The Magnate's Manifesto(18)
“When were you planning on including me in your little party?”
She absorbed that, absorbed his frustration, then sighed. “You told me to work him, Jared. That’s what I’m doing.”
“Awfully well.”
She sealed her bottom lip over her top.
“When were you going to tell me you spoke French?”
“That was also on my résumé,” she said pointedly. “Along with the fact that I speak Spanish and Italian.”
“I have a feeling that résumé of yours isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on,” he said darkly, inhaling that trademark floral scent of hers. Trying to ignore what she’d look like stripped of that dress, what his psyche had been working on all evening. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve? Just so I have a heads-up.”
Her perfectly arched brows came together. “I know it must be disconcerting that Davide’s being a bit cool with you, but you can’t blame me for that.”
“I’m not blaming you, I’m wondering who you are. You whip out this perfect French I didn’t know you speak then you’re off talking about Plato over dinner.”
“I studied that in college. He’s Davide’s favorite philosopher.”
“Of course he is. He’s also clearly besotted with you.”
Her calm look hardened until she was matching him stare for stare. “I am using my brain, Jared. Something the women you consort with likely don’t do. I can understand why you would find that hard to appreciate.”
“I appreciate your brain.”
“Right.” She echoed his skepticism. “He’s revealing a lot. I’m getting some good insight into how his brain works. I’ve run some ideas by him and—”
“You’ve run some ideas by him?” Fury twisted his insides. “I don’t want you running ideas by him, I want you sticking to the script.”
Her lips pressed together. “He liked them. Loved them, in fact.”
He kept a leash on himself as the urge to explode like an overdue volcano rolled over him. “Which ideas are we talking about? The ones in our presentation or your rogue thoughts?”
Hot color dusted her cheeks. “One of mine—the one about the kiosks in the yoga studios…”
He uttered a curse. “That is not in our plan. It is nowhere in our plan, nor is it going to be. You need to put a leash on yourself.”
She lifted her chin, her blue eyes a stormy gray. “He loved the idea, Jared. He said it was exactly where his head was at. So maybe you need to open your mind. Use your imagination.”
“I am using my imagination,” he came back shortly, his gaze sliding over the dress, the curves every man in the room hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of all night. “And I don’t like where it’s taking me.”
She swallowed, a visible big gulp. “Do not do that. We are negotiating a business deal here, remember? Focus.”
“I am focusing,” he countered silkily. “Like every other male at this party, you have my complete attention in that dress. Now what are you going to do with it?”
Her eyes widened. Fire arced between them, swift and strong. It made his blood tattoo through his veins in a triumphant march. Sent heat lancing through his body. Bailey stared back at him like a deer caught in the headlights for a long moment. Then she blinked and stepped out of his arms.
“Walk away,” she said softly. “You know the magazines are right about you, Jared. You’re the one who needs a leash. You are out of control. You have lost your focus. You might think about getting it back. Think about what’s actually going to win this rather than your own ego.”
He stood there, hands clenched by his sides with the need to strangle her. She started off, then turned back with a final, parting shot.
“Green is only a peripheral strategy for Davide. He recognizes the importance to consumers, but he also knows they aren’t willing to pay a premium for it. It’s the price of entry.”
She left before he could say anything. Wound her way back through the crowd. And he wondered if she was right. Was he out of control? Had he lost the thread? Because all he’d ever wanted to do was build a company that created great products. That made the impossible possible. But now that he’d done that, now that he was close to the pinnacle of success, he was doing everything but. He was glad-handing politicians, massaging a board’s ego, weighing in on a marketing strategy he shouldn’t have to worry about. About as far from the business of inspiration as you could get.
It was making him crazy.
He acknowledged one more thing before he bit out a curse and followed Bailey through the crowd. The yoga kiosk idea was brilliant. He’d thought that when she’d mentioned it, but final rehearsals weren’t any time to be going off script.