I am only sad I didn’t have pepper spray.
“Queen of composure,” Lyle agreed, pulling out a gold-detailed chair for me at the head table. “If you’re like that under pressure, we have some amazing opportunities for you.”
“No,” Owen answered immediately, “Brienne can write her own ticket. Don't you think? Brienne, where do you see yourself?”
I see myself smashed between a couple of man ballerinas.
Whoo, champagne!
"Oh, I think I have some ideas," I answered smoothly.
"Well, put something together for us. We would love to see where you think you fit in."
I looked between them, careful not to let any of the steamy thoughts boil over into my expression.
Are they doing this on purpose? Was that some kind of secret code for let’s try that sandwich thing again, only closer?
"Give me a little time to assemble a proposal," I answered with an innocent smile. "Now, I know you brought me here for a reason, what sort of event is this?"
The ballroom was filling with partygoers who all took their seats around large linen-covered tables. Each table had an enormous centerpiece in white and lavender lilies with small sprays of violet snapdragons. I eyed the tiny plates of tapas with mounting desire. My stomach rumbled ominously.
I should probably have eaten today. I wonder how many glasses of champagne that was?
"So we know you are graceful under fire and an innovative academic thinker," Lyle said with a grin. "How do you feel about trivia?"
I blinked twice.
"Are you serious?"
"I already told you I am always serious," Owen said, dropping his chin and giving me a stare that can only be described as sultry. His nostrils flared and I stared at his thick, strong-looking lips. His hand dragged a light, discrete line down the back of my bare arm.
I definitely felt that. That definitely happened.
"It's a yearly competition between all the business heads in all our companies, Lyle explained. "Somehow we have never managed to win it, even though clearly we are the most brilliant men in the room."
"Clearly," I agreed immediately.
"And everyone's boss, too. Which I always assumed meant they should let us win."
"I would hate it if they let us win," Owen growled. "I would rather lose."
Lyle shrugged and popped a fat olive into his mouth, sending another waft of his cologne across my upper lip. If I wasn't getting drunk on the champagne I was definitely getting drunk on that aroma.
"I would always rather win."
"Winning is sort of my thing," I advised them coolly.
Owen raised his eyebrows and shot Lyle a knowing grin.
"I told you she was the right woman for the match."
"How many times are you going to brag about that?" Lyle said, rolling his eyes.
"Hopefully, a lot more times."
The lights went down in the room and a single spotlight shot toward the long main table at the front of the room. A man who looked like a boxing ring announcer held up both of his hands as the audience engaged in energetic applause.
I could feel Lyle and Owen on either side of me as precisely as if I was looking at them. The way that they each folded their arms across their chests in nearly identical gestures, the way that they tilted their heads toward the announcer as he explained the rules of the trivia match. I admit my heart was racing slightly. Being flanked by these two charismatic, athletic, confident he-men was absolutely thrilling.
The first rounds of questions were simple and easily answered by almost anyone in the room. Owen and Lyle seemed to consider it their own kind of sub-competition as to who could reach out and smack the brass bell first to answer, though. The announcer would barely finish the subject line of the question before one or the other's tuxedo sleeve would shoot out in front of me so fast it caused a little puff of air to blast across my cleavage.
“Dwight D. Eisenhower!”
“The Roman aqueducts!”
“PV=NRT!”
Each round went so fast it practically made my head spin, but I did manage to press the bell a couple of times and call out my answers when I was absolutely sure that I knew the right one. I could feel the Jack brothers’ approval bathing me like a warm glow and I started to really enjoy that. I could almost see myself through their eyes: taller, curvier, sexier, and smarter than I probably had ever been.
Maybe this really is me.
Well, maybe I can fake it long enough to convince myself anyway.
Finally, in the second to last round our outstanding lead had been whittled away to just two points when another table got a series of simple questions that they immediately knew. They shot ahead of us, and suddenly we were behind.
I squinted across the dark room and recognized the familiar back of Carl's stupid head. Then a hand waved out from behind it and Whitney leaned back laughing at some joke that I couldn't hear from where I was. It was them? That was the team that was going to beat us?