Playing Mr. Right

“I’m pretty transparent,” she agreed readily, but another layer dropped into place over her expression.

She was a terrible liar. Or perhaps he was just incredibly tuned in to her, which didn’t seem to have a downside. Other than the one where he’d just been boxed into a corner and had no graceful way to avoid spending a lot of time in her company.

“I probably see more than you’d like,” he told her, and she blinked. This was a fun game. “For example, I’m pretty sure that you just maneuvered yourself into a position as my fundraising assistant because you can’t stay away from me.”

He didn’t believe that for a second, but he definitely wanted to hear what she’d say to counter it.

Her eyebrows inched up toward her hairline and she relaxed an iota. “Well, that’s a provocative statement. What if I said it’s true?”

Then she’d be lying again. She had a whole other agenda, one he hadn’t figured out yet, but if she wanted to work it like the attraction between them got top billing, he could play along. “I’d say we have a problem, then. We can’t get involved. It would be too...sticky.”

Her lips curved at his choice of words, as intended. “That’s a shame. I’m a fan of sticky.”

“Stickiness is for candy.” All at once, a very distinct image sprang into his head of her on his desk naked with a caramel melting on her tongue. His whole body went stiff. “I like it best when things are uncomplicated.”

At that, she snorted, moving in to lay a hand on his arm in the exact opposite of what this back-off conversation had been intended to convey. He’d wanted to catch her off guard but so far she’d held her own.

Reluctant admiration for this woman warred with bone-deep desire and flat-out irritation.

“Please,” she muttered with a sarcastic grin as she squeezed his forearm. “You’re the least uncomplicated man I’ve ever met. At least do me the courtesy of being honest about the fact that you’re not attracted to me, if that’s what’s going on.”

Oh, nicely played. She’d put the ball firmly in his court. He could take the out and claim he didn’t feel the heavy arousal that she could almost assuredly see for herself, giving her the opportunity to call him out as a liar. Or he could admit that she made him hotter than asphalt in a heat wave and call a truce.

He went with option three: ensuring she fully understood he didn’t dance to her tune.

“I don’t think honesty is on the table here. Do you?”

The atmosphere splintered as she stiffened, but to her credit, she kept a smile on her face. “Touché. We’ll go back to ignoring the chemistry, then.”

“That’s best.” And not at all what he’d been talking about, but he also hadn’t expected her to voluntarily blurt out her secrets. All in good time. “Now, about this fundraiser...”

“Oh, right.” Her hand dropped away from his arm—finally—and she got a contemplative look as if she really had given away her job with the intent of diving into his hell with gusto. “We should attend someone else’s fundraiser and take notes.”

“That’s—” he blinked “—a really good idea.”

One he should have thought of. That’s what he’d do in the diamond trenches. If another jewelry outlet had a strategy he liked, he’d study it. Why not apply the same to charity?

Laurel smiled, putting some sparkle in her silver-gray eyes. “I’ll start researching some possibilities and then we’ll take a field trip.”

Fantastic. If he couldn’t stay away from Laurel, then he’d settle for spending as much time in her company as he could until he figured out her agenda. If it was merely to indulge in their impossible-to-ignore chemistry, then he might find a way to be on board with that, as long as he could protect what was his at the same time.

Jury was still out on just how difficult she’d make it.

Four (#uba28fb67-c64b-56f4-a92d-253c8cdc896e)

By Friday, Adelaide had Xavier’s vote of confidence. She really had been studying at Marjorie’s side for quite some time, showing off a deep knowledge of all things LBC, and she made sound decisions without a lot of deliberation. The staff responded to her as if she’d always been in charge, and he liked her style.

Not that he’d tell her that. She managed to convey a fair amount of dislike for him with pretty much every word out of her mouth and sometimes without saying anything at all. It was impressive.

But it felt like LBC was running smoothly for the first time in forever. Since Marjorie had dropped her set of keys on his desk with a clank and turned on her heel. Maybe even before that. So he gave Adelaide a pass on the disdain. She didn’t have to like him as long as she did her job so he could do his. Or, at least, pretend to do his until he figured out how to turn the tide in his favor.

Laurel poked her head through his partially opened office door, sable hair swinging. “Why am I not surprised to find you behind your desk?”

“Because this is where I work?” he offered blithely.

In the week since he and Laurel had become “partners,” he’d learned that he had almost no shot at responding to a question like that to her satisfaction. He’d given up trying and went with the most obvious answer.

She made a noise with her tongue that could easily be mistaken for a ticking clock. “Because you’re hiding now that Addy has it all under control, more likely.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Must not be hiding well enough. You found me.”

“I was looking for you.” The rest of her body followed her head as she slid through the cracked door uninvited. “Probably I’m the only one who is, though.”

“For a reason, one would hope,” he shot back pointedly before she launched into yet another discussion about how he could do more to interact with the staff. Laurel’s job had somehow morphed from Services Manager to Fundraising Assistant to Xavier’s Keeper. He hadn’t figured out yet how to veer her back into something a little less invasive. “I am actually doing paperwork.”

If staring at paperwork counted, then it wasn’t so much of a lie. Otherwise, he’d stopped doing paperwork an hour ago and instead had been stewing about the latest fundraising numbers.

He was short. A lot. He had less than three months to raise north of seven million dollars and the near impossibility of the task writhed in his stomach like a greasy eel. As a result, he’d spent a lot of time sorting through fundraising ideas on his own, which was something he’d outsource to Laurel over his dead body.

The trick was engaging her enough so that she thought she’d snowed him into this partnership, when in reality, he only let her have enough rope to bind them very closely together—strictly so he didn’t miss whatever she had up her sleeve. Sharing the actual work with Laurel wasn’t happening.

Thus far, she hadn’t seemed to clue in. She barged into his office at her leisure to discuss what had become her pet project. He’d bet a hundred K that she’d spotted a notice in the society pages about the Art for Autism Association fundraiser tonight and she’d come by to announce she was dragging him along to it, pretending it wasn’t a date when, in reality, it was a great excuse to spend the evening together without admitting she wanted to.

He’d put up some empty protests and eventually let her think she’d talked him into it. Getting out from underneath the eyes at LBC sounded like an opportune way to dig a little deeper into Laurel Dixon and whatever it was about her that niggled at his suspicions.

She curled her lip at the printed pages under his fingers, eyeing the black type as if she could actually read it from that distance. “Good thing for you I have something much more exciting to put on your agenda. You’re taking me on a hot date tonight.”

Oh, God, yes. The scene spilled through his mind without an ounce of prompting. Laurel in a little black dress—backless, of course, designed to make a man’s mouth water—and sky-high heels that did amazing things to her legs. Her voice would be lowered enough to keep their conversation private. Hair down and brushed to a high gleam. She’d take his breath away the moment he opened the door and he’d never quite get his equilibrium back until maybe the next day...

What was he thinking?

Xavier sat back in his chair and crossed his arms with feigned nonchalance in case his initial—and so very inappropriate—response got too big to stay under his skin and started leaking out of his pores.

And this even though he’d known it was coming. It was just...she’d called it a date, after all, and in the process, uncovered his previously undiscovered craving to do it for real. What was he supposed to do with her?

Laurel was so much more dangerous than he’d credited.

“We’re not dating.” A token protest. It was only a matter of time before he figured out how to keep his wits about him as he seduced the truth out of her. Meanwhile, he had to play it like he still planned to keep her at arm’s length. All the balls they had in the air should be exhausting. “We’ve covered this.”

Instead, it was invigorating.

She waved it off. “Yeah, yeah. This isn’t a real date. You’re taking me on a field trip. I found a great foundation doing a unique fundraiser. Tonight.”

Pretending it was not a real date he could do. In fact, it got a righteous hallelujah. Silently, of course, but still. His arms relaxed and dropped into his lap. “Fantastic. Where?”

“Art gallery.” She glanced at her watch, her attention already galloping away from this conversation into whatever else was going on in her brain. “I called as your representative and they were more than happy to take your money. The lady even sent a courier over with the tickets. I have to leave now so I can pick up a dress and get my hair done. I have reservations at LaGrange at eight. Meet me there.”

Like hell. He did things the right way when it came to taking a woman to dinner. Especially one he wanted to keep close for more reasons than one. “We’ll need time to strategize. I’ll be at your house at seven thirty to pick you up.”