His shoulders sagged.
Violently she rattled the gourd, extinguishing his relief. The strange form of aggression started his heart racing.
On a wave of muttered threats, she marched off.
Mouth agape, he regarded the puffs of dust kicked up by her strides. The aftereffects of fear zinged through his system, forcing him to work to regulate his breathing. When he was sufficiently calm, he climbed the steps to the veranda with delayed bolts of amusement zipping through him. If she’d delivered a hex with her rattling gourd, he’d take his lumps.
Working an account in the boondocks didn’t thrill, but menacing fruit he could handle.
In the lobby, a middle-aged couple studied a map of the area. To the right, he spotted a short corridor with a ballroom at the end. The sightseers brushed past, and he approached the reception desk. A man of Japanese descent with a perky disposition gave directions to Cat’s office.
The air held the tang of fresh paint. The interior of the inn looked classier than anticipated with ornate crown molding and a nice seating area by the lobby that gave the impression of a cozy living room. Toward the back of the inn, the large restaurant featured a wall of glass that displayed the autumn colors and the lake beyond. Several diners were finishing breakfast.
Down a second, shorter corridor, he found a door partially ajar. Behind the desk, a woman with a waterfall of dark hair sat with her face tilted into the rosy light streaming through the window. Lost in thought, she ran her fingers down her glossy mane with the sensuous repose of a woman assured of her privacy. The sensation of catching her during an intimate moment gripped Ryan.
He cleared his throat, and the chair wheeled around. “May I help you?” she asked.
Her desk was crammed near the window. A whimsical butterfly constructed of colorful wire hung on the adjacent wall. Boxes waiting to be sorted hugged a file cabinet with rust creeping up the sides.
She peered around a computer that should’ve been retired during the Bush presidency. “Did you hear me?”
Everything was second rate, except the woman behind the desk.
“I’m Ryan, your eleven o’clock.” Her pretty brows lowered with confusion, and he asked, “Didn’t Miri explain?”
“I’ve been trying to reach her all morning. She’s not answering.”
He’d seen Cat only from a distance, chatting with Miri in the Adworks conference room. This close, her allure struck like strong current. Yet another inconvenience on an unusual day.
Sheepishly he grinned. “My fault, I’m afraid. I kept her on the phone most of the drive. She promised to fill you in after we hung up.”
Disappointment flitted through fetching brown eyes. “Miri’s not coming?” Again her fingers coasted through her hair, drawing his attention.
He’d always had a weakness for women with long hair. Cat’s heavy tresses flowed invitingly past her shoulders, and he imagined bunching the locks in his hands. Her outfit was another matter. Given the plunging neckline, the floral-patterned dress was too sexy for office wear.
An inspired choice.
“Hello? I asked if Miri’s coming.”
The impatience sparking her voice lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. With the thrilling sensation came an equally rousing thought: she resembled a dark-haired version of Botticelli’s Venus. It wasn’t the most constructive observation for a business meeting.
He didn’t care. He’d take Cat naked on the half shell any day.
The fully clothed version of Venus was quickly losing her patience. “Are you listening to me?”
“Miri’s not feeling well,” he rapped out, yanking his attention to her hairline. He wasn’t in the habit of objectifying women. This wasn’t a good time to start.
The effort to thwart a sudden and thoroughly regrettable attraction sent the wrong impression. She glanced over her shoulder, then back at him. The look she gave reduced his ego to three inches in height.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring at my forehead.”
The perplexity in her wide-set eyes gave his ego an inexplicable boost. “You have a nice forehead,” he heard himself say.
Her mouth quirking, she tapped a long finger on her temple. “Here. Focus on my eyes. It’s what polite people do.”
A challenge, and he hit her full on with the intensity of his stare. A tricky game, this, and he won when the heat of his attraction singed away the last of her impatience. Her eyes widened.
“You’re very beautiful,” he offered, as if her physical appearance explained his unprofessional behavior. From a male viewpoint, it did.
She nearly looked away, leaving him impressed when she managed to hang tight. Women often dodged a direct challenge, but Cat seemed exceptionally comfortable in her own skin.
“Are you flirting with me?” Grudging pleasure flitted across her lips.
“I’m trying to stop.”
“I wish you would,” she said, and the flush rising beneath her golden skin tasted like glory. “Miri really isn’t coming? I was looking forward to her short vacation.”
“What vacation?”
“She planned to stay in Linnie’s suite in the south wing.”
“Where would Linnie have stayed?”
“Oh, she doesn’t live on the grounds. She moved in with her boyfriend. He owns a house in Sweet Lake.”
“I’m sure Miri would’ve loved the break from routine.”
Worry shifted across Cat’s features. “What’s wrong with her?”
He explained about the morning sickness and added, “I got the marching orders first thing this morning.”
A blunder, and her worry switched to irritation. “What are you, an unwilling conscript? Thanks a lot.”
“Not what I meant.” But it was, and he tried not to breathe. Her perfume contained a bewitching mix of spicy and sweet notes.
“You’re happy Miri gave you the account?” She laughed shortly. “I don’t believe you.”
“No reason you should.” If beauty was a knockout punch, he was going down fast. “Let’s start over.”
“Great idea, Einstein.” Her cell phone rang. “Hold on.”
Having blown the opening pleasantries, he was grateful for the opportunity to locate his missing composure. How to start over was a distinct problem.
She swiveled toward the window, her throaty voice dropping an octave. “Norah, slow down. She did? No, I haven’t made a decision . . .”
A ratty chair hugged the front of her desk. Ryan took the liberty of seating himself. For a woman so polished, Cat’s desk resembled tornado alley. Travel magazines, spreadsheets, scrawled notes on loose sheets—if any of the employees in his office worked in such a crap fest, they’d get the boot.
A stack of posters snagged his attention. A drawing contest for kids staying at the inn, he guessed. Not the worst idea he’d ever heard from a client. At least Cat was experimenting with themes he could build on.
Relieved by the opportunity to get down to business, he slid a poster from the pile.
Immediately Ryan wished he’d put a damper on his curiosity.
SEX IN THE TWILIGHT YEARS: MYTH OR MAGIC? Definitely not a child’s art project. Why a young woman lush and sensual like Cat wondered about sex among the elderly was impossible to comprehend.
The inconvenient thought plastered a grin on his face. Maybe the Wayfair’s hot Latina manager was giving pointers to the madwoman who’d menaced him with the fruit in the parking lot. A waste of time, really.
At that precise moment, the sheer silliness of the women inhabiting his world conspired against Ryan. His mother, surveilling the street with binoculars, and Miri, running him through an account long distance while heaving into a garbage can. The hex delivered by the unsavory Ruth. And topping them all, the knockout punch of an unexpected attraction to the client who’d cut him off to argue on the phone.
Now this: the poster’s spicy title, coming on
the heels of his spectacularly bad opening remarks.
Breaking protocol, Ryan laughed.
Chapter 5
Inappropriate laughter spun Cat around.
Being ditched by Miri was bad enough. Now her raven-haired replacement was grinning from ear to ear.
Glitter from one of the Sirens’ posters trailed across the desk. SEX IN THE TWILIGHT YEARS: MYTH OR MAGIC. With rising embarrassment, she followed the trail to him.
In her ear, Norah continued the rant. Cringing beneath the assault, Cat gestured wildly at Ryan as she mouthed, Put it down.
A responsible adult would follow the request.
Ryan held up the poster.
Magic, I hope, he mouthed back. He pointed to the others. May I look?
Cat’s gaze threw daggers. Better yet, machetes—big ones intended to cut the prankster down to size.
No.
Did he think she’d allow him to sift through the other wacky ideas? Granted, the Sirens were nuts. Whether they were lightly roasted or heavily salted, they were her kind of nuts, women she admired and protected and sometimes just tolerated.
The air crackled as he reached for the stack. Or her ears did, since Norah was still shouting on the phone.
Furious, Cat leapt from her chair.
Her opponent was faster. Launching forward, he nabbed the stack and sat back down. With a mock shiver, he read the poster about hot flashes. She lunged across the desk. Ryan leaned out of reach, his eyes skipping across Tilda’s poster, the one about talking to the dead. A chortle burst from him.
She cut Norah off midrant. “I’ll call you back.” Hanging up, she tossed down her phone.
She remained standing with the sole intention of wresting the tactical advantage. Ryan owed her an apology. A big one, with maraschino cherries on top and a dollop of whipped cream on the side. Who admitted they didn’t want an account, then followed up by rooting through the stuff on your desk? He leveled his green-eyed gaze on her with a mix of defiance and blunt flirtation that nearly made her order him out.
A course of action she quickly dismissed. She needed this gorgeous man’s help.
Men often flirted, but Ryan wasn’t your garden-variety ogler. The cuff links glinting beneath the sleeves of his sport coat were elegant, a carefully chosen accessory. A fierce intellect glowed on his face. The crow’s feet fanning out from his eyes were pronounced, as if he worried a lot. Beneath his left eye, a pale indentation drew her attention.
A scar from a childhood accident?
He said, “Want to fill me in on the Sweet Lake Sirens?” Begging forgiveness wasn’t high on his agenda, obviously. “I’m curious, because one of them put a hex on me in the parking lot.”
“Ruth, and she didn’t cast a spell. If she put bad vibes around you, don’t expect me to fix it.” Snatching the posters back, she nodded toward the phone. “That was another one of the Sirens calling. You’re building a real fan club in Sweet Lake.”
“Will the fans continue to threaten me with gourds?”
“They have other means of showing their displeasure.”
“First time I’ve been accosted by someone wielding fruit on a stick.” His regard took a leisurely stroll across her lips. Then he jolted her with a yummy sensation when his gaze captured hers. “What are they, a batty women’s group?”
“They aren’t batty,” she replied, distinctly aware of the warmth spilling all the way to her toes. She remained perfectly still, yet the predatory atmosphere he’d brought into the room made her feel like she was sprinting.
He was closing in on her.
A provocative thought she pushed away, saying, “The Sirens are more like town matriarchs, if you can imagine a town with too many wise women. They want you fired.”
“You can’t fire me.”
“Says who?”
A grin played at the corners of his mouth.
His arrogance really was annoying. “Are you always this full of yourself?”
“Not usually,” he said, and the grin overtook his mouth. “I’m not sure why you’re bringing out the worst in me.” He motioned to her chair. “Why don’t you sit down? You’re trembling.”
The comment made her blush. She was trembling. The tiny fissure in her composure seemed a declaration of weakness. Barely visible, but he’d noticed.
There was apparently little Ryan missed.
Complying, she returned to her chair. Shoulders squared, she knit her fingers together.
In a more congenial tone, he said, “You had every right to call me out. I don’t want this account.”
“Perfect. Tell Miri I’ll wait until she’s feeling better.”
“Plan for a long wait. She always takes on more than she can handle. Don’t worry about it. I’m the best in the business.”
“Then we have a problem.” The temperature rising between them made her desperate for escape. She managed a look of disinterest. The attempt only made her more aware of the effect of his regard—like a magnet pulling her in. “I can’t work with you.”
“Miri is willing to waste my talents on a country inn.” The merriment eased from his features. “I suggest we make the best of it.”
“You’re not much for sugarcoating the facts.”
“Why waste your time or mine? Under normal circumstances you couldn’t afford my services.”
Silently she agreed. Even if another agency were brought in on such short notice, how to pay the exorbitant fees? Without the discount Miri offered, there would be no choice but to navigate the marketing alone.
Defeated, she asked, “Where do we start?”
“I need somewhere quiet to read. Miri has hopefully loaded my e-mail with notes. After I familiarize myself with the Wayfair, we’ll get started.”
“You’ll need to print out her notes?”
“All of them.”
Considering, she rolled a pen beneath her fingertips. A delayed case of nervous tension jangled through her. The reaction provided a distressing complement to the jarring thrum of her pulse. Drag a second desk into her tiny office? She was still deciding the wisdom of working in close proximity when Ryan spoke again.
“I can’t work here—you’re too much of a distraction. I’ll stop flirting and get my head screwed on straight, but I need several hours and a quiet place to work.” A supreme confidence was evident on his face as he rose to his feet. “We can agree I’m having the same effect on you.”
The tray in Jada’s grasp smacked down on the center island. “You aren’t picking up Linnie’s bad habits, are you?” She blocked Cat from nearing. “Go away. I don’t have sweets to spare.”
Although the bubbling apple pies wafted the delicious aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar, Cat was too upset to imagine sampling them. At the opposite end of the long, rectangular kitchen, the prep staff chopped vegetables for the upcoming lunch rush. Thankfully they were out of earshot.
“Your pies are safe.” Cat pressed her hand to her belly. “I’m just looking for an out-of-the-way corner to have an anxiety attack. I have a million butterflies winging around in my stomach.”
Jada gave her the once-over. “You don’t get anxiety attacks. That’s more Linnie’s thing.”
“First time for everything.”
“Is this about the Sirens storming the gates? Listen, if Tilda wants to send hate mail to the great beyond, tell her to do it on her own time. She’s not hosting a seminar here.”
Given Ryan’s bold entry into her life, she’d momentarily forgotten about the Sirens. “Thanks for the reminder. As if I need more to stress about.”
Jada angled her hip against the counter. “Don’t let them push you around. They act like you’re under a special obligation to kowtow to them because you’re Silvia’s daughter. Stand your ground.”
“They aren’t the reason I’m having heart palpitations.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’ve just had the strangest meeting of my life. Do I look okay? Maybe this isn’t anxiety. Might be a hear
t attack.”
“Unlikely at your age.” The reasonable conclusion didn’t stop Jada’s caramel-colored skin from taking on an ashen hue.
The bottle of Jack, used to infuse the syrup Jada drizzled on her famous bread pudding, nestled in a cupboard behind spice jars. Cat took it down. “Talk about a guy with a big head,” she blurted, slamming the cupboard shut. “What sort of man points out your attraction to him? Okay, so I didn’t call him on it. It’s hard to ogle and think at the same time. Doesn’t make his behavior any less obnoxious.”
The finer points of the outburst flew past Jada. “What are you doing with my Jack Daniel’s?” Her territorial streak extended to the kitchen domain.
“Drinking.” Cat found a glass, poured two fingers. She downed the whiskey in one gulp.
She flinched, the firewater scorching her throat.
Jada pulled out her cell phone and sent a text. When she’d finished, she said, “You’re now part of management. This means you don’t get drunk right before the lunch rush. It sends the wrong message to the staff.”
“Try to stop me.”
The irritated baker snatched the bottle, then stopped a waiter walking by. “Don’t let anyone near my pies,” she instructed. “I don’t have time to make another dessert for today’s menu.”
Latching on to Cat’s wrist, she led her past the curious staff. They took the corridor abutting the ballroom out to the lawn unfurling behind the inn. Avoiding the lobby got Cat’s vote. Before dashing into the kitchen, she’d stopped at the front desk to ask Mr. Uchida to print out whatever Ryan needed. Then she’d abandoned the ad executive in the seating area with his MacBook Air and a briefcase chock-full of neatly arranged files. Even the sticky notes were aligned with geometric purity, the cursive beautifully formed.
Who still used cursive? Her own scrawl resembled hieroglyphs.
By the time Ryan had arranged the contents of his briefcase on the coffee table, he’d dispensed with the flirtatious remarks and smoky glances. Which would’ve been helpful if he hadn’t already knocked Cat off her axis.
She was still searching for her inner balance as Jada slid the bandana off her ebony curls and halted beneath a maple tree. “Start talking.” To punctuate the command, she took Cat by the shoulders and propped her against the tree.
The Comfort of Secrets (A Sweet Lake Novel Book 2) Page 5