The handler ushers me toward the stage’s side entrance. “Watch—”
Applause drowns out whatever he’s saying as I clear the edge of the royal blue curtain. The clipboard-wielding guy gives me a shove toward Jackson Tremaine who waits three feet ahead with his hand held out in greeting.
Jackson has the clearest sage green eyes I’ve ever seen, dark around the edges but almost white at their center. They crinkle at the corners as he smiles at me, sending my heart into an abnormal rhythm. The hand he holds out to me waves me out, drawing me to him like a—
Something grabs my ankle. Crap. A cable running across the floor is wrapped over my beautiful new shoe. I try to compensate with my other foot, but it makes it worse. I stumble forward, losing my balance as my plastered-on smile falters. Instead of shaking his hand, I fall against Jackson Tremaine’s muscular chest.
Strong arms come around me, pulling me up and tight against him. His scent, something like sandalwood and cinnamon, envelopes me. His laugh vibrates through my breasts, now pressed firmly against his pecs.
The audience goes bat-shit wild with applause.
Oh my—Hell. In Hell. Right now. This can’t be happening.
Mr. Tremaine hangs on tight until the crowd quiets.
“Well, that’s a great start to a new relationship. But I’m afraid I’m happy in my bachelorhood, Ms. Fitz.” He sets me away from him, adjusting first his tie and then his junk right in front of God and everybody.
Heat floods my face, and I don’t know where to look. “Oh, I’m—so sorry. I tripped.”
He tosses a sly look at the closest camera. “No worries. I don’t mind at all. I enjoy a beautiful woman in my arms any time—but only for a short time.”
Jackson takes my hand, sending tingles up my arm. “I’ll hold on to you until we get you safely into your seat.”
He leads me to the chair between guest number one and the side of the desk.
Jackson stage whispers to the other man. “Be careful of this one, Bax. Love ‘Em’s quite a handful.”
Casino mogul Baxter Ransom nods as he offers his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Fitz.”
I do the best I can to swallow my embarrassment. “Likewise.”
Jackson returns to his seat. “So, Ronnie—you don’t mind if I call you that? You’ve put together this instruction manual, if you will, for women.”
I brush my wild curls away from my face with trembling fingers. “I suppose you could call it that. It’s really only common sense things that most of us already know but fail to put into practice in our everyday lives.”
“I read the book last night—well, parts of it—and I’m not convinced.”
The lead weight in my gut grows.
No, it’s okay. He’s playing Devil’s Advocate. It’s his job.
“Oh? What part do you need help with?” I smile, but inside my heart is shriveling into a raisin.
He’s making me out to look a fool, and no one is going to buy my book by the time he’s done with me.
He leans back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk. “Well, this whole idea that a woman can get the guy she wants, simply by showing him deference and respect…”
I take a quick breath, heat simmering in my stomach. Dumbass is twisting my words. “I didn’t say deference.”
He laces his fingers across his flat belly. “Oh, maybe I read that incorrectly. Don’t get me wrong. I like the idea of a woman who shows a man respect. I don’t buy that it will get him to commit.”
The fire in my gut stirs. “Well, think about it, Mr. Tremaine. What man doesn’t want the woman in his life to tell him how amazing he is on a daily basis?”
I wait, but he just sits there, smugness poised on his too handsome face. It’s as if he didn’t hear the question I asked.
“Well?” I prompt.
His eyebrows go up, fake surprise in his expression. “Oh, that wasn’t rhetorical?”
No wonder he’s still single.
I let out a huff of air. “How many men get the respect they want and deserve from the women who profess to love them? The principals in my book all come down to one thing: men aren’t as complicated as ladies think they are. They want love just like women do. The biggest difference is what they perceive as love.”
He squints as though considering my words. “Well, they do say perception is ninety percent of reality. My ninety percent says this is a load of rhino dung.”
My jaw drops.
Did he really just say that—about my book, my magnum opus, in front of billions of people?
I snap my mouth shut and glare at him. “Maybe your perception is what’s full of shit.”