up and quirked a single eyebrow. He said nothing, but his expression said it all. He didn't believe me.

Oh, for God's sake. "Look, for the last time, I don't want to get in your pants. I seriously meant your desk drawers."

"Suuuure–"

"Don't you dare say it."

To his credit, he didn't. Instead, he gave me a look that I couldn’t quite decipher. Just like in the lobby, he didn't look angry so much as amused.

Or maybe he was just flattered that I was so darn eager to rummage around in his briefs.

Or boxers.

Chase Blastoviak would look spectacular in either.

And of course, I wasn't the only one who thought so. While doing my research, I'd come across a news article that claimed he'd been offered half-a-million dollars to star in a series of underwear commercials.

He'd declined, which had surprised me – not because I thought he needed the money, but because a guy like Chase seemed exactly the type to flaunt his goods for the whole world to see.

So, why hadn't he?

Was it because he didn't wear underwear?

As the thought crossed my mind, I felt a warm tingle start in my toes. It crept upward and settled just shy of my stomach.

I bit my lip. Oh, no. Maybe I did want to rummage around in his drawers.

But even if I did, this would hardly make me unique. As everyone already knew, Chase Blastoviak had seen plenty of action in his pants. And the last thing I wanted was to join a party that was way too crowded.

And besides, I hadn't been invited.

In fact, I'd been outright banned.

Even now, I could still hear Chase telling me out on the sidewalk, "Look, I don’t want to fuck you, okay?"

This humiliating memory was just the thing to remind me how much I disliked him, which meant that if he ever did invite me to a party in his pants, I would most certainly decline regardless of how stupidly sexy he was.

And besides, I wasn't here on a social call. I was here to save the Tomato Festival, along with my own hide, considering that Ginger Hawthorne was already making trouble.

In Chase's office, I gave the far wall another worried glance. No projector screen. I glanced toward the conference table. No remote. I looked back to Chase and tried not to sigh as I said, "Okay, what am I missing?"

He was still leaning back in his chair. With a smugness that was hard to miss, he replied, "The question is, what am I missing?"

Boy, if that wasn't a loaded question. He was missing lots of things – like a good dose of humility, for example. But I wasn't so stupid that I'd say such a thing out loud, so all I said was, "I'm not sure. Do you want to tell me?"

In reply, he leaned forward and drummed his fingers across his desk – another sign of impatience.

I freaking hated this.

I was starting to feel stupid, because from the look on his face, the answer to his question should have been obvious.

And yet, whatever he was "missing," it wasn't obvious to me. In search of clues, I took another look around his office. When my gaze landed on my leather portfolio, I almost groaned in embarrassment.

Of course.

He was waiting for me to show him the picture – the one of me attending the Tomato Festival as a baby.

I should have done that right away. But for all kinds of reasons, I was seriously off my game. First, there'd been that distressing phone call from my mom. And then, there'd been all those snafus with Chase in the lobby.

And here I was, in mid-snafu yet again.

I looked back to him and asked, "Do you mean the picture?"

"That was the deal."

This was true. And yet, he'd made no mention of needing to see it first.

I said, "So you'd like to see it before my presentation?"

"Let's get one thing straight," he said. "Without the picture, there'll be no presentation." He gave me a serious look. "And do you wanna know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I don't deal with posers."

Chapter 16

Chase

In my office, she stiffened like I'd just called her a filthy name. But a deal was a deal, and if she thought she could shirk it just because she was pretty, it was time to set her straight.

I gave her a look. "So, do you have it or not?"

"Of course I have it," she said. "As you so nicely said, that was the deal."

Nicely, huh? Judging from her tone, she knew better.

I hadn't told her "nicely."

But the reason for this was obvious. I wasn't nice.

Oh sure, I could be charming as fuck. But charm was superficial, like glossy paint on a rusted car. Scratch the surface, and you'll get a good look at what's underneath.

Nothing – and no one – had scratched me in a long time. And the reason for this was obvious, too.

I wouldn’t let them.

Me – I'd rather be all gloss and no substance than let anyone probe deeper. And that included Mina Lipinski.

In my office, she turned and stalked toward the conference table. She picked up her leather portfolio. As she turned to face me, she did something unexpected.

She smiled.

And whereas her other smiles had made me want to cover my privates, this smile had me thinking the polar opposite.

Her smile was sweet with a hint of sass, like she knew something I didn't. From behind my desk, I watched with far too much interest as she marched forward and stopped directly between my two guest chairs.

She held out the portfolio and asked, "Would you like me to leaf through it? Or would you prefer to do it yourself?"

I reached out and took the portfolio from her hands. Without opening it, I asked, "So what's this?"

"Proof."

"Of what?"

She straightened. "That I'm no liar."

I had to give her credit. She wasn't beating around the bush. And she sure as hell wasn't kissing my ass. But had she delivered?

That remained to be seen.

She pointed to the portfolio and said, "Go

Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату