by Olivia Miles
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a notch higher than usual.
Sam shrugged. He looked around the small room before meeting Lila’s blazing stare once more. “This makes it a little easier to put our heads together, so to speak.”
With a pinch of her lips, Lila gripped the desk, using it for leverage to help wheel her chair a few inches to her left. God, she was impossible.
And completely irresistible.
“Mitch Reed is a self-confirmed traditionalist,” she stated briskly. “I thought it best that we take this into consideration.”
Sam narrowed his eyes as he pondered her approach. He couldn’t agree less, but he nodded for her to continue.
“Reed Sugar has been around for generations. It’s a household name.” Lila opened a folder and pulled out some vintage ads. “Why not appeal to the nostalgia?”
Sam stared at her. This would never do. “That’s hardly sexy.”
“It’s sugar,” Lila replied.
“Honey, I can make a potato look sexy.” He roamed his gaze over her face. Her lips were pouted, full and pink, and he had a sudden urge to lean in, to taste her again, to show her just how good she made him feel.
Her gaze turned hooded. “I’m sure you can.”
Lila folded her arms across her chest. Sam noticed the way the thin silk of her pink blouse shaped her round breasts. Her long legs were crossed, and a generous slit up her tight navy skirt sent a rush of heat straight to his groin. He rubbed his face to shake the image. Business first. Pleasure . . . Don’t go there, Sam.
“Reed Sugar has been around forever, I agree, but when a company has been in business as long as they have, there’s always the chance that they’ll become a little . . . stale.” Sam paused. “When people go to the grocery store, we don’t want to give them the impression that they’re buying their grandmother’s brand—”
“Why not?” Lila challenged. “When a young mother goes to the grocery store, don’t you think she wants to give her children the trusted brand she has grown up with herself? It’s a safe choice.”
“Safe?” Sam guffawed.
“Yes, safe,” Lila said. “Trustworthy. Solid.”
“It’s not my style to play it safe, Lila,” Sam replied.
“No, and solid and trustworthy aren’t adjectives I’d associate with you, either.”
He chose not to react to that remark, but the implication stung just the same. Of course she’d assume that of him, and why shouldn’t she? But he knew better than her that he was loyal. He just hadn’t been able to be loyal to her. “For lack of a better word, Lila, it’s just not cool.”
“Not cool?” Lila erupted into laughter, a contagious peal laced with a bitter undertone.
Sam forced his tone to remain steady. “Yes, that’s right. Not cool. Consumers want something current, fresh, and new. Everyone appreciates a classic car, but they’re buying a brand new Mercedes.”
“Well, how do you propose we attract new buyers without losing the ones we have?”
“Easy. We show them that sugar is a better choice than all those sweeteners that are popping up every year. It’s not the safe choice. It’s the natural choice.” Sam grinned. It was the perfect tagline.
“Mitch isn’t going to agree.” Lila shook her head and flipped through her notes. As she bent forward, a hint of a black lace bra was revealed through the opening of her blouse. Sam cleared his throat.
“Oh, I think he will.”
Lila’s eyes widened in fury. “Well, I don’t agree. Reed Sugar has been in business for seventy-five years. They’re an American staple.”
“And a thing of the past, Lila! Our goal is to keep Reed in business for another seventy-five years. They’ve got a lead on the sugar industry; that’s not their competition. They want some sex appeal. They want something new.”
“They could have just brought you in, and they didn’t. They have hometown roots, they’re traditionalists, and they want me to balance things out. I know how you and Rex operate. Big splash. Big money. Well, this is a collaborative effort and let’s get one thing straight: you are not my boss. We will work together on this or we won’t work on it at all.”
“Taking yourself out of the running, then?”
“Quite the opposite,” Lila fumed. “You’re digging your own grave on this one, Sam. And I don’t intend to go down with you.”
To control his growing temper, he lowered his voice and chose his next words carefully. “We are going to work on this account, Lila, and I will not have you sabotage it for me. Is that understood?”
Lila met Sam’s eyes for a brief second. “I think we’ve accomplished enough for one day.” She stood and pushed her chair away from the desk with the back of her calves, giving him a full view of those endless legs and that perfect curve of her hips.
“I wouldn’t say we’ve accomplished anything,” he countered, rising.
Lila set her hands on her hips. “Do you have a compulsive need to disagree with everything I say?”
Sam stared her down until the fire in her eyes was snuffed. “We have a tight deadline and I’m not in town to sightsee. I’ll be working on the pitch tonight. If you would like to be included, I’ll expect to see you this evening after work. I’m staying at The Peninsula.”
“But—”
Sam turned on his heel and flung open the door. “Seven o’clock,” he said without turning back.
He smiled at the slack-jawed assistant and pushed through the front door, a rush of adrenaline hitting him as hard as the summer heat. If there was one thing that always put a little kick in his step, it was a good challenge. That, and the thought of seeing Lila again.
Chapter Five
The timer on the oven rang just as Lila was brushing her hair into a ponytail. She hurried into the kitchen, pulled on the oversized oven mitts that had once belonged to her grandmother, and opened the oven door. Warm cinnamon and sugar wafted through the air, and despite the trials of the day, Lila closed her eyes for a moment and grinned.
Some people found other ways to alleviate stress, she supposed, but for her, there was nothing more therapeutic than tying on her apron strings, pulling out the canisters and mixing bowls, and creating something delicious. Many of her fondest memories took place in the kitchen—a small one, not much different than this—in the apartment she and Mary shared with their grandparents. The girls would fight over who got to lick the spoon until Gram produced a second one, and there was always a cold glass of milk to enjoy when the treat was ready. They’d sit at the square table near the window and talk about their day, and save a few cookies for Gramps after he closed the ice cream parlor for the night.
She frowned a little as she transferred the cookies to a cooling rack. She missed those days.
Before she could start wallowing, she jotted down a few more ideas for her meeting with Sam. She knew that she was on to something. She could practically see the ad now. It was good. She knew it was good. And she knew Reed would think so, too.
Now, to just convince Sam . . .
When her notes were in order, Lila slid into her flip-flops, grabbed her oversized tote that was bulging with files, and quickly placed the cookies in a plastic container. They looked warm and gooey and smelled like heaven.
She smiled to herself. Sam didn’t stand a chance.
***
Twenty minutes later, Lila stood in front of the six-panel mahogany door of Sam’s suite. She was ten minutes late—something that ticked her off immensely. The last thing she needed was to be giving Sam any reason to doubt her ability, the way he was so quick to do in the past.
Balancing the cookies in one hand, she hovered her fist over the polished surface and finally tapped her knuckles three crisp times, the gesture exuding much more control over the situation than she felt.
She finally sensed a shuffling from the other side of the wall, and her breath caught as the lock turned and the door swung open. Sam was dressed casually in a gray T-shirt and well-w
orn jeans. He smelled of fresh aftershave and his dark, wavy hair was slightly wet; the combination immediately conjured images that Lila knew better than to embrace.
She tightened her grip on the container of cookies. This was going to be more difficult than she had hoped.
His lips parted into a pleased grin. “Well, hello. I wasn’t sure if you’d be coming tonight.”
Lila bit back a fresh wave of fury, all at once remembering the person she was dealing with here. “Hello, Sam,” she said coolly.
He held his arm wide, welcoming her in, and she strode past him to a large sitting area. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a corner view of an illuminated city skyline and, beyond it, Lake Michigan. Two oversized sofas and a pair of leather club chairs framed a square coffee table. At the opposite end was a dining table for six and a fully stocked wet bar with a mirrored backsplash. The room was larger than Lila’s apartment, and judging from the multiple closed doors off a side hall, she could only assume there was even more to its grandeur. It was very flashy. Very . . . Sam.
“Impressive.” She supposed to him it was just normal. Sam had grown up in luxury; he was accustomed to the finer things in life. He had come to expect nothing but the best, and probably swept his eyes over this place with an impassive shrug. For not the first time, Lila was reminded of how different they were, of their conflicting values and experiences. Sam wouldn’t have any idea what it would be like to spend a cold night nestled under a pile of blankets, giggling when her feet skimmed her sister’s icy toes because the heat bill was too high that month, or to have to depend on a full scholarship for any hope of a college education.
Sunshine Creamery had hardly allowed them a life of luxury, but what Sam would never understand is that it wasn’t money that had mattered to them.
Lila crossed the room and set her things on the dining table. At the wet bar, Sam was already mixing a cocktail. He turned to her with a mischievous grin.
She felt her lips thin. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her, was he?
“For you, Madame,” Sam said gallantly, handing her a pink-hued martini.
“That would be Mademoiselle, actually,” she corrected him. She flirted with the stem of her glass, unsure if she wanted to give in to the temptation. As if his mere presence wasn’t difficult enough to resist, he had to go and sweeten the deal.
Shame on him for bribing his way on to her good side.
“Ah, well, I never could figure out that language.” Sam took a sip of his own drink—scotch, his favorite—and wandered into the living area. He sat down on a sofa and tossed her a grin. “Come sit over here. It’s more comfortable.”
Lila sighed. If only she could keep her back to him. Anything to avoid looking at that face. Taking her drink and a few files and deliberately leaving the cookies where they were, she joined Sam around the large coffee table. Without meeting his eye for fear of wavering, she arranged herself on the sofa opposite his. He may have gotten her into his corner, but she would hardly make herself within arm’s reach, even if deep down she would have loved nothing more than to sit close enough to see the curl of his black lashes and smell the musk of his freshly shampooed hair.
Stop it, Lila.
“I can order something for us to eat if you’d like.”
He was being nice, she knew, but it was too late for that. Six years too late. Dinner together last night had been a mistake, and not one she could afford to repeat. On any level. There had been far too little progress with the account and far too much gazing into those blue eyes. “I’m here to work, not to eat.”
“Suit yourself,” Sam replied with a shrug.
Lila clicked the top of her pen. “Have you given any more consideration to my ideas?”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “Would it matter?”
“As a matter of fact, it would.” Lila forced her voice to remain calm. “We’re collaborating on this effort, after all.”
Sam shrugged and his lips did a funny little dance. Lila choked back a surge of fury that threatened to explode. She could throw that martini right in that smug face . . . Forcing a deep breath, she reached a shaking hand for the glass and took a long sip of the fruity sweetness instead.
“Good?” Sam asked.
Lila licked her lips. “It did the trick.”
Sam set his tumbler down on a marble coaster and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s fair to say that we don’t exactly have the same vision for this campaign.”
“I’ll agree with you there.”
A hint of a smile passed over Sam’s face. He paused, his eyes roaming over her until she had to glance away. “Why don’t we start over, Lila?” he asked.
“Start over?” she repeated. “I put a lot of thought into my ideas for this campaign, Sam. I know you don’t agree with them, but if we could discuss our visions a bit more, I might be able to—”
Sam’s mouth spread into a sad, thin-lipped smile. His brow set in a straight line. “I mean start over with us. You and me. Forget the past.”
Lila scoffed, but her heart somersaulted. Something within the pit of her stomach knotted. Tightly.
“It’s not that easy . . .” She grew quiet, her mind reeling when she thought of how badly he’d hurt her, the tears she’d cried for this man. She squirmed on the cushion and reached for her cocktail, finding she had suddenly lost the taste for it. She set it back on the table and heaved a long sigh, cursing herself for the sudden vulnerability she felt and couldn’t hide. Showing weakness in front of Sam wasn’t an option, and here she was, bordering on breaking the one promise to herself she intended to keep.
“No, I suppose it’s not.” Sam sighed heavily. “Can I get you another drink?” he asked, standing to stretch his strong frame. He glanced at her full glass and cast her a lopsided smile. “You always nursed those things. No wonder. They’re too sweet for me.”
A heaviness settled in her chest as she watched him cross the room. She let her eyes linger on his broad shoulders and the thick biceps that curved beneath the thin veil of his shirt. He might be an arrogant jerk, but she couldn’t fight the attraction. And that was precisely why it was better for her to stay away. A man like Sam could only bring one thing to her life.
Handsome or not, he wasn’t worth the heartache.
***
Sam studied Lila silently across the large coffee table as she reached up and pulled the band from her ponytail. Her chestnut hair spilled loosely over her shoulders, and she tucked one strand behind her ear, revealing the same pearl earrings she’d worn ever since he met her. She’d removed her shoes and sat curled up on the plush carpet with long, bare legs tucked delicately beneath the curve of her skirt. She was almost close enough to reach out and touch.
And it was taking everything in him not to do just that.
Back when he and Lila were dating, his mind was on one thing and one thing only, and that was rising to the top of his family’s company. Six years later, he hadn’t really changed much at all. He was sitting here with a stunning woman, and despite how much he wanted her, his mind was still wandering over to thoughts of the agency. And to thoughts of his father.
“You still wear those,” he said, gesturing to her earlobe. He sucked in a breath, fighting the sudden urge to graze it with his teeth. “I wanted to buy you another pair for Christmas, and you told me not to, remember that?”
Lila’s smile seemed a little sad. “My mother used to wear these . . . I used to beg her to let me wear them.” She cleared her throat. “We should talk about business.”
Sam nodded. He knew Lila had lost her parents—it was probably part of the reason he felt so connected to her. A woman like Lila could understand him, if he let her. Somehow, though, he could never bring himself to open up to her. It was too risky. There was too much at stake. Instead, he’d kept the wall up, just enough, careful to keep his head one step ahead of his heart.
Lila was right. He still had to focus on his mission for this evening. “Right.
Back to business.”
Lila’s lips curved into a mysterious smile as she stood and crossed the room. He watched her with growing interest. The backs of her thighs were smooth and lithe, the slit of the skirt giving an enticing sneak peek into what lie beneath.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said over her shoulder.
Sam pulled his eyes from her legs, watching in confusion as she strode toward him with what appeared to be nothing other than a plate full of cookies.
***
Lila wavered slightly, and then forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the sofa where Sam still sat.
Had he actually been checking her out? She knew she should have worn jeans, but it was too hot outside. Besides, the flip-flops were about as casual as she was willing to go, and that was mostly on account of her feet, which were still aching from those heels she’d worn for the lunch with Reed. She smoothed her pink blouse with one hand and proffered the plastic container with the other.
Sam stared at the cookies with a look of bewilderment. “What is this?”
“They’re cookies.” When he said nothing, she added, “I baked them. With Reed Sugar.”
Sam groaned, but there was a curl at the corner of his mouth. “Nice play.”
“Have one. They’re snickerdoodles.”
His hand stopped midair as he looked up at her. “Snickerdoodles?”
“That’s what they’re called. Didn’t your mother ever make them for you?”
Sam’s expression darkened as he hastily took a cookie. “My mother didn’t bake.” He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “These are pretty good.”
Lila fought back a pleased smile. “Thank you,” she said. She set the container on the coffee table and resumed her spot on the opposite couch. Sam finished his cookie and reached for another one. Lila felt her pulse kick. This was it. “It makes you feel good, doesn’t it? Eating that cookie? It takes you back to another time, a better time, back when you were a kid and—”