My makeup was to impress my client, not this man who sent a thrill up my arm from a simple touch. “Well, I haven’t heard flirting in awhile. If you keep talking like that, I’ll sit for a minute.”
He walked me into the cafe with him and said, “Then let’s get you a drink.”
This was all nonsense, but soon real life would barge in. I was here in Vegas to reform a bad boy businessman who’d pay for a corporate makeover. And while this man was attractive, who the fuck knew if he was a psycho or something equally bad? I went with him to his table with the white cloth, near the window to the square, and said, “No drinking for me. I have to meet a client.”
His lips curled and showed off his dimples as he asked, “Are you a call girl?”
With my buttons up to my neck? I focused on him and crossed my arm under my chest like I’d bolt out of there. “Seriously? Are you drunk? Is that what’s going on? I’m in a business suit.”
His knee tapped mine under the table and he winked at me. “Well, honestly, with those thigh-high stockings you’re wearing, I figured I’d give it a shot.”
My eyes widened as I asked, “How did you know?”
He folded his hands in front of him. “Laser-sharp focus for beautiful women. It’s been a problem for me.”
Like my client. It’s why I was going to suggest to Mr. Ruthless he refrain from being photographed with another woman for the next few years. I shifted my legs to stand up and I shrugged. “I see. Well, I should probably get going. But it was nice to meet you.”
He reached out and placed his hand on mine as he said, “Wait. I’ve been sitting here for over two hours waiting to figure out what kind of woman I need to marry, and you’re the only one that struck me as exactly right.”
Yet I was not looking to add Mrs. anything to my name. Indigo Steel was a great name. Though I often just signed I. Steel to everything, which made people not realize I was a woman. Then I knocked them out with my brilliance.
I stood, ready to get going to my meeting, and my shoulder bounced once as I said, “But I’m not looking for a husband. I enjoyed the flirting. But I have to get to work.”
I turned to leave, but he followed and asked, “What is it you do?”
This was like Italy, with the teasing and flirting. Guess I’d gotten to relive those memories of years ago after all.
“I’m here to pitch an idea for work,” I said.
He walked beside me out of the restaurant and put his hands in his pockets as he said, “Well, if it matters to you, I can pay enough so you don’t have to work ever again.”
“Why?”
“I need to win.”
“I don’t gamble.”
“It’s not about the slots. It’s about wresting control of a business empire once and for all.”
Sounded like a lot of work—and the type I’m not qualified to do.
I also had no interest in being any man’s wife. And the closest thing I had to a maternal instinct was buying my nephew the loudest gifts I could at Christmas, just to annoy my sister.
Besides all that, he clearly wanted sex, and I wasn’t into either scenario. He’d star in my dreams only. I generally found that not being involved with anyone was better for me. I shrugged as I kept up my pace. “Good luck. I’m still not a call girl.”
He playfully bounced into me and my pulse quickened when he said, “Not as a one-night thing. As my wife.”
Impossible. I had no idea why I was suddenly all breathy. As I stared at him, I decided it was his handsome, tall, muscular frame. He turned me on physically, clearly. I said, “I don’t even know your name.”
I slowed as he said, “Jacob.”
Same name as Mr. Ruthless. His real name was Jacob B. Donovan. Most people had no idea that Donovan meant “warrior,” but after reading my future client’s issues, I’d given him the moniker “ruthless,” as that fit his personality.
In the pictures I’d glanced at, Donovan was a handsome man, like this stranger. But there was no way a man fishing for a wife in a hotel lobby was Mr. Ruthless. My client was corporate. And he was in the process of hiring a PR firm—me—to fix his image. The idea was ludicrous, so I let it go as I said, “Common enough first name, I guess.”
He asked, “And yours?”
“Indigo,” I said. I had no idea why I wanted to talk to this Jacob. I definitely wasn’t interested in him. I wasn’t into one-night stands, or even dating, if I’m honest.
Sexy men like him put me off-center, and I hate being out of control. The men I’d gone out with ended up boring me to sleep, every time. Lately, I’d started offering suggestions to the men I’d been set up with on how they could brand themselves differently so people might take them seriously, as a way to end the date.
I was good at fixing corporate disasters.
He walked me to the elevator banks that led up to the conference rooms, not the hotel rooms, as he said, “Unusual.”
I pressed the button to go up to my meeting now. “No, just old-fashioned. Which I clearly am.”
He leaned against the wall and his gaze smoldered. Damn. I wasn’t this weak. Then he asked, “Well, how much would it cost for you to be my bride?”
I swallowed and stared at myself in the shiny, fake gold elevator doors. “You sound serious.”
I listened to the machine noises and ignored my body’s awareness of Jacob as he said, “I am.”
This wasn’t real. I fought down the butterflies in my chest that made me slightly off-center with him and said, “I don’t want a lifetime with a stranger.”
He crossed his arms and looked down at
