“I need to catch up on work after spending all day at a baseball game.”
“Okay.” He nodded like it was no big deal, and why wouldn’t he? It wasn’t a big deal. Convenient dining companion was unavailable. So what?
But then he pulled her into his arms by the elevator and gave her a scorching-hot kiss that curled her toes. His tongue talked to hers in a timeless mating ritual that her body responded to in ways no man had ever evoked. He’d literally just made her come in the limo before they’d arrived, and already she was hot for him again, wishing she’d given him a different answer when he’d asked her to dinner.
That’s why it was so much better that she’d said no. She didn’t need a man to entertain her, and she’d already gotten a couple of orgasms out of the deal. What more did she want?
They weren’t dating. This wasn’t real. The more she had to remind herself of that, the farther away from Logan she needed to stay.
When she got back to her room, her face still stinging from his stubble, she sat down at the desk to boot up her laptop. The long list of bolded unread emails flashed onto the screen and she nearly cried. Choosing emails over Logan McLaughlin. She was certifiable.
But the job of the chief marketing officer did not stop simply because the woman with the title spent the day watching a bunch of guys in tight pants whack some balls around. The only reason she’d met Logan was because she’d been doing her job, and she needed to keep focusing on that.
An email from Alex with the title Preliminary Sales Numbers jumped out from the screen. She clicked on it.
And blinked. The first line of Alex’s email had fourteen exclamation points. For a numbers girl, that was so out of character. Trinity’s eye immediately scrolled to the bottom line of the profit/loss statement.
“Holy crap.”
It was three hours later in Washington, where Alex lived, but this was too important to wait until tomorrow. Trinity thumbed up Alex on her phone and hit Call.
“Seriously?” she said when Alex answered. “A seven percent increase in sales this month?”
“Would I lie to you?” Alex’s indignation spat over the network. “No. I would not, especially not about something as sacred as my balance sheet. You are a star, my dear. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. You’ve almost singlehandedly halted this smear campaign in its tracks.”
Trinity sank down in her seat and shut her eyes. Figured. This had been personal for so long and she’d put her all into reversing the tide. Did this mean she and Logan had to keep going no matter what?
And how long could she actually keep it up without dissolving into a puddle of feminine confusion? Didn’t matter. She couldn’t quit now.
She plied Alex with a few platitudes, asked after Phillip and the twins her friend was carrying, avoided the topic of Logan like a champ and hung up, determined to make some headway on the campaign for Formula-47 now that everything in her life was on track.
The design program she pulled up sat there mocking her, and her mind drifted to who else? Logan. The way his hair always fell into his face and he shoved it back—she loved touching his hair, threading it through her fingers. Which of course reminded her of his big, solid body over hers...
Funny how that was the strongest image she had of him. But Logan was a closet romantic, and she sighed a little over how he expressed it. Like the single long-stemmed rose he’d given her on their first date, which she might have pressed into a book simply because no one had ever given her a rose that matched the outfit she’d been wearing the day they’d met.
The rose popped out in her mind. And twirled loose some other images. In a flash, the entire Formula-47 campaign unrolled with a million and five different bursts of inspiration.
Her fingers flew to the keyboard and when she next looked up, two hours had passed and she had a crick in her neck.
Bloom. The product was going to be called Bloom.
What better image to sell people on the idea of a cream that regenerated skin cells? Fyra’s Bloom promises to make your skin do exactly that. You’ll bloom; your youthful self will bloom; your skin will bloom. The concept had so many applications, she still had new ad copy and packaging ideas zipping through her mind despite having just devoted two hours to dumping the contents of her brain onto the screen.
It was so perfect, even she was impressed, and once she had the name, the whole thing exploded into exactly the multimillion-dollar marketing push it needed to be—and she had Logan to thank for it.
Before she could think of the ten million reasons it was a horrible plan, she ordered a bottle of the most expensive champagne on the hotel’s room service menu. Then she changed into the most seductive black bra and thong she owned, threw on a little black dress that showcased her legs and went to find the only person she had any interest in celebrating with.