The Real Deal

by Lucy Monroe

  Her head came up and he read startled uncertainty in those gorgeous brown eyes before she masked her reaction.

  Eric was already standing and the poor little darling had no choice but to do what Simon had suggested. Her initial reaction told him that the idea of being in close proximity to him made her nervous. Was that because he was on the opposite side of this issue from her and she saw him as the enemy?

  Or was it because she felt this gut-wrenching physical attraction too?

  “Here, let me see that.” He let his hand brush against hers as he pulled the paper from off the top of the pile.

  Her fingers trembled.

  An immediate and unexpected reaction took place just south of his belt buckle. He started a mental recitation of the laws and formulas related to thermal dynamics.

  “As you can see, future employment projections are quite good.”

  He didn’t comment. The recitation of the formulas sparked an idea related to his latest fiber-optic experiment. He needed a notebook. Dropping the paper in his hand, he stood up and crossed the room to Eric’s desk. It took rifling through three drawers, but he found a legal pad. He started taking notes as rapidly as possible.

  He had to test this.

  The pad in one hand, he started from the room.

  “Simon!”

  He stopped at the door and turned his head to the sound of his cousin’s demanding voice. He didn’t see Eric though, his mind’s eye was too focused on his project.

  “What about Amanda’s presentation?”

  “If I’ve said something to offend you . . .” The soft, husky voice trailed off and succeeded in claiming a corner of his attention.

  Amanda.

  He wanted to see her again.

  “Bring your proposal to my house.”

  Her eyes widened and he heard Eric groan.

  “My cousin can give you directions.” Then he turned and left, his thoughts consumed with his upcoming experiment.

  Chapter 2

  Amanda watched the maddening man walk out of the office, feeling like Dorothy before she’d found the yellow brick road. What had just happened?

  “He wants me to go to his house?”

  Eric’s expression was one of rueful resignation. He nodded. “Don’t take this personally. Simon’s brilliant and his mind doesn’t work like everyone else’s. When he gets an idea, it holds his complete attention.”

  “But . . .” One second he’d been reading her figures and the next he’d gotten up and was rummaging through Eric’s desk.

  “One Christmas, when he was about nine, I think, he got up in the middle of opening his presents and disappeared into his lab until New Years Day.”

  “When he was nine?” Eric had to be exaggerating.

  “Simon was a child prodigy. He graduated from high school when he was eleven. He had a double bachelor’s degree in physics and computer design engineering by the time he was fifteen. Four years later he had a Ph.D. in physics.”

  She knew what Eric was telling her. Simon was a genius. A cold, sinking sensation settled somewhere around her stomach because that genius didn’t want his company merged with Extant. She could see all her carefully laid plans crashing and burning.

  “Why does he want me to go to his house?”

  A wrinkle appeared between Eric’s brows. “I’m not sure. I think he wants you to finish your presentation.”

  “But why at his house?” A straightforward business deal had taken a distinctly unbusinesslike turn.

  Eric’s expression turned thoughtful. “I really don’t know. He’s a total privacy nut. Him inviting you to his house is out of character, but then so is his showing such a strong interest in the business side of Brant Computers.”

  “I’d feel better about finishing the presentation here in your office.” She’d feel more comfortable not having to be in the disturbing man’s presence at all, but going to his house seemed way too intimate.

  Eric shook his head. “If he’s on a new project, it could be days, weeks even, before he comes back to the mainland.”

  “Comes back to the mainland?” Her voice came out faint as she considered how disastrous that would be for the timetable on the merger.

  “He lives on one of the islands. The Puget Sound is full of them. At least he opted for a home on one that has regular ferry service. You should be able to go and come back in one day.”

  Was that supposed to make her feel better? “But couldn’t you call him and ask him to meet me here?”

  Eric shook his head again, his mouth twisted grimly. “No. Simon is stubborn and like I said, his mind doesn’t work like the rest of us. If we want him to hear your presentation, you’ll have to go to him.”

  “Won’t you be participating in the meeting?”

  “Like Simon said, I’ve seen all the numbers.” Eric stood up. “I can’t really take the time from my schedule for a duplication of effort. You convinced me. I’m sure you can convince Simon and until you do, further meetings on the subject between the two of us would be ineffective.”

  She wasn’t sure of any such thing, but she had no choice other than to try. She couldn’t let Simon Brant unravel her plans and jeopardize her goals. If that meant visiting him at his island home, that’s what she would do.

  Which was how she found herself breathing in the smell of burning diesel fuel on a ferry bound for a small island in the Puget Sound the next day.

  She’d tried calling Simon to ask him to meet her again in Seattle. According to the crotchety old man that identified himself as Simon’s housekeeper, Simon wasn’t available for phone calls. When she identified herself, she’d been told Simon was expecting her.

  Since he hadn’t so much as given her a time or day for their meeting, she didn’t see how that could be, but apparently Eric was right. Simon didn’t think like other people.

  His housekeeper had told her she was expected for lunch today.

  William Tell’s Overture started chirping away in her purse and she grabbed for her cell phone. Flipping it open, she put it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hey, chicky-poo, how’s it hangin’?”

  “Jillian. Why aren’t you on the set?”

  “We finished taping early. They wanted to do this sunrise scene. I’ve been up since two-thirty this morning.”

  “Uh . . . Jill, we live on the West Coast. Sunsets over the ocean are beautiful, sunrises hidden behind LA’s smog and skyline aren’t exactly awe-inspiring.”

  “We did a desert taping, smarty-pants.”

  “Oh.”

  “Anyway, I called to say you’ve gotta watch today’s episode. I’ve got amazing dialogue and I emoted with all the energy of Bette Midler.”

  Shoot. “Honey, I’ve got an afternoon appointment and the VCR in my hotel room doesn’t have a timed taping function.” She thought fast. “But my Ti-Vo is saving it for me at my condo. I’ll watch it the minute I get home, I promise.”

  “Amanda . . .” Jillian drew her name out for at least six syllables. “I really wanted you to watch this. It’s just the first half of the show. Can’t you sneak away to the bathroom or something and find a television?”

  What would Simon think of taking a thirty-minute break in the middle of their meeting to watch Jillian’s soap opera?

  “Jill—”

  “Please, Amanda. I haven’t been this excited about my work since I got the job.”

  That was saying a lot. Jillian had had her bit part on the soap for the past six years, longer than Amanda’s marriage had lasted. She was a regular, if not a star.

  “Okay, I’ll try.” She couldn’t believe she was saying this. “But I can’t promise anything.”

  “Thanks, hon! You’re the best friend a girl could have. Have I told you that lately?”

  “Not in the last week, no,” Amanda said, laughing. Jillian had always been there for her. Through a disastrous two-year marriage and an ugly divorce that took a year to finalize, she’d been a rock in Amanda’s life. “But l
isten, if I can’t watch it, can you Fed-Ex me the tape?”

  “The way I feel today, I’d fly the tape up to you to watch myself if I didn’t have to work tomorrow and Friday.”

  Jillian was right. Amanda hadn’t heard this much enthusiasm in her friend’s voice concerning her work in years. “Hey, maybe you can fly up for the weekend anyway.”

  Silence met that. “Are you okay, Amanda?”

  Darn. Why were best friends so discerning? “I just asked if you wanted to come up for the weekend. We could do the Seattle thing. Why does something have to be wrong?”

  “Because when it comes to work, you are worse than anal retentive. You’re so focused, you could give a Zen Buddhist monk lessons.”

  She sure didn’t feel like a monk, or rather, a nun, not when every time she thought about Simon Brant her hormones started hopping around like rabbits hyped up on sugar. “There’s a glitch in the deal I’m trying to work out,” she admitted.

  “What kind of a glitch?”

  “A big one.” About six feet, two inches, of glitch.

  “Bummer, hon. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too, but I’m not about to give up.”

  “Of course not. The only thing you’ve ever given up on is men. Everything else gets your try-till-you-die mentality.”

  Driving down the same road for the third time in twenty minutes, she was having difficulty applying the try-till-you-die approach. Where the heck was the turnoff? She’d missed it twice and was now driving slower than she could be walking in the attempt not to miss it a third time. Wait. Was that an opening in the trees? It was. Carefully camouflaged, the opening to Simon’s drive could have easily been taken for a natural break in the flora and fauna alongside the road.

  Eric had said Simon was a privacy nut, but this was ridiculous. One of them could have mentioned that the entrance to his property was as well hidden as your average state secret. Not that Simon had mentioned anything. He’d told Eric to give her directions and then dismissed the whole situation by leaving.

  It was a good thing he was just a business associate and not her boyfriend. That kind of behavior would be really hard to take in a lover.

  Fortunately, she reached the gate before her wayward thoughts had a chance to go any farther afield.

  She stopped the rented Taurus and pressed its automatic window button. It whirred softly as the glass disappeared between her and the small black box she was supposed to talk into. She reached through the window, inhaling a big breath of fresh, forest-scented air, and pressed the red button below the box.

  “Yeah?” There was no mistaking that crotchety voice. She’d only heard it once, but Simon’s housekeeper was unforgettable.

  “It’s Amanda Zachary.”

  “Expected you here a good twenty minutes ago, missy. It don’t pay to be late if you expect to catch the boss out of his lab.”

  She glared at the box and reminded herself that this was business. For business, she could put up with a cranky old man.

  “I’m sorry. I missed the turn.”

  “Guess you missed it more than once if it took you an extra twenty minutes.”

  What was this guy, the timeliness cop? “Perhaps, since I am already late, you would be kind enough to buzz the gates open so that I won’t keep your employer waiting any longer.”

  “He ain’t come out of the lab yet.”

  She ignored that bit of additional provocation and simply said, “The gate?”

  “Can’t.”

  “You can’t open the gate?” She stared stupidly at the black box, at a complete loss.

  “Right.”

  “Is it broken?”

  “Nope.”

  Anger overcame confusion and good sense. “Then what exactly is stopping you from opening the darn thing?”

  “You got to get out of the car. I need to make a visual I.D. before I can open the gate.”

  “Since you’ve never seen me before, what exactly are you trying to identify?”

  “No need to get snippy. I done my job. I got a picture of you. No use you asking how. I don’t share my trade secrets with just anybody.”

  For Heaven’s sake.

  She got out of the car and stood so her head and shoulders were clearly visible above the car door.

  “You’ll have to step around the door, if you don’t mind.”

  Now he decided to be polite, while asking her to do something totally ludicrous.

  “What difference does it make?” She glared with unconcealed belligerence at the camera at the top of the gate.

  “You got something to hide, missy?”

  “Not if you discount a body that isn’t femme fatale material,” she muttered to herself as she stepped around the silver car’s door.

  Thoroughly out of sorts, she threw her arms wide. “Look, no automatic weapons, no hidden cameras, no nerve gas. Are you satisfied?”

  “I think I could be.”

  No! No. No. Darn it. No. This had not been the housekeeper’s voice, but another, unforgettable one—that of Simon Brant. In a reflex move, she crossed her arms over her chest as she felt heat crawl from the back of her ankles right up her body and into her cheeks. She was going to kill that housekeeper when she got her hands on him.

  She was going to pick him up by his toes and hang him above a tar pit. And then she was going to let go.

  “Hello, Mr. Brant. I’ve been informed that I’m late.”

  He didn’t answer, but the gate swung inward.

  If Simon tried to talk, he was going to laugh and that would just encourage Jacob in his irascible ways. So, he pressed the button for the gate release without answering Amanda. He watched as she climbed back into her car, her dark hair all twisted on the back of her head in a tidy knot. The severity of her hairstyle and the suit she was wearing could not erase the image he had of her with her arms flung wide, her generous breasts pressing against the fabric of her blouse and her eyes glittering with pure temper.

  “She’s a tad feisty, sir.”

  Simon didn’t know why the old man called him sir. He’d never been in doubt who was in charge between the two of them, and it wasn’t Simon Brant. “I have no doubt she has cause.”

  Jacob just shrugged his thin shoulders. “Might have upset her a bit, I suppose. I got poor company manners, sir.”

  Considering the fact the man had at one time been on the presidential detail of the Secret Service, Simon took that comment with the credence it deserved. “What you have is an unfulfilled wish to go undercover and it comes out in the different roles you like to assume here.”

  Jacob’s gray head cocked to one side. “Could be. Or could be I’m just a crabby old geezer who’s lucky to have an eccentric millionaire for a boss.”

  Simon didn’t have a chance to answer as the first few bars of Beethoven’s Fifth played over the house-wide sound system. He did not like doorbells.

  “I’ll get it. I think Amanda could do without another dose of your company manners.” And he wanted to be alone when he greeted her. He didn’t want any distractions when he discovered if his reaction to her in Eric’s office had been an anomaly.

  Amanda’s hand clenched and unclenched on the handle of her briefcase while she waited for the door to open.

  Okay, the guy was a genius and so sexy he made her heart imitate a Morse code operator, but that did not mean he would succeed in scotching the deal. If he was so smart then he would definitely see the benefits of merging with Extant.

  She had a briefcase full of reports and graphs that he’d have to be a fool to ignore.

  So, stop worrying, already.

  He was just a man with some preconceived notions she needed to help him reprogram.

  The door swung open.

  Simon Brant stood with his strong, masculine hand curved around the edge of the door. “Amanda. Welcome to my home.”

  How did he do that? Five words, none of them remotely sexual, and her insides were turning into warm honey.

  Just a man.r />
  Uh huh.

  Right.

  Her professional, let’s-talk-the-deal smile fought with her rebellious lips’ urge to pucker up and beg for the gorgeous man’s kisses. Oh, man, she was losing it.

  “Mr. Brant.”

  Firm lips curved in a smile, revealing perfectly even, white teeth. “I thought it was Simon.”

  “Simon,” she conceded. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  He inclined his head and stepped back, indicating she should come inside.

  She stepped over the threshold of the door and for one disconcerting second felt as if she’d made an irrevocable decision that would change the rest of her life. Shaking the feeling off as highly fanciful, she extended her hand toward him. “I look forward to showing you the many benefits of the proposed merger between Brant Computers and Extant Corporation.”

  Simon took her hand, but he didn’t shake it. He squeezed her fingers and bent forward. For one incredulous moment, she thought he was going to kiss her hand, but he didn’t. He simply dropped his head forward in a cross between an Oriental bow and an Old World gesture.

  He straightened and dropped her hand. “Jacob’s prepared lunch. It’s waiting for us in the great room.”

  Was that a veiled hint about her slight tardiness?

  He turned and led the way down a hallway, his feet making no sound on the hardwood floor while her shoes tapped out a firm tattoo with each step.

  The hall took a sharp right and she stopped in awe at the entrance to the room. It gave the term great room new meaning. It was huge, at least twenty by forty feet, but it wasn’t the size that had her so captivated. The entire forty-foot wall opposite the entrance was glass with a view of the Sound and Mt. Rainier off in the distance.

  Simon stopped and turned to her. “Like it?”

  “It’s fantastic.” No wonder the guy preferred to work out of his home, with a home like this.

  “Other than the necessary structural bracing, this entire side of the house is made up of reinforced glass and windows.”

  “How many floors are there?”

  “Three. The pool and gym are on the floor below us. Jacob’s living quarters, the kitchen, guest room, and this room are on this level, and my living quarters and lab are upstairs.”