The Magnate's Manifesto(13)
His eyes widened. Her less-than-illustrious background didn’t faze him. The complete incompatibility with the woman in front of him did. He would have pegged her as an aristocrat. As coming from money. Because everything about Bailey was perfect. Classy. From the top of her glamorous platinum-haired head, to her finely boned striking features, to her long, lean thoroughbred limbs, she was all sophistication and impeccable taste.
“So no man, no family,” he recounted. “Who do you spend your time with when you’re not at work? Which is always…” he qualified.
“You should be happy I do that. It’s why your sales numbers are so impressive.”
“I like my employees to have a life,” he countered drily. “Maybe you have a man tucked away none of us know about?”
“I have friends,” she said stiffly.
“Pastimes? Hobbies?”
Silence. He watched her mind work, coming up with a suitable answer, not the real one. “I like to read.”
“Ah yes,” he nodded. “So home on a Friday night with a book in your hand? That sounds awfully dull.”
“Maybe I import my men,” she offered caustically. “Ship them in for a hot night, then send them home.”
His mouth twisted. “Lucky guys.”
“Jared…” She exhaled heavily. “Are you ever politically correct?”
“Hopefully this weekend, yes.”
She smiled at that. “Is that enough information so we can move on to your fascinating backstory?”
“It’ll do for now.” He poured her another glass of wine, intent on loosening her up.
She shifted, tucked her legs underneath her. He kept his eyes off her outstanding calves with difficulty. “Is it true,” she asked, running a finger around the rim of her glass, “that you got your love of electronics tinkering in the garage with your father?”
He nodded. “My father was an investment banker, but his true love was playing with a car’s engine until the sun came down. I would go out to the garage and work alongside him until my mother made me come in.”
She frowned. “You said was. Did your father pass?”
“No.” He felt his defenses sliding into place like a cell door at Alcatraz, but opening up was a two-way street, and he needed to give, too. “He embezzled money from the bank, from his personal circle of friends, got himself in way too deep and tried to win it all back in a high-stakes game in Vegas.”
Her eyes widened. “And they chewed him up?”
“Yes.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
His mouth twisted. “It’s not exactly in my bio. The bank did a good job of hushing it up, and only those close to it ever knew.”
Her gaze moved uncertainly over his. Wondering why he’d told her.
“Trust,” he said softly. “You shared with me. I need to share with you. I meant what I said, Bailey. This is the most important presentation of Stone Industries’ history. There are no second chances. We have to nail it. We have to trust each other completely walking into that room or we don’t do it at all.”
She chewed ferociously on her lower lip. He kept his gaze on hers. “You have to be all-in, Bailey.”
She nodded. “I’m in.”
His shoulders settled back into place, his relief palpable. “Good. Let’s try to streamline that second section so it sings…”
She leaned forward to grab her notebook. “Ouch.”
“What?”
She pressed her fingers to her neck. “I slept the wrong way last night. I’ve got the worst kind of kink.”
She’d been struggling with it throughout their rehearsals, he realized. He’d thought her funny faces had been grimaces about the material but instead, she’d been in pain.
“Come here.”
She looked blankly at him.
He held up his hands. “These are magic. Let me work it out so you can concentrate.”
She shook her head. “It’ll work itself out. Let’s just figure that p—”
He got to his feet and pointed at the chair. “We need to nail this and you obviously can’t concentrate. Five minutes.”
She came then, taking the chair he’d vacated, as if she knew further resistance was futile. “Here,” she told him, pointing to the spot. He sat down on the side of the chair, ran his fingers over her skin lightly, then with increasing pressure.
“Here?”
“Yes,” she groaned. “Be careful. It’s killing me.”
“Trust, remember?” He set about working the immobilized muscles, on the outer edges first, loosening them up so he could find his way to the source of the pain. He felt her relax, let him in. But only so much. And he wondered how often, if ever, this woman allowed herself to be vulnerable?