“Nothing.”
Annie emitted a frustrated growl. “You still think my plan won’t work, don’t you? Well, fine,” she huffed. “I’m so confident it will, I’ll agree to your stupid back-up plan. But we won’t need it.”
Was it his imagination, or did her voice lose a little conviction on that final note?
Annie spent the next half hour outlining a list of what she considered appropriate behavior. Sadly, to his regret, kissing wasn’t on it. She also insisted they schedule bathroom time, and since Mitch liked to shower early, they both agreed he should take the bathroom first.
“We will never be in the bathroom at the same time again,” she told him, flipping the notebook closed. Inwardly, Mitch breathed a sigh of relief.
“Fine by me,” Mitch told her. “Next time you get stuck in the bathtub I’ll dial 911.”
Annie glared at him. “I don’t intend to take another bath while we’re here.”
“Maybe not this week,” Mitch mumbled under his breath. He’d already come up with quite a fantasy involving her, him and that tub. As soon as Annie’s arrangement failed, he fully intended to reenact it—in the flesh. Naked flesh. Complete with bubbles and champagne and—
“What was that?” Annie asked.
“Er, nothing.” He grinned and his gaze met hers. “Any shower catastrophes I should know about?”
Blushing prettily, Annie rolled her eyes and a small smile bowed her lips. “No.”
Mitch nodded. “Just checking.”
Annie chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve found myself in more embarrassing situations since I’ve met you than I’ve ever had in my life. You’re a bad influence.”
Mitch nodded, pleased. “Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Annie told him, shooting him a look.
“That depends on your perspective,” Mitch said. “I prefer to think that I’ve disarmed you with my charming personality.”
Annie chuckled, then rose from her chair.
Perplexed, Mitch lifted her head. “Where are you going?”
“To bed. It’s getting pretty deep in here and I can’t remember if I packed any boots.” Annie started down the hall. “Be finished with your shower—and any other extracurricular activities which you perform in the bathroom—by seven, okay, Mitch? I’d hate to inadvertently disturb you again.”
Chapter Eight
Annie awakened Thursday morning to the sound of birds chattering outside her window. Well-rested and wearing a sleepy, pleasant smile, she stretched lazily and opened her eyes. Bright light spilled in through the lace curtains, bathing the room with dappled shadows. Getting the last word with Mitch last night had pleased her so much she’d gotten the best sleep she could recall in years. Reveling in her uncharacteristic good morning mood, Annie rolled over and checked the bedside clock…then froze.
9:42!
Annie shot up in bed and grabbed the clock for a closer look. But how could that be? she wondered. She’d set the alarm for six-thirty. The alarm was off, indicating that she’d either she’d never turned I on—and she distinctly remembered doing that—or she’d been sleeping so soundly that she’d awakened only enough to cut the alarm off and hadn’t reset it. Annie frowned. That wasn’t like her, but of course shed been doing lots of things lately that weren’t true to her character. Like kissing Mitch and falling in puddles of water. While naked.
Annie sighed over the first memory, winced at the latter, then put them both determinedly from her mind. Though her extended slumber wouldn’t cause her to miss their lunch appointment with Les, Annie still had some things that she wanted to take care of this morning. Like speaking to Liz, she thought, remembering Mitch’s phone call from dear ol’ John last night.
After she’d adjourned to her room the previous evening, Annie’d pulled out her laptop and sent an urgent e-mail to her own assistant for the duration of this silly contest. She’d asked Liz to do a little snooping around about whatever it was Mitch was so enthused over last night. Though she doubted his campaign would be better than hers—even though she didn’t have a firm concept per se—Annie had too much riding on it to leave anything to chance.
Annie’d never had a problem working up a few ideas and this case as certainly no exception. She had roughly six good, workable campaigns. Nevertheless, she knew none of her current thoughts would dazzle Les Peters. She bit her lip. And nothing short of dazzling would do for the flamboyant little cowboy.
She huffed a breath of exasperated air. And the way Mitch had been carrying on last night, she’d have though he’d come up with something better than a legendary stomach remedy jingle. Annie scowled. Since Annie had always made it a priority to know her competition, one of Liz’s first acts as her assistant had been to unearth some of Mitch’s previous campaigns from his college days when he’d still worked at Hightower.
Like every beginner, some of his ideas were horrible, but most showed definite promise. Grudgingly, Annie had to admit that, had Mitch stuck with Hightower, he’d definitely be a force to be reckoned with. It must have really hurt William when his protégé nephew left the company.
But whatever Mitch’s reason for taking a different path from his familial predecessors, the fact remained that he’d walked away and she’d stepped in.
Annie had built more than a career there, she’d found a home. The company had become her identity in some ways, and truth be told, she needed it.
In her own dysfunctional way, Annie had made the people she worked with into her family. William she likened to a father. Betty in accounting a grandmother. Carl from the art department, an uncle. She had much more at stake than Mitch, Annie decided petulantly. After all, he could go back to his computer company. What did he need with Hightower Advertising?
Annie paused and for the time since considered that question. What did he need with Hightower? After all the time, why had made the company a priority now? Like herself, did Mitch have some illogical personal reason which had made him equally desperate to secure the CEO position? And if so, then what was it?
Feeling an unexpected softening toward him, Annie bristled and told herself whatever his reason, it didn’t matter. She’d been looking out for herself too long to entertain any thoughts to the contrary. She’d do well to remember that.
Instead of contemplating Mitch’s motivation, she should be thinking about her campaign. Or lack thereof, she amended. Nevertheless, while Annie would privately admit to a few inconvenient insecurities, her ability to invent and market certain products hadn’t failed her yet. Admittedly, certain items posed more of an advertising problem—like hot dogs—but she hadn’t a doubt that she could do it. And, given the opportunity, Annie was certain she competently lead Hightower Advertising into the twenty-first century.
But she had to get out of bed first.
With a sigh, Annie hoisted herself up and planted her feet on the floor. She padded to the door and poked her head out, disappointed when the pleasing aroma of coffee didn’t instantly tickle her nose. That was odd, she thought. Since their arrival some three days ago, Mitch had appointed himself “Guardian of the Grounds” and hadn’t let her near the sophisticated coffee maker. It was then that Annie noted the absolute stillness of the cottage. Not a sound came from the other rooms. No water running, no TV, and, she realized as uneasiness made her empty stomach clench, no Mitch. She knew it.
With a flash of flurry, Annie jerked the door open. Clad in her robe, she stalked through the house to confirm her suspicions. Her search proved futile. She’d been right. He was gone. Her eyes narrowed fractionally. And it didn’t’ take a genius to figure out where.
That low-down dirty sneak had gone to see Les. Without her, which could only mean one thing. While she’d been doing her Sleeping Beauty impersonation, Mitch had taken the opportunity to track down Les and give his pitch. Another surge of fury rocketed through her veins, making her grit her teeth.
And to think she’d almost entertained some charitable thoughts about him! Go
od thing she’d caught herself. Annie didn’t take time to contemplate the underlying disappointment she felt upon realizing Mitch’s underhanded trickery. Instead, she shoved it to the very back of her mind, where she stored all of life’s past disillusions. It was starting to get a little crowded back there.
Then, she did what she always did when dealt a blow—Annie immediately planned a counterattack.
A grim smile touched her lips. Mitch would never know what hit him.
“Now, see here,” Les announced in his louder-than-a-megaphone voice. “You mighta been hunting with some of those amateurs who spray themselves down with scent, plant a little corn on the path and hide up in a tree,” he said derisively. “But this ain’t how I do it.” Les huffed indignantly as he barreled through the woods like a leprechaun in camouflage. “Hell, boy. That ain’t huntin’! That’s waitin’! Humph! I hunt like they did in the old days before it got so gol-darned sophisticated.”
Mitch suspected Les didn’t hunt like any other soul on earth, much less one of his touted ancestors. While Mitch’s hunting experience had been limited to a few excursions with Uncle Will as a teenager, he’d nevertheless gleaned a few pertinent tips for bagging his game.
One of which was the need for silence. For instance, when tracking an animal, one didn’t announce one’s presence to the would-be prey.
Listening to Les loudly regale him with more hunting anecdotes, Mitch decided the little meat magnate had never learned that particular ploy. Hell, he was certain any self-respecting animal within a two-mile radius had already fled the surrounding woods and given them both a wide berth.
“And so,” Les said, awkwardly smacking a tree limb out of his way with a short stubby arm, “that’s why I don’t even carry a gun into the woods. Sorta evens up the odds for the animal, wouldn’t you say? After all, the deer isn’t armed.”
And that would be the other hot tip, Mitch thought silently. When hunting, one generally had procured a weapon.
How did Les catch them, provided he ever did actually stumble cross an animal too dumb or weak to get away from him? Suddenly, Mitch had a horrible mental vision of Les tackling a deer and wrestling it to the ground.
“I bet you’re wonderin’ how I ever get a deer, aren’tcha? Les said, interrupting Mitch’s overactive imaginings. “Well, it’s like this. I use my bare hands. I wrassle ‘em to the ground, then pull out my trusty pocket knife-“ Les pated his pockets in search of his weapon and come up empty-handed. He frowned. “Well, anyhoo, you get the picture.”
Yes, Mitch thought, unfortunately he did.
As far as he could see, Les’s only concession to conventional hunting was his camouflage outfit. Which, Mitch decided, knowing Les’s penchant for dressing up, was obviously the draw.
“That’s amazing, Les. I’ve never thought of it that way.”
Les turned and shot him a pleased look. “I’ve learned that most people don’t think the way I do.”
Mitch resisted the urge to mutter a heartfelt “Amen.”
Les paused and whipped a gourmet granola bar from one of the many pockets on his extravagant hunting gear. “I’m getting a little hungry. Want one?” he asked.
“Uh, sure,” Mitch said, though he’d just as soon eat tree bark. Still, he was supposed to be wooing Les, not critiquing his eating habits. That’s why he’d sneaked away this morning and accepted Les’s impromptu invitation to join him on this hunting farce.
His conscience twinged a little at deceiving Annie, but it was unavoidable to achieve his goal. Sabotaging her alarm clock had been a stretch even for him, but again, necessary. Had Annie known he’d planned to sneak over and see Les this morning, she wouldn’t have stood for it. And, considering he was no longer just trying to win his uncle’s game, but attempting to save his sanity as well, there was simply too much at stake.
After Annie had gone to bed last night, Mitch had made up his mind to put an end to this contest as quickly as possible. Spending time with Annie had distracted him from his goal, and lately he’d become more interested in learning the shape of her mouth—or more specifically, tasting that mouth—than besting her.
Mitch had always had healthy male urges, but the emotions that Annie Witherspoon aroused in conjunction with those urges was something totally new and completely unexpected. And a little frightening as well. Suddenly he remembered Annie just as she’d been this morning when he’d sneaked into her room. Utterly gorgeous. He expelled a pent-up breath. The sooner they were out of Texas and back in Atlanta the better.
Whistling tunelessly, Les trundled over and plopped down on a felled tree. He kicked his tiny booted feet out and instructed Mitch to take the mossy spot beside him, then handed him one of the tasteless granola bars. Mitch inwardly shrugged, then bit into the oaty rectangle.
“So, any hanky-panky happenin’ with you and that little spitfire yet?” Les asked casually.
Mitch choked.
Les guffawed happily, then jumped up, rounded the log and pounded Mitch on the back with enough force to collapse a lung. “Hell, boy. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He chuckled again. “Just curious is all.”
Mitch’s eyes watered as his throat convulsed around a wad of dry oats. Was it possible to perform the Heimlich maneuver on yourself? he wondered wildly. Hell, he’d have to—Les’s arms were too short to wrap around Mitch’s middle.
With supreme effort, he finally managed to swallow the obstruction. Or at least the part that hadn’t settled at the bottom of his lungs. “Uh, no, sir. No…hanky-panky,” he rasped. Mitch pulled in a deep breath of blessed oxygen and wiped the moisture from his eyes.
Seemingly satisfied that Mitch wasn’t going to expire, Les resumed his seat on the log. “Well, then, that’s a shame. Handsome man like you, pretty girl like her,” he lamented in aw-shucks voice, as though Mitch hadn’t almost choked to death only seconds ago. The little cowboy shot him a suspicious look and his bushy brows rose an inch. “You ain’t one of them boys that likes boys, are you?”
Mitch was thankful he had foregone the rest of his gritty snack, otherwise he might have choked again. He shook his head emphatically. “No, sir. I’m not. I like girls,” he assured. “Lots of girls.”
Les laughed. “So what’s the problem then? You like girls, and Annie’s a girl,” he reasoned. “Mighty fine lookin’ girl too.”
Now if this wasn’t a blatant attempt at matchmaking, Mitch would eat the rest of the horrible granola bar.
“She’s real smart, too,” Les continued, listing Annie’s many good points. “Put herself through school. And what with her sorry beginning and all, that’s pretty good indication of character. Takes a real scrapper to accomplish all that she has.”
It took a minute for the last part of Les’s glowing recommendation of Annie to sink in. Curiosity got the better of Mitch.
“What about her beginning?” he heard himself asking.
“Oh, you didn’t know?” Les asked innocently. “Well, since Annie doesn’t keep her childhood a secret, I don’t suppose it would hurt for me to tell you.” He paused. “Annie was abandoned as a child, raised in the foster care system. From what your uncle says, some of the homes were pretty bad. Abusive. It’s a shame, isn’t it? That someone so good had to go through that? Makes you wonder how many other children like her are out there. And if they turned out as well,” he added soberly.
After a moment, Les smacked his thighs and stood. “Well, I suspect we should be getting’ back. We’re due for lunch in a few minutes.”
Still taken aback by this unexpected revelation about Annie’s childhood, Mitch stood as well. No wonder she was so close to Uncle Will, he realized. His kindhearted uncle had taken her under his wing and, like a starving little chick, Annie had sort of let herself be adopted. A peculiar feeling tightened in his chest. So many things about her now, made sense. Things that—
“So, if you really like girls as you say, then what’s the problem with Annie?” Les asked again, interrupting Mitch’s turbulent
thoughts with another nosy question.
Inwardly, Mitch sighed. Here he’d planned to corner Les about the campaign and instead, he was getting cornered. “Annie isn’t a problem per se, Les. She’s a colleague. I make it a point not to mix business with pleasure.” There, Mitch thought, Les was a businessman, surely he could understand that logic, even though it was a lie. Mitch liked to be able to find a little pleasure in everything he did.
“That’s funny,” Les remarked, scratching his temple. “I seem to recall an article about you and a little data entry clerk a few years back.”
An alarm sounded in Mitch’s head. The article in question was at least five years old and had run in one of the smaller tabloids. Les either had a photographic memory, or he’d done a background check. Gut instinct told Mitch it was both.
“I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Mitch said carefully.
Les laughed until he wheezed. “Alright, alright.” He sighed. “Still, can’t help thinking the two of you would make a fine couple. Seems to take forever these days. Why, when I was a young feller…” Les droned on, but Mitch tuned him out.
Not bloody likely.
Mitch wanted to have a wife and a family—someday. But not now. A relationship like that would be too hard to cultivate and maintain at this point in his life. He had to tackle first things first. And presently, taking over the family company and making certain he had something to pass on to future offspring was his main priority.
Mitch shook his head and shot Les a level look. “Sir, I don’t mean any disrespect, but I didn’t come here with Annie to fool around. I came to pitch a hot dog campaign. And frankly, thus far —”
An electronic ring interrupted Mitch’s courageous and probably stupid statement. Puzzle, he frowned. They were still in the woods, a good quarter-mile from the estate. Where on earth was that noise coming from?
Les looked startled as well, then grunted and began to pat himself down. “Now where did I put that blasted cell phone?” Les asked himself distractedly.
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