Tempting the Billionaire (Love in the Balance)

by Lemmon, Jessica

  Their morning meeting was with a man in his late forties launching a tattoo shop. And if Crickitt thought Shane was too polished to talk to a goateed, bald, bare-chested man in a leather biker vest, he proved her wrong in the space of a few minutes.

  Crickitt had already assumed Shane was passionate about entrepreneurs, but seeing him in action was like watching a bird take flight. Natural, easy. Shane’s enthusiasm shone in every hand gesture, every answer, and through every assurance he made. When Shane vowed to do what it took to help the man become successful, all three of them knew he meant it.

  After the meeting, they stepped outside the shop and Shane lifted his ringing cell phone to his ear. “August.”

  Crickitt paused, taking in the truncated exchange.

  “Yes. No problem,” he said, gazing in her direction. “Absolutely. See you then.”

  He pocketed his phone as the driver opened the door for them. “Thomas, I’ll need you to work late tonight. Does Darcy have you booked?”

  Thomas gave Shane a pained smile. “Tango lessons. I’d be glad to stay and work late.”

  Shane chuckled and palmed the older man’s shoulder. “Excellent. Find a place we can loiter for a bit, will you?”

  Shane ushered Crickitt into the limo. Once inside, he said, “Townsend pushed our meeting to five thirty. I realize you expected to be done working by then. I can have Thomas take you home. If we leave now, I can still make it back in time for the meeting.”

  Crickitt frowned. It was a superfluous amount of driving simply to see her home. “I’m sure a four-hour round-trip isn’t the best use of your time.”

  “I can read in the car. There’s no shortage of what I could learn,” he said with a grin. “It’s your call. I don’t expect you to stick around. You wouldn’t get back to Osborn until late tonight and I don’t want to break up your plans.”

  Plans. Yeah, right. Her big Friday-night plans involved pajamas, a DVD, and eating out of a paper container of some sort. No, she’d prefer to spend the evening with her impressively capable boss, even if her reasons were bordering on unprofessional. Or stalkerish. “I’d like to stay,” she said, tacking on, “and meet Townsend.”

  “Good,” he said, and she could swear he looked relieved.

  * * *

  Shane was relieved.

  Henry Townsend was an important, if not the most important, client August Industries had. But as much as Shane loved the thrill of landing a new account, of helping a business owner see his dreams come to fruition, the lengthy drive and downtime were significantly less thrilling. He usually filled the hours with solo lunches or reading dry stock reports.

  It was nice not to be alone, and Crickitt was good company. She pushed a curl away from her face and pinned him with serene blue eyes. Okay, she wasn’t just good company. He liked her. Liked the way she asked questions and was genuinely interested in his answers. Liked the way she waited for the right moment to interrupt him when he was deep in thought. She was good for him.

  As his assistant, he reminded himself, glancing down at his folded hands.

  Now that he thought about it, he doubted she’d want to spend the afternoon pinned up in the limo reading bland reports. He was already tying up her evening. “What would you like to do today?” he asked. “Art museum? Shopping? We have several hours before Townsend.”

  He’d surprised her. Her eyes widened and her brows elevated in the cutest, startled expression.

  “Or we could work?” he said, wondering if he’d miscalculated her after all.

  “You’re paying me. It’s your call.”

  Shane nearly flinched. He hoped she hadn’t stayed out of some misplaced sense of obligation. He wanted her to want to be here with him. Which wasn’t something he should allow himself to want at all. This was a business trip. He was her boss. It wasn’t a weekend trip filled with sightseeing, shopping, and dinner at Skyview.

  Man, he’d like to take her to dinner again. A real dinner, one without interview questions and ending with a kiss good night.

  You hired her. You can’t date her.

  Tamping down his out-of-place disappointment, he tried again. “Since you’ll be working late, you have the middle of the day to yourself. Thomas can drop you off somewhere. Like the mall, or…a shoe store?”

  Crickitt twisted her lush lips into a grimace. “Ugh. I hate shopping.”

  A woman who hated to shop? He’d never met one. “What do you like to do?”

  She shrugged, considering his question. “Watch movies.”

  He recalled her apartment, the stacks of DVDs in her living room, the pile of plastic cases next to the TV in her bedroom. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go to a movie. Anything out you’d like to see?”

  “Seriously?” Her eyebrows rose even higher. “You’re taking me to a movie? And letting me pick?”

  “Oh, no. You’re going to drag me to a girly movie, aren’t you? Like…” He was reaching here, trying to grasp the title of the last movie he’d seen with a woman. “Steel Magnolias or…Beaches?”

  “It’s been a while since you’ve seen a movie, hasn’t it? Both of those are nearly as old as we are.”

  “I admit I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

  “Too busy being successful, I guess,” she supplied.

  She was right. Unless it promoted a healthier bottom line, he didn’t do it. And a movie midday when he could be on the phone with clients? Unheard of.

  But it was important Crickitt enjoy herself today. And he wasn’t about to suggest she go to a movie theater alone. It would be good for him to loosen up, have a bit of unscheduled fun.

  Fifteen minutes later, Thomas pulled to a stop in front of Regal Cinemas. Shane and Crickitt stepped out as a passing mother and her young daughter paused to gape at the limo.

  Crickitt didn’t seem to mind the attention, waving at the towheaded girl. “Neat, huh?”

  The girl smiled, then hid her face in her mother’s skirt.

  Inside, he perused the movie titles on the marquee board, each one as foreign as the next.

  Crickitt studied the board carefully, as if choosing a stock for her investment portfolio.

  “What looks good?” he asked.

  She turned to him, her face flushing. “Truth? I really want to see Creep.”

  “Creep,” he repeated, clueless. “What is that about? Abusive boyfriend? Maniacal ex-husband?”

  “No,” she said, drawing out the word. “It’s about these snakelike creatures that live in a lake and eat the locals.”

  He didn’t hide his shock. “Horror movie?”

  “I’m sort of a junkie.”

  “If you’re sure you won’t have nightmares, let’s do it.”

  He followed Crickitt to a row midway up the theater. She pushed the seat flat, juggling her drink and purse as she sat. Shane sat next to her, cradling an enormous bucket of popcorn he’d insisted on buying since he hadn’t been in a movie theater in years. But as he eased into the seat, it wasn’t the buttery snack that dominated his senses. It was Crickitt’s edible body spray that made her skin smell like dessert and heaven all rolled into one. He hadn’t been close enough to her today to notice, but he did now. Her neck was right there. Along with that little freckle he’d singled out the night they were at Triangle.

  “Thanks for the popcorn, boss,” she said, reaching over to scoop up a handful.

  Boss. There was a rude awakening.

  He should stop staring, and salivating. Using the bucket as a chaperone, he shoved it between them. He hadn’t thought this through. A movie theater midday? He and Crickitt were alone in the darkened room, save for the few souls scattered several rows behind and in front of them. If that wasn’t bad enough, she brushed his fingers with hers as she reached for another handful of popcorn.

  She slanted him a glance, but the lights dimmed before he could think of something to say.

  For the next hour and a half, he had a hard time keeping his eyes up front. And not because the on-scr
een monsters had three rows of razor-sharp fangs and, by some imaginative twist, moved as fast on land as they did in water. No, Shane had a hard time keeping his eyes focused on the screen because the woman next to him, who smelled like the sexiest birthday cake on the planet, had clutched his arm twice. Twice. She’d offered a whispered apology both times, blaming the movie, but he hadn’t minded.

  He hadn’t minded at all.

  By the end, she’d curled into the fetal position, heels on the edge of her seat, arms around her knees. The look of utter terror on her face made him want to comfort her, but he stopped short of wrapping his arm around her shoulders. That would be…wrong. And weird.

  He should’ve tried to talk her into the pirate movie.

  The credits rolled and lights rose. Crickitt finally unhinged her shoulders from her ears.

  “I thought you liked horror movies,” Shane said, gauging her reaction.

  She spun on him, eyes wide. “I do.” She dropped her feet to the sticky floor as her face split into a childlike grin. “Wasn’t it great?”

  He gave her a bemused chuckle. “Great?”

  “Yeah. Half the fun is being afraid. Did you like it at all?”

  “It was…okay.”

  “Were you scared?” She lifted one eyebrow in challenge.

  “No way.” He tilted his head. “Then again, they did remind me of a team of lawyers I used to employ,” he said, deliberately shuddering.

  Her warm laugh tugged at the center of his chest. He could get used to that sound, especially if he was the one to draw it out of her. When was the last time being around a woman was this effortless?

  “I can’t see you being intimidated by lawyers,” Crickitt said, standing from her seat. “You,” she gestured to him, “are Shane August, saver of lost entrepreneurial souls.”

  He grinned, flattered. “Funny, I just ordered a plaque with that on it.”

  He let her go ahead of him, following her down the narrow staircase toward the exit. He raised his palm but stopped short of pressing it against her back. Side by side, they entered the lobby, her hand brushing his as she crossed her arms over her chest. She mumbled an apology, her cheeks going a pretty tinge of pink.

  Had she done it on purpose?

  He found himself wanting to take her hand like he did earlier today, just to feel the warmth of her skin…but that kind of intimacy crossed the line from professional to really-bad-idea.

  He balled his hand into a fist and returned it to his side, but it didn’t keep him from wanting to reach for her, bad idea or not.

  Chapter 10

  Townsend flew in from Miami to his Columbus headquarters named, fittingly, Town Ventures. Crickitt had learned that his newly acquired company, MajicSweep, wasn’t his first rodeo. Which, according to Shane, was good news for August Industries. Repeat business was a rarity.

  “So,” Shane said, ushering Crickitt into the air-conditioned lobby, “this could be huge for us.” He worked the buttons on his jacket through their holes with the fingers of one hand. “Ready?” If he was nervous, it didn’t show. He was pressed and poised, not a hair out of place. She allowed her gaze to slide down his jacket and pants, taking in the sleek lines and the way his body filled out his suit.

  “Ready,” she said, dragging her eyes from his broad shoulders and trying to mimic his Fonzie cool.

  On the eighteenth floor, they stepped out of the glass elevator. Shane introduced himself to the receptionist, a pleasant-looking blonde who returned his smile and directed them to the conference room. When Shane thanked her and turned, the woman perused the length of his body with hungry eyes. She noticed Crickitt watching her but only offered an unapologetic shoulder shrug as if to ask, Do you blame me?

  And, no, she didn’t. Shane’s attractiveness was undeniable.

  A young man wearing a brown suit gestured for them to go into the conference room where light poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that ran along one long wall. Townsend’s staff each gave them an acknowledging nod before turning back to murmur among themselves, their voices echoing off the high, bare ceilings.

  “Mr. August.” Townsend entered and his staff cut their conversations off midsentence. Townsend extended a palm, standing a few inches over her Shane’s six three. His tanned skin contrasted dramatically with his white, cropped hair, and his suit looked as if it’d been stitched together while he wore it.

  “This is my assistant, Crickitt Day,” Shane said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Townsend said with a scowl suggesting the contrary. Crickitt kept a smile on her face and echoed his greeting, determined not to be intimidated by his powerful presence.

  With staff introductions out of the way, Crickitt followed Shane’s lead and took a seat at the long mahogany table. Henry’s six staff members waited until Townsend took his seat before collapsing into their chairs like dutiful soldiers. Already this felt more like her divorce hearing than a team meeting. Didn’t Townsend’s employees know they were all on the same side?

  Mr. Townsend opened the meeting by pointing in Shane’s direction. Shane handed over a leather portfolio filled with plastic-protected linen pages and began the informal presentation. Henry stared him down, but Shane remained unflustered. He outlined the plan for MajicSweep, referencing the charts and forms when necessary.

  “Do you have a wholesale supplier for MajicSweep’s cleaning products?” Shane asked.

  Townsend looked to the woman on his left. “Carrie?”

  Carrie blinked from behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses and did her best to answer, all the while quaking like an overcaffeinated chipmunk. Crickitt offered her a reassuring smile, but the woman sank into her chair, trying her best to blend in with the upholstery.

  Crickitt felt the frown dent her brow and quickly hid it. There was no reason for the man to be so brusque, but she wasn’t all that anxious to be on the receiving end of his steely glare, either.

  Townsend reached for one of the water pitchers in the center of the table and refilled his glass. He took a long drink, idly flipping through the portfolio while everyone, Crickitt included, held a collective breath. When he turned to the last page, he paused, and Crickitt caught a glimpse of MajicSweep’s new mascot. The idea was mentioned in the file she’d reviewed last night, but this was her first look at—

  “Sweepy the Broom,” Mr. Townsend grumbled.

  “Our art department took your suggestion to create a mascot,” Shane explained. He lifted his notes before continuing, “Carrie Dillard worked closely with our head graphic designer on the concept.”

  Carrie swallowed with an audible gulp. Shane nodded at her. “I agree with Carrie. A mascot is a great tool. Potential customers may choose MajicSweep over Company X because they’re familiar with your cartoon from billboards or television ads.”

  Crickitt eyed Shane, trying to discern if he thought this particular mascot was the best representative for a corporate cleaning service. While she agreed a mascot helped with company recognition, she doubted if Sweepy, a cartoon broom with wide, round eyeballs, would draw the kind of high-paying clientele Henry Townsend intended to attract.

  “What about you?”

  Crickitt looked up to find Mr. Townsend grousing at her.

  “Me?” she asked, her voice higher than she would have liked.

  “Yes, you. You look like you have something to say. What is your opinion about”—he held up the full-color grinning broom—“Sweepy, here?” He rattled the page when she didn’t answer.

  All eyes were on her. “Well…” She flicked a look at Shane who dipped his chin in encouragement.

  “To be perfectly honest…”

  Carrie’s eyes widened behind her glasses.

  “I think it’s…”—Crickitt cleared her throat and forced herself to continue—“silly.”

  * * *

  Shane was silent during the elevator ride to the ground floor, watching the numbered buttons rather than face Crickitt’s reflection on the doors. But, oh, she cou
ld feel his eyes boring into her now as they strode toward the visitors’ parking area.

  Thomas rounded the limo and opened the door for them. Behind her, Shane muttered, “Can you give us five minutes?”

  “Certainly,” Thomas answered. “I’ll just grab a cup of coffee. Can I bring you back anything?”

  “No, thanks,” Shane said.

  “Miss?” Thomas asked.

  Crickitt shook her head, wondering if she’d even be allowed in the limo when he got back. Maybe Shane would put her on a bus back to Osborn. Or make her walk. She doubted he wanted to ride home with the woman who tanked his reputation in the span of a few seconds.

  “Get in,” Shane instructed, one hand on top of the car door.

  She did as requested, grateful Thomas had left the AC running. Shane climbed in behind her, and heat infused the space between them. And this time, not because of the taut cord of attraction she felt whenever he was near.

  Wrestling with the cuffs on her shirt, she pushed the sleeves above her elbows, then fanned her collar over her damp bra. The door slammed as Shane settled into the bench beside her. Before he opened a can of “You’re fired,” Crickitt turned toward him and made her plea.

  “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re right. It wasn’t my place to speak so boldly in there. Mr. Townsend is a consummate professional. Like you,” she added, figuring a little sucking up never hurt. “I should have deflected his question, or at the very least answered with a bit of finesse. It wasn’t my intention to undermine your authority or insult our design staff. And I embarrassed poor Carrie who suggested the mascot in the first place.” She took a breath to give him a chance to comment.

  Silence greeted her.

  “If you keep me on at August Industries, the next time I promise…” She trailed off as Shane’s lips tilted into a smile.

  “You through?” he asked.

  “I guess so.” Crickitt clasped her hands and awaited the blow. “Am I fired?”

  Shane barked a laugh. “Fired?” He shook his head, looking more bemused than frustrated. “I underestimated you,” he said. “You know how to handle people.” He leaned against the armrest, propping his head in his hand. “You’re an asset, Crickitt. You saved my ass in there.”