Not the Marrying Kind(13)

He’d aimed to make her uncomfortable by picking her up from the airport. He didn’t appreciate having the tables turned.

Time to have a little fun.

“We’re almost there.”

He half expected her to call him on his abrupt change of topic and his gruffness. Instead, she sat there, staring at him, silently appraising.

Yeah, definitely time to regain control.

“I hope you packed a change of clothes along with your presentation?” He pointed to her giant satchel.

“Why?” The first flicker of uncertainty had her glancing at the bag with the barest of frowns.

“Because you’re staying the night. With me.”





Chapter Four



Divorce Diva Daily recommends:

Playlist: “Go Your Own Way” by Fleetwood Mac

Movie: Sleeping with the Enemy

Cocktail: Top of the Sheets





“Three words for you. No freaking way.” As the impulsive rebuttal fell from her lips, Poppy hazarded a guess that a powerful guy like Beck wouldn’t get refused very often.

Who wouldn’t want to spend the night with the guy? Just look at him. So she did, daring him to retract his inappropriate declaration.

He didn’t appear angry. In fact, the corners of his mouth curved in amusement. “I’m not sure what kind of guy you think I am, but I can assure you when I made my offer for you to spend the night, I merely referred to one of the apartments in a hotel I own.” His mouth eased into a full-blown grin, like he’d trumped her.

As if. Royal flush beat full house every time.

“You do this often, don’t you?”

Confusion clouded his eyes for a second. “Do what?”

“Bait and switch. Bait your opponent, reel them in a little, then switch to disingenuous.” She shrugged. “Nice technique, but wasted on me.”

“Is that so?” His eyes narrowed but couldn’t hide the glint of admiration.

“Yeah, because I don’t have time for games. I’m here to show you I’m the best there is in the party planning biz, that’s it. Take it or leave it.”

Foolish fighting words, when the last thing she could afford was for him to leave it. But she’d figured out pretty damn quick that Beck Blackwood preferred honesty. She was counting on it.

“Are you always this confrontational with your clients?”

No, only the ones who looked like a god and who had the capability to seriously derail her. She didn’t like feeling uncertain, hated feeling out of place among her folks’ uppity friends as a kid. So she’d developed a backbone early, learning that standing up for herself earned respect and being proactive got results.

Wallflowers came in last, and she’d had a gutful of coming in last growing up. Rozelle and Earl Collins may have been renowned LA plastic surgeons, but as parents? They sucked.

While her folks put in long hours with the beautiful people who needed their faces, boobs, and butts rearranged, enhanced, and lifted, Sara had raised her. From her homework to her first period, from her first love to graduation, Sara had been there for her when her folks hadn’t been. That was why Poppy was here now, taking crap from a supercilious charmer and putting herself on the line to save Sara’s business. She’d do whatever it took for her sis to hang onto the one thing she had left.

She needed Beck Blackwood. Correction: she needed his business. Getting the two mixed up would end in disaster.

“Honesty’s important to me. I assumed it would be to a businessman like you, too?”

“Okay then, why don’t we start the pitch a little early?” He watched her, thoughtful, as if he couldn’t quite figure out what she was up to. “Tell me your credentials.”

Uh-oh, this isn’t what she wanted. When she pitched her ideas she’d envisioned office space between them, a PowerPoint presentation at her fingertips, and a host of facts to dazzle him. She hadn’t imagined being cocooned in the intimacy of a limo, his crisp citrus aftershave blending with the interior’s new-leather smell for an intoxicating richness that tantalized her senses.

She hated how uncertain he made her feel—and how good he smelled. “I’d prefer to use visuals to accompany my presentation.”

“What, celebratory handcuffs and phallic cakes?”

To her annoyance, heat surged to her cheeks. “Divorce Diva Daily doesn’t do tacky.”

“Then tell me, what do you do?” He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, immediately shrinking the limo space further.

Damn, she couldn’t put him off. She’d have to give him something without compromising the kick-ass presentation she’d fast-tracked earlier today.

“We focus on classy celebrations of freedom. No bitterness, no rehashing the past, no dwelling—our aim is to focus on the future.” She held up her hand, fingers extended, ready to tick off points. “Food. Drink. Music. Entertainment. The staples of any great party, but we gear it toward the individual in such a way they have the time of their lives without any regrets. Leave the past behind, celebrate the future—that’s basically our motto.”