He continued to watch her, coolly assessing.
She didn’t like the silence, so she plowed on. “As for my credentials, I’m a freelancer. I have a marketing degree and have worked on several major motion picture campaigns in Hollywood.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like party planning experience to me.”
Fan-freaking-tastic. She’d hoped to impress him with her real skills. Trust Einstein to home in on what she hadn’t said.
She could lie, bluff her way out of it, verbally pad her résumé. But she’d told him she was honest and he’d probably seen through her. “My sister owns the business. I help out on occasion, but she’s taking a break at the moment, so you get me instead.”
She could’ve sworn she heard him mutter “Lucky me,” their locked gazes underlined by a sizzle she’d rather not define.
To her relief, he leaned back and she felt like she could breathe again.
“So you’re the diva, huh?”
“Only at work. Away from it, I’m a pussycat.”
Where had that come from? Sounded like she was flirting with him. Not good.
“De-clawed, I hope?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The good news? She’d distracted him from badgering her for the rest of her presentation.
The bad news? They’d somehow moved beyond work into murky territory.
“You’re an intriguing woman.”
The way he said it, with a hint of admiration, and the way he looked at her, like he couldn’t tear his gaze away, made her feel squirmy and proud and desired all at the same time.
So she did what she always did when rattled: deflect with humor. “That’s what they all say.”
Thankfully, the limo glided to a stop at that moment and effectively ended their conversation.
Good. She couldn’t handle much more of being confined with the hotshot, her every move and word being scrutinized. Time to nail this presentation and head back to Provost as fast as his private jet could take her, far from green eyes and quirky smiles and bedroom voices.
…
Beck had never been so glad to enter the safety of his office.
While many of his colleagues considered home to be their sanctuary, this place was his. It was where he did his best thinking, where he could shut out the world, where he could escape from being constantly scrutinized.
He’d hated that as a kid, being stared at, though back then it had been with ridicule and derision. These days he commanded respect and attention through his achievements and he’d worked his ass off to get it, but every now and then he longed for the simplicity of lying beneath the stars, the clearness of the desert sky above, the residual warmth from a scorching day in the sand beneath.
“Nice view.”
As he stared at Poppy, propped against the floor to ceiling glass window overlooking a glittering Vegas far below, he couldn’t agree more. “Sensational.”
An inflection in his tone must’ve alerted her he wasn’t talking about the view. She turned slowly, her gaze questioning. Let her wonder. He had no intention of answering, considering he had no idea what it was about the bold woman that had him thinking beyond her pitch and how he could convince her to stay the night with him. For real.
He’d been taunting earlier, interested to see how she’d handle being on the defensive. She’d impressed him with her ability to think quickly, to parry and deflect, and it had added to her appeal. He shouldn’t have shown weakness in admitting she intrigued him. Weakness resulted in failure. But there was something about her bluntness that demanded the same.
“Go ahead and set up. I’ll check my messages.” Anything to distract from the surprising urge to say screw the presentation and take her out for a night on the town she’d never forget.
“Okey-dokey.” She fiddled with PowerPoint on her tablet as he checked his emails, one in particular catching his eye.
He scanned the email, the contents making his fingers curl into fists under the desk. Swallowing a string of invective curses, he wished he could clamp Stan’s balls in a vice, and return the favor the big guy was doing to him.
According to Stan, another construction company could be tendering for the nationwide hotel deal, so if Blackwood Enterprises wanted to stay in contention, Beck had to get his ass into gear.
Good old Stan used polite terminology but that was the gist of the email.
Frigging great.
Not only did he need a wife to gain respectability, he needed it done yesterday.
Beck was used to tight deadlines, but this? Tough task.
“I’m ready whenever you are,” Poppy said.
And as he glanced at her, all tempting curves and firecracker mouth, the answer to his problems detonated in an explosion of logic and foolhardiness.