Tempting the New Boss

by Angela Claire

  “No. I don’t. We’ve had one meeting and you did fine. I have a dozen more scheduled in the next few weeks. Stick with me before you disappear to do your thinking, at least until I can hire a new lawyer.”

  She let out a sigh, leaning back in the armchair. “Is this really necessary?”

  “Yes. And then you can decide what to do. Take the time you want and we’ll…see.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “We can’t sleep together then. Not if you want me to stay on for two weeks or however long you need to hire someone. I mean it. That just does not work.” When he made no response, she called his name.

  “I heard you.” He uncrossed his arms, one hand tangling in his hair as he glanced at the bed, and then went to the door. “The van is coming to take us and the pilots to the Halifax airport in an hour. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

  “Wait!” she said quickly, ignoring the softening of his features, as if he expected her to call him back to that bed. “I don’t know if I can get on a plane right now.”

  He turned away. “It’s statistically virtually impossible for us to get in a crash a day and a half after we almost got in one.”

  “Very comforting,” she whispered when he was gone.

  Mason didn’t say a word to her when she got into the van, and though Boyd and Ray seemed to sense the more sober mood, they greeted her heartily, making jokes about getting on a plane again.

  As they drove to Halifax, she commented, “It’s bad enough to be a passenger again so soon, but I wouldn’t think you’d want to get behind the wheel, or whatever the equivalent is in a plane right now. Don’t you ever get a day off, to just chill and recover?”

  “We’re deadheading,” Boyd said. She was beginning to be able to tell them apart. Though they had similar short, light hair and coloring and height, Boyd was a little older than Ray and had hazel eyes instead of green.

  This morning neither of them were in uniform, sporting navy turtlenecks and the ubiquitous khakis. Marcia had texted her that their luggage would be transferred from the downed plane to the new one. So either Marcia had shopped for everyone but her, or they had gone to the mall themselves. She still wore Brandy’s jeans and shirt. She’d change on the plane.

  “Deadheading? What does that mean?”

  “We’re catching a ride with you to London. There are a slew of measures the FAA requires before we can take the controls again. There’ll be other pilots handling this flight.”

  Lowering the newspaper he had been hiding behind since the ride began, Mason said, “Let’s hope they do a better job of getting us to London than you two did.”

  Camilla blinked, then tried a laugh, though it came out forced. “He’s kidding of course.”

  The pilots shrugged. “We hope they have more luck, too. Hell, we’ll be on the plane, won’t we?”

  The newspaper was back up again.

  Once at the new jet, disturbingly similar to the old jet, she retrieved her suitcase and changed in the restroom into a fresh pair of slacks, a sweater, and some new flats. When she came out, the pilots sat in one row of seats next to each other farther down the jet, chatting, and Mason was closer to the front in a window seat. Instead of taking the seat next to him, given his rude comment and silence, she assumed an aisle seat across from the pilots, smiling at them.

  As the plane began to taxi and her stomach dropped, she regretted the distance between her and Mason. She supposed it was necessary if they were to get through the next few weeks in a business-like fashion.

  Happily, the weather was calm and mild as they got to the cruising altitude, and she closed her eyes to try to sleep. God knew she hadn’t gotten much the night before. Just the memory of what she had gotten, though, popped her eyes open. Maybe she should try a magazine. There was a rack of them by the restroom. After unbuckling her seatbelt, she headed there, not even glancing at Mason as she passed him, flipping through the offerings before she chose a Newsweek.

  On her way back to her seat he called out, “Camilla.”

  Prepared for more bad manners, she almost melted when he said, “You okay? With the flight?”

  She nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

  He looked out his window. “Good. Good.”

  Feeling a little better, she found when she got back to her seat that she could sleep. Putting up the armrest, she snuggled on the sofa the two spacious seats created without it, her head toward the window. Slipping off her flats, palms beneath one cheek, she drifted off.

  Mason stared at the clouds outside his window, his head pounding to the faint sound of the deadhead pilots chatting away. He wished he could tell fucking Boyd or Roy or whoever to shut up. He’d only offered them the ride when Camilla put down her conditions for staying until he could find her replacement. He thought their presence might help him to keep his hands off her. The way he was feeling, though, he might just stuff them in the closet and take the sleeping Camilla in his arms and kiss her awake.

  But he couldn’t. He had promised her. And she hadn’t even admitted she would want him to. What the fuck did this “taking time” thing mean? Marcia finally consented to answer his phone calls but had placed an unsettling embargo on discussing his relationship with Camilla. So who else was he supposed to talk to about this? Talking to Camilla herself only left him even more confused. And, fuck, kind of hurt.

  The way she was with him on the plane, eventually anyway, and on the trail was one thing. And the way she had looked at him when he was covered in scrambled eggs and jam was another. And the way she spoke to him after breakfast, automatically assuming a distance he hadn’t in a million years imagined she could erect so quickly, was even worse. He had thought they were starting something together, and it turned out not only was she not so sure, she was mulling over ending it. Or that was what it sounded like to him, and Marcia was zero help.

  Never had he felt like such a…failure. Her family was so loud. Overwhelmingly loud and confusing. How could a handful of people dashing off comments to each other so quickly it was like a volleyball match at his prep school make him feel just as nervous as fifty lawyers and bankers swarming around him in a conference room?

  As angry as he was at Camilla right now, he was just as lost about what to do about it and just as desperate that he should find something, anything that would keep her. He didn’t give a fuck about her replacement or the deals he had on hold, including the one they were journeying to, but it was the only thing he could think of to keep her from disappearing from his life, as he had a sneaking suspicion this “thinking” thing would result in her doing. And he was very sorry he hadn’t realized that the “not sleeping with her” rule would come along with her remaining on the job. But if that was the only way she would stay with him for now, he could handle it.

  Or he thought he could. Until he saw her smiling at the pilots, at them, like she should have been smiling at him.

  Fuck, this should be one interesting couple weeks, but at least he would have time to figure out what to do. Because one thing he knew, he did not want to let her go. Being with her had been the only time in his life where he had felt at home in his skin. Where he didn’t mind whoever he was, different as that may be, and he didn’t want to lose that sensation. He didn’t want to lose her.

  He fingered the pearls still in his jacket pocket.

  Was it wrong of him to wish the plane would crash again?

  Chapter Ten

  They landed in London, and she checked into her hotel while Mason went to his apartment. He didn’t press her to stay overnight with him, and she appreciated it.

  Maybe, just maybe, some crazy version of this arrangement could work.

  The next morning she met him at the solicitor’s office, less flashy than Bannum and Strauss or any of the other New York law firms, no two-story lobby or winding staircase, only a small reception room. They were both early and told it would be a few minutes. The conference room they were led to was all polished oak and built-in bookcases and a gr
ay marble table that would seat a dozen or so.

  Mason fidgeted with some papers he’d brought relating to the proposed deal. He hadn’t looked at her since they met in the lobby. Dressed in fresh clothes, he was still considerably underdressed, jeans and a T-shirt, no slogan on it this time, just pure Florida orange juice bright, with yet another hideous jacket, green wool, to complete the outfit.

  “You’re not color blind, are you?” she asked in an aside.

  “No. Why do you ask?” He finally looked at her, and as ever, those big blue eyes, long black lashes captivated her.

  She smiled. “No reason.”

  The solicitor came in after a short awkward silence and introduced himself as Nigel Bennett. His client arrived a minute or two after that. Given the preliminary nature of the meeting, she had only skimmed the file, a million years ago by now. She pulled it out of her computer bag to glance at it again. Just as she had thought. Despite that the principal whose company Talbot, Inc. was interested in acquiring looked like a male model for Italian cologne, Lorenzo Mancusa was actually CEO of a struggling fiber optics operation in Venice.

  When Camilla introduced herself and shook his hand, he held it a minute too long, his chocolate brown eyes staring steadily at her, his accent fluid and light. “So pleased to meet you, Miss Anderson.”

  Unlike Mason’s messy curls and classic bone structure, this man’s perfectly blown-dried brown hair, tanned smooth skin, and manicured nails did nothing to start her pulse racing. She could never be with a man who just might be prettier than she was. Besides, she was with—

  She stopped herself. Was she with Mason? Wasn’t she? It was hard to tell. She was positive whatever bargain they had struck was just temporary. It would blow up in their faces soon enough. Then she’d have to make some real decisions.

  She glanced sideways to catch Mason glaring at her for some reason. After the silence this morning and then that look, maybe it would blow up even sooner.

  Mr. Mancusa wandered over to the sidebar for coffee and Danish alongside blue and white patterned china. Camilla rose to refill her cup, and he leaned toward her, close, and asked in a tone too smooth to be businesslike, “Can I interest you in something?”

  His speech was full of italics.

  Was she giving off pheromones or something?

  She smiled, which was something she was starting to think she did way, way too much, especially in a business context. But when she tried to stop herself, her lips hovered over her teeth like horses at the racetrack, not a very attractive image let alone sensation, and if she was able to refrain from it, she ended up feeling like a bitch. It was easier to go with her natural instincts and smile. “No. No, thanks. I’m getting some coffee here. Would you like coffee, Mason?”

  He shook his head.

  When they all sat at the table, Nigel summarized the proposed deal structure succinctly as Lorenzo gave her the eye, starting at her lips, smiling of course, then down to her neck and the beginnings of her collarless shirt. And farther down still. She hunched slightly. No, she was not imagining this. She’d been to Italy for business and knew Italian men’s boundaries were even more porous than Mason’s had been on the plane, but she did not need this right now. Especially since Mason caught her eye several times, glaring, as if he somehow blamed her for Mancusa checking her out.

  A side of her lip went up, and she rolled her eyes, trying to indicate how ridiculous she thought this in-person stereotype of the Latin lover was behaving, but Mason gave no indication he understood.

  At least the meeting itself chugged along just fine. Whereas in the gathering in New York, Mason did not participate or even appear to be listening, in this smaller group, he snapped out questions about production quotas and supply bases with regularity throughout the other side’s presentation, consulting his papers, writing actual notes, not doodles, following the train of thought of the answers and coming back with even more pressing inquiries. He clearly knew his own business, but whether Lorenzo could say the same was iffy.

  After a series of particularly grueling back and forths, Mason said, “I need a few minutes to consult with my counsel.”

  Lorenzo and Nigel stood up. Lorenzo wiped his brow. “Make no mistake, Mr. Talbot,” he said. “You brought this deal to me. I can take it or leave it.”

  Camilla glanced at the income statement Mason had handed her earlier in the meeting. “Not with the way your enterprise is leaking cash. You need a company like Talbot behind you to staunch some of that until you can stabilize your supply base.”

  Lorenzo clicked his tongue. “Barbs along with such beauty. Makes it more interesting, does it not, Mr. Talbot?”

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Mason shot back.

  Nigel interceded. “I think we all need some time to cool off so we can approach this in a more constructive manner. Miss Anderson, we’ll give you and your client a few minutes to discuss how you want to proceed.”

  “Thank you.”

  When the door shut behind them, Camilla said, “Do you want this company? It looks shaky to me. If you end up deciding to enter into a contract, I’d advise it be conditioned on the due diligence to make sure nothing really ugly comes up. I didn’t like Mancuso. He seems slimy.”

  “Is that right? He obviously liked you just fine.” Now that they were alone, he was absorbed in his papers again.

  She rubbed her eyes, hoping at the last minute she hadn’t smudged the little mascara she had on. “Italian men are all like that. Sorry for the generalization but it’s pretty much true.”

  “Is it? You’ve known a lot of them, have you?”

  She laughed. “You’re not seriously—”

  “I’m seriously commenting that the guy was fucking you with his eyes.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.”

  He sat back in his chair, meeting her eyes, his own narrowed. “If I keep my hands off you, how does this work? Am I going to have to see other guys looking down your blouse in the meantime?”

  “Where the hell is this coming from?” she demanded. “Where do you get off talking to me like that?”

  When she had agreed to stay on until replaced, she hadn’t meant he could ignore her as he seemed to being doing earlier or berate her as he was doing now.

  “This is not okay, Mason.”

  His cheeks were flushed, his jaw set. “I’m getting fucking sick of all these rules about what’s okay and what’s not okay.”

  She stood up and he tugged her down, leaning toward her, whispering, “Where is this coming from? Where is this coming from? I’ll tell you where. Last night, I spent the first night without you since I met you and I didn’t like it. I wanted you beside me, to snuggle with you and watch you while you sleep. To wake up with me and talk to me—”

  He took a deep breath, appearing to try to calm himself, and she ran her eyes over his face, shocked by all this emotion, but touched by it at the same time. She had spent a sleepless night herself last night. “Mason…”

  “And then I have to sit here and watch that asshole flirt with you. Know that it’s okay for him to be with you because he’s not your boss. Isn’t that right?”

  “No,” she rasped. “That isn’t right. For one thing, he’s on the other side. Conflict of interest.”

  “How reassuring.”

  A loud knock and Nigel came back in as Mason and Camilla automatically leaned away from each other. Lorenzo followed and they sat back down.

  “Excuse me for intruding so soon. But as Lorenzo and I were discussing this briefly on our own, the possibility of lowering the range of acceptable purchase prices arose. It might be more constructive to frame our discussion around that for the purposes of this meeting and leave further due diligence questions for once the contract is signed.”

  “Only if the contract has an out in it for anything we find unacceptable in the due diligence phase,” she insisted.

  “Anything? That’s rather wide, my dear Miss Anderson,” Mancusa said with anot
her trip of his eyes down her blouse. “Wide enough to shove something very big right through.”

  What? she almost said. As an argument, that didn’t even make much sense. If there was a big problem discovered in the diligence, of course they would take the out. He undoubtedly meant that something small could slip through and be counted as an out. But that didn’t fit with what she gathered was supposed to be a lame penis metaphor. Maybe it worked better in Italian.

  “We don’t know what we don’t know,” she settled on. It was one of the more confusing legal truisms, but she liked throwing that one around sometimes.

  “Granted,” Nigel admitted. “Let’s concede that we will negotiate the conditions to closing with an open mind on your concern there.”

  Mason flipped through his notes. “I’m not signing any contract at all until I decide whether it’s even worth my trouble.”

  Lorenzo sat back in a huff. “There’s been turbulence in the supply base. Fine. I admit it.”

  “Your financials admit it,” Mason said. “And these aren’t even audited. God knows what an audit will turn up.”

  “Are there foibles in this business as there are in any?” Nigel asked, holding his hands up, palms out. “Of course there are. But with your astute management team, I feel confident you’ll be equal to them, Mr. Talbot. Now about that purchase price range.”

  But Mason would not be put off of further questions. He continued with them, sharp, on point, until Lorenzo finally said, with exasperation, “Please, Mr. Talbot. Won’t you and your lovely attorney come to my home, see my plant in our beautiful Venice, and then decide for yourself whether it is worth your time, as you say? We could be there in hours rather than haggling over insignificant matters at a stuffy conference table in,” he looked around as if not sure where he was, since it was so nondescript in comparison to Venice, “London.”

  Mason sat back. “Me and Miss Anderson? Wouldn’t you like it to be just Miss Anderson? Wouldn’t that be much better?”

  The aggression in his tone caused Lorenzo to tilt his head, staring from Mason to her and then back again, ending with a smirk for Mason as he finally understood the undercurrents and a look for Camilla that made his previous facial dalliances tame by comparison, eyebrows raised and nod employed along with a knowing look.