing or boarded. The old oak doors swung haphazardly
open. The harsh gray metal reached toward the sky, a shadow of yesterday’s
promise.

“Nope,
it doesn’t have the right . . . feel.”

“What
does that even mean?” I scoffed. I took a folder filled with the information
and notes I had compiled last night out of my bag and used it as a fan. “Are
you listening to yourself? Business can’t be decided on a feeling.”

He
leaned in close, his tall frame towering over me. Turning his head toward me,
he drew closer and whispered in my ear, “Oh, but I think that it can.”

I
swallowed hard and looked at the information I was holding on the lot, forcing
my voice to remain professional. “Look . . . look right here. We can have this
for a fraction of what our allotted budget is. That’s more than enough reason
to consider this a viable option.”

He
raised his eyebrows and shook his head slowly. “Not all aspects of this project
are about money. We’re trying to create an experience for our customers.
Pleasure cannot be so measured.”

Something
about the way he said “pleasure” made me long for some—to watch him ravenously
rip off his long-sleeved Oxford, the buttons falling to the floor. Hungrily, he
would spread my thighs. His eyes would never leave mine. I wanted his tongue to
penetrate my soft lips, his fingers softly tickling my clit. My lips swelling in
desire. My body shaking with . . .

“Lauren?”
he said, his voice breaking into my roaming thoughts.

Thank
God he’s not a mind reader.
I smirked as if I hadn’t
missed a beat. “Good luck explaining how it’s not about money to our fathers,
Plato.” I hugged the folder to my chest and turned to leave the lot. Obviously,
we were going to be looking for more.

He
grabbed my arm and spun me back around. “What if we buy out this other building
as well? The small one behind it?” he asked.

I
laughed nervously as I wiggled out of his gentle grip. His hands were, once
again, searing to the touch. “Well now, that would be a few million
over
our
budget. We can’t afford that.”

“We’ll
get enough to buy both of these buildings. It’s an ideal area. We just need a
little more space. C’mon! With you and me selling it, the investors won’t
hesitate to empty their pockets.”

“Come
on, Pierce. There’s no sense wasting time here. Let’s go to the next lot. It’s
hot out here, and I’m starting to sweat.”

“Oh
no!” He placed a hand over his thick chest and pretended to look aghast.

I
rolled my eyes and got into the limo. “Come on, we don’t have all day.”

We
drove off to the next location, a scant few miles away. I hoped this one had enough
scenery and space to make him happy without going over the budget. Dad always
told me that a project couldn’t be completely off-target in the beginning or
the entire plan would go up in flames.

The
car pulled up to the empty land, and I sighed. I didn’t want to get out of the
cool air conditioning to stand in the blazing Vegas sun once again.

“It’s
perfect!” he exclaimed as he got out of the car.

I leaned
against the car. “Thank God,” I muttered.

He
walked around the lot, pointing to certain aspects of the terrain and yelling
out details. “The entrance will go here!” he hollered. “And the parking garage
can go there.”

At
this point I hardly cared what went where. We had a location and that was the
important part. No matter that it took him less than a second to make one of our
most crucial decisions.

He
turned to me, and his eyes glimmered with happiness in the sunshine’s rays. I
was glad I was wearing my sunglasses, or he might have noticed me staring at
them. “Can’t you feel it?” he asked.

I
glanced around the lot once again. The wooded area, the ideal location just
outside the strip—even the dirt felt cleaner somehow. I had to admit that he
was right. It did feel different from the twenty others we had looked at.

“I
told you,” he said before I could convey my thoughts on his selection. “I knew
we would find the perfect one eventually! Now, have a drink with me tonight.”

I
pulled my sunglasses down my nose and looked at him. “I thought you don’t
drink?”

He
took a small step toward me. “I don’t, normally, but this is a good reason to
celebrate. So what do you say?”