by Neesa Hart
Perhaps that explained why he’d caught himself imagining her lingerie. Sam had never found speculating on women’s lingerie to be particularly time worthy, but this was different. He had an unshakeable feeling that underneath her ubiquitous jeans and sweatshirts were laces and satins in a range of colors and styles that would knock his socks off.
He forced himself to concentrate on getting her to agree to a date. Plenty of time later to contemplate her lingerie. He wasn’t used to explaining himself, and he didn’t do it well. If the look of absolute confusion on her face was any indication, he was definitely screwing this up. “Maybe I should elaborate,” he suggested, more for his own benefit than hers.
“Maybe.” She fidgeted a little in the chair. He noted that about her, too. She never sat still. He, on the other hand, could sit absolutely still for hours. But Molly was perpetual motion. It should have annoyed him. He still hadn’t figured out why it didn’t. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wanted her. He’d started wanting her when she’d challenged him in their first editorial meeting. He had kept on wanting her right through their near shouting match on Friday afternoon. When he’d awakened to his sister’s phone call about the personal ad in the morning’s Payne Sentinel, his mind had immediately recognized the opportunity. If Molly would only cooperate.
“When Carl hired me to put the Sentinel back in the black, I almost turned him down. Reed Enterprises is negotiating several other ventures right now, and my brother, Ben, had asked me to manage a project in London.”
Molly nodded. “Reed Enterprises is working a merger with the Daily. I read about it in the trades.”
One of the sexiest things about Molly Flynn, he thought with satisfaction, was her brain. Sam had always preferred sharp-witted lovers, and Molly’s brain was razor-sharp. “But Carl’s an old friend. He helped me through college. I owe him.”
“He respects you. He trusts you.”
“He loves this paper,” Sam assured her. “And he loves the people who work here.”
Molly studied him for a moment. “You’re trying to change it. Carl never wanted the Sentinel to become a community newsletter. He always wanted a serious journalistic paper geared for a small-town readership.”
“And he can have that. But without a few changes, the Sentinel can’t turn a profit. The market has changed. Carl hasn’t changed with it.”
“I still think the transportation hub piece is a good idea,” she said. “It’s relevant. It’s local. And it’s got bite.”
“Would it surprise you to learn that I think it’s a good idea, too?”
She frowned. “But you said—”
He shook his head with a slight laugh. “Because you didn’t let me finish.” At her sharp glare, he suppressed a grin. He was seriously pissing her off, he suspected, but she was still too embarrassed to storm out on him. At least he had that in his favor. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
“Before or after dinner?” she asked dryly.
“Before.” He had other plans for after. Sam leaned back in his chair and felt himself relax. She was still listening. That had to be a good sign. “Here’s the thing,” he began. In business and in life, he’d always found it best to lay these matters out in a methodical fashion. Some women couldn’t handle that, but Molly was brilliant and capable. Though she had a reckless streak that made her act impulsively, he was fairly certain she’d respond to logic. “This ad—it has raised questions in my family.”
“I’ll bet.”
Her expression told him nothing. He sensed Molly was deeply embarrassed, but she was masking it well, facing the consequences with a courage he admired. “My brother, Ben, got married last year. His wife is—unconventional.”
He detected a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. “So I’ve heard.”
He didn’t doubt it. His brother’s engagement and marriage had been widely publicized. Sam shrugged. “I like Amy. A lot, actually. And now that my family knows her, they adore her as well. But the relationship has been a little tumultuous.”
“And now that your brother has tied the knot, everyone is looking for a new target.”
He thought of his aunt’s phone call that morning and grimaced. She was the latest to join the campaign with his stepmother and half sister. “You could say that.”
“And you’re it.”
He nodded. “Both my stepmother and sister have been scheming for years to get me down the aisle. My sister’s hobby is planning weddings—hers, and other people’s. Now she’s got my aunt and my sister-in-law involved. At least Ben is smart enough to leave me alone, but the women are making me feel like George Custer at the Battle of Little Big Horn.”
Molly chuckled, and it heightened the gold flecks in her green eyes. Sam had always liked Molly’s eyes. They were expressive and revealing. He saw passion and intelligence in them—a combination he found irresistibly sexy. “I know the feeling,” she assured him. “I’ve got four older sisters.”
“My last relationship came to a spectacular end.” Though her gaze had turned curious, he forged ahead. Time enough to explain Pamela later. “I was actually looking forward to going to London for Ben.”
“And then the Payne Sentinel got in your way.”
“Hmm,” he concurred. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m having difficulty getting people here to trust me.”
“I think it’s your car,” she said, her tone serious.
“My car?”
“You drive a sports car. The only people in Payne who drive sports cars are insurance salesmen and morticians. You figure it out.”
He stifled a laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman beyond his immediate family had made him feel like laughing. “Minivans and SUVs?”
“Or four-door sedans. Payne is that kind of place.”
“You drive a ’72 Beetle.” It was sunset orange and had a hell of an exhaust problem. He’d have to convince her to let him take a look at that.
“I’m the town rebel.” She drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair. “There’s only room for one, you know.”
“If I can get the staff of the Sentinel to follow my lead, I can save this paper,” he said more seriously. “But frankly, you’ve got everyone thinking they have to choose sides between you and me. Right now, they’re walking the fence because they’re afraid for their jobs.” He shook his head. “But if you force them to choose, they’ll follow you.” He leveled a hard look at her. “Even if it’s right off a cliff. If you want the Sentinel to survive, you will have to accept some changes.”
“Just because I don’t agree with every decision you make doesn’t mean I’m not willing to accept change.”
“Then prove it to me.” He leaned forward and planted his hands on the desk. “Convince me.”
“Meaning date you?”
What, Sam wondered, slightly annoyed, was so damned unbelievable about the concept of having dinner with him. He had it on relatively good authority that he was considered highly eligible.
Ben would’ve reminded him that wooing women was nothing like negotiating contracts. It was five times harder, took ten times longer, and required twenty times the effort. Sam carefully chose his next words. “I’m talking about a business arrangement,” he said softly. “A contract. Everyone in this town trusts you. If they perceive that you trust me, they will as well. This ad—” He thumped the paper with his knuckles. “People are asking questions. I want to give them answers that satisfy their curiosity without appearing to look like I have lost control.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
He headed off her argument. He’d learned in the last six weeks that letting Molly reach full steam was never a good idea. “And the people in Payne aren’t the only issue. You can imagine how my sister reacted. The fact that a woman finally got the best of me has her positively ecstatic.”
Molly winced. “Sorry.”
“And it’s going to be embarrassing if I have to explain this by saying that you
blew up at me at a meeting.” He looked at her narrowly. “I would think you’d find it pretty humiliating yourself.”
“I do,” she insisted.
“But if people believe we are romantically involved, they’ll brush this off as a lover’s quarrel. We’ll take a couple of jabs about it. Then the whole thing’ll just blow over. You’ll be lauded for having gotten the better of me. And if my family believes that I’ve finally found a woman who will put up with me, they’ll—” He stopped. He wasn’t ready to elaborate yet. It was more information than he wanted Molly to have. “There will be no embarrassing explanations nor apologies.”
“No one is going to believe that you and I are romantically involved. Not after what they’ve seen for the last six weeks.”
He shrugged. “People see what they want to see. A few public appearances, a couple of social engagements, and everyone will be saying they knew it all along.”
“So you want me to pretend I’m involved with you?”
“No,” he said carefully. “There’s no pretense about it. I don’t play games.”
She frowned at him. “You’ve lost me.”
Sam took a deep breath. The crucial part of any negotiation was where both parties tipped their hands. He was about to show Molly his cards, and he was gambling she’d do the same. “I don’t want you to pretend to be involved, Molly,” he said quietly. “I want you to get involved.”
Her eyes widened. She stared at him for a full fifteen seconds. Sam was fairly certain he heard his watch ticking. He’d negotiated billion-dollar deals where he’d been far less tense. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the thought that it shouldn’t be so damned hard to ask the woman for a date. But then, he’d never known a woman quite like Molly. Her lips pursed slightly as she stared at him. Finally, she muttered, “Oh.”
Not the most enthusiastic response he’d ever received, but manageable. She hadn’t said no. That’s what counted. “I’ll get to know you,” he explained slowly. “You’ll get to know me. And I’d like exclusive rights to your social life for a while. In exchange, I’ll give you exclusive rights to mine.” He was vaguely aware of how stuffy he sounded. Smooth, Reed. Why didn’t he just go ahead and hand her a contract to sign.
“That’s got to be the most romantic offer I’ve ever had,” Molly quipped.
At least she hadn’t stormed out. He considered that a good sign. Just as he’d thought, Molly Flynn was different from other women he’d known. “What have you got to lose?” he prompted.
She was drumming her fingers on her leg again, a quick, agitated rhythm that mirrored the pace of the thoughts he saw moving across her expressive face. “How long is this arrangement going to last?”
Sam realized that he’d been holding his breath when her question tipped him that she was seriously considering his offer. Years of business negotiations told him he was a few well-chosen words from closing the deal. “As long as we can stand each other,” he assured her.
She hitched up the corners of her mouth. “We won’t make it out the door on the first night.”
He could only hope that the energy between them could be harnessed into something more satisfying than animosity. He’d felt considerably better when he’d finally admitted to himself that he was attracted to her. It explained why she got under his skin. “Actually, I have it on excellent authority that I can be very charming.”
“I’d like to see that.”
He leaned closer. “Then how about right now?”
“Right now?”
He nodded. “I’ve got a meeting with the mayor and the head of the transportation commission in thirty minutes. I thought you might like to go with me.”
He could practically see the wheels turning in her head. After arguing with him for weeks about the importance of the Sentinel’s covering the Payne Board of Supervisors’ approval of a major transportation hub development contract, she’d be unable to resist the opportunity to sit in on the meeting with two of the key players. “Won’t the mayor think it’s odd if I tag along?”
Sam shrugged. “You’re our top reporter. Why should he think it’s odd?”
She studied him warily. “Because he has no reason to suspect you’re planning an in-depth story about the hub.”
“Of course he has,” Sam stated flatly. “It’s the biggest piece of local news on the horizon.”
“You’ve been telling me for weeks you didn’t think it was newsworthy.”
“I didn’t think the time was right,” he told her flatly. “I thought I had made that clear.”
Molly’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think anyone else in Friday’s meeting got that impression.”
“Sorry to hear that. I have every intention of covering this story, and I have every intention of putting you on it.” She was watching him with keen interest, he noted, as if she weren’t quite sure she could trust him. He’d obviously misstepped there, if he’d made her doubt his intentions.
“You’re serious,” Molly said slowly. “Aren’t you?”
Sam nodded. “Completely. I think the time is now right, and I’d planned to ask you to this meeting anyway. The ad,” he said, indicating the paper with an absent wave of his hand, “was just an added incentive.”
Molly collapsed back in her chair with a long sigh. “Good grief.”
He smiled. “If it makes you feel better, I admit I should have dealt with this differently. I apologize for not talking to you about it sooner.”
“We both could have avoided a lot of embarrassment,” she said.
“Probably. But now, I’m interested in damage control. Do we have a deal, Molly?”
She tapped one finger in absent agitation on her knee. “What if people don’t buy it?”
“Leave that to me,” he assured her. “I’m not worried.”
“And all I have to do is be seen in public with you—every now and then?”
“You’re not currently involved with anyone, are you?” he probed.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then it won’t be a problem. I’ll try not to bore you.”
Molly looked stunned, then burst into laughter. “Are you kidding? Geez, Sam, you irritate me, you annoy me, you frustrate me, and you challenge me. But you never bore me!”
“I talk too much about my business.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, so do I. And since your business and my business are the same business, I doubt that’s a concern.”
Sam felt better than he had in weeks. Satisfaction settled firmly into his bones as he contemplated the future. “Then go to the meeting with me,” he urged. “We’ll have lunch afterwards, and then come back to the office around three. You can explain things in the newsroom, and tonight, we’ll have dinner. Everyone will assume that since the cat’s finally out of the bag, we have decided to go public with our relationship.” He shrugged slightly. “If you want, I’ll even take responsibility for keeping our relationship secret until now. People will simply believe that you got angry at me for insisting on privacy, and that you ran the ad to force my hand.”
“It’s so ridiculous,” she conceded, “it might work.”
“It’ll work. Have you read the tabloids lately? People like ridiculous stories. It’s human nature.”
She frowned slightly as she thought it over. Sam liked the way Molly looked when she concentrated. The harder she concentrated on something, the more she worried the tip of her tongue between her teeth. He found it unexpectedly sexy. “What if we find out we really can’t get along—that all we do after hours is fight like we do now? Then what?”
Sam recognized a wary concession in the question. “We’ll end it,” he stated flatly. “The only thing I ask is that we end it quietly.” His gaze dropped to the classified section of the paper on his desk. “I don’t like spectacles.”
Molly winced. “After seeing that ad this morning, I don’t either.”
“Then we have a deal?”
She visibly wavered. “What about my fa
mily? What do I tell them?”
Sam began to relax. He might not know much about romancing women—women, Sam found, usually chased him—but he knew a lot about making deals. Anticipating questions that might arise was key to a successful negotiation. And he’d anticipated this one from Molly. Nobody who lived in Payne more than a few days could help noticing the closeness of the large Flynn clan. Molly’s father owned a popular downtown restaurant where two of his sons-in-law worked with him. And all five of the Flynn daughters still lived in town. One was a teacher. Another was a lawyer. Two were stay-at-home moms. And then there was Molly. The only one of the five not yet married, she was widely known as the family rebel. Molly was the youngest of the girls. She was tight with her sisters and wouldn’t be comfortable deceiving them.
Sam met her gaze across the desk. “Tell them the truth,” he said. “Tell them that we met here. That sparks flew. That we determined we had some mutual interests, and that we’ve decided to explore them to see where they lead us.”
Molly gave him a blank look, then burst into laughter. “They’re not going to believe that.”
Irritated by her casual dismissal, Sam frowned. “Why not?”
“Because, in a million years I wouldn’t say something like ‘we decided to explore our mutual interests.’ Geez, Sam, I’ve never decided to get involved in a relationship in my life.” She shook her head. “I’m more the jerk-open-the-door-and-run-on-in type. I hurtle into relationships. I don’t decide myself into them.”
He understood her point. Yet, one of the things that fascinated him about Molly was that he didn’t find her impulsiveness annoying. He’d known women he would have called impulsive, and for the most part, he’d found them flaky and irritating. But Molly seemed to have an energy, a certain vim—that made everything she did seem engaging and enticing. “What would you like to tell them?” Sam asked carefully.