Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  Ellis, whose idea of positive feedback generally amounted to, “Glad you didn’t screw this one up, Anderson,” had been practically effusive on the phone.

  “Lock it down. You won’t do better for your client.” Ellis had paused, as if he could barely force the words from his mouth. “And congratulations. I’ll make sure the partnership committee hears about this.”

  “Hold on, Jerry. There have been some changes to their offer. That’s why I’m calling.” She took a deep breath. Even with the senior partner’s praise ringing in her ears, Tori still hated to deliver the news to Jerry. Not because it was bad or even because Jerry would care—she knew he wouldn’t—but because, in a sense, it meant the other side had won.

  Something was just off with Brit Bencher stepping in at the last minute like this. Tori couldn’t put her finger on it, so she hesitated to mention her misgivings to Jerry.

  “They still want to buy the company?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then what’s the holdup?”

  Tori gritted her teeth. Jerry was the most brilliant software designer she had ever met, but he had no head for legal details. “They want indemnity.”

  “I thought you said we weren’t going to agree to that.”

  “I did, but things have changed.” She explained the new contract provisions Brit had added, and described the way he’d structured the indemnity so that Jerry wasn’t at risk the way he might have been otherwise.

  “Lord, Tori, I don’t care about any of this. What do you think?”

  “They’ve increased the purchase price by five million.” Her mouth suddenly went dry. She swallowed hard and forced herself spit out the words. “I think you should take it.”

  Jerry whistled low. “That’s a lot of trips to Boca. Listen, you know I trust you. If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

  Tori sighed. Though she appreciated the sentiment, she didn’t like having her clients make uninformed decisions. “Ellis read it over as well. He recommended you accept.”

  “Sounds great to me.” Jerry started to whistle the theme from Hawaii Five-O.

  Tori smiled, but a nagging feeling in her chest forced her to continue, and she wanted to kick herself for actually being excited about a possible date with Brit. “There’s something else…” It felt odd to bring it up, but Tori had to admit she was dying to tell someone what had happened in Brit’s office. That, and on the off-chance that it did turn into a real date, she wanted Jerry’s consent before she went any further.

  “What?”

  “Brit Bencher wants to take me out to dinner.”

  Jerry sucked in a breath. “The Slayer? Wow, you didn’t think he’d even show up for the meeting. So, have dinner. Maybe you can get me a couple extra million if you bat those pretty eyelashes of yours at him.”

  “Jerry, can you be serious for a minute?” Tori jumped up from the hotel bed and began to pace the room. “I’m sure it’s nothing, but we are on opposite sides of this deal. I don’t want you to think I’d compromise your position.”

  The humor fell away from Jerry’s voice. “Look, ever since I first came to you for help, you’ve done everything humanly possible for me, and don’t think I don’t know it. I wouldn’t worry for a minute that you’d let anything get between you and the deal. You never have and you never will.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want me to tell you not to go?”

  She paused. Was that what she wanted? “No, I’m confused.” She wandered into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights made her skin look yellow, and the bags under her eyes glowed like twin bruises. Yeah, there was definitely something up with The Slayer asking this out on a date.

  “I can’t imagine what he wants with me.”

  There was silence, then a low chuckle. “Tori, you don’t need me to explain the birds and the bees, do you? I seem to recall Phil wasn’t much of a man, but he did know how to…er…”

  “Jerry!” She couldn’t help but laugh. Jerry had never thought much of her ex-fiancé, and truth be told, neither had Tori. But Phil had seemed so steady. So predictable.

  The kind of guy who would never leave his wife and daughter to become a scuba instructor in Hawaii.

  Tori shook the sudden image of her father from her mind. “Look, I’m about five years older, eight inches shorter, and twenty pounds heavier than the type he’s usually seen with. I’m sure it’s not a date. He’s probably being polite.”

  “Tori.” He heaved a loud sigh. “My dear, you have no idea how attractive you are. I know a dozen men who would kill to take you out, but you refuse every time I bring them up. When’s the last time you went on a date, anyway?”

  She closed the toilet and sat on the lid, refusing to look again at the woman in the mirror. “A few months?”

  “Try nine. You brought Richard Finnley to my Technix party. He’s an accountant, for God’s sake.”

  “What’s wrong with accountants?”

  “Nothing, if they’re real men. Richard Finnley does not qualify as a real man.”

  Richard was exactly Tori’s height, a sweet man with soft hands and a sharp mind. Unfortunately, Jerry was right. By the end of the night, it had become clear that he was more interested in handling Tori’s finances than handling her.

  “Still…The Slayer? What would I do with him?”

  “If you’re asking me that question, then you really need this. Go have fun, Tori. Have sex with a hot guy. Live in the moment.”

  “Jerry!” Tori’s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of her head. “I couldn’t!”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “We’re negotiating a deal, Jerry.”

  “You told me that the deal is done,” Jerry pointed out. “You told me to accept the offer. I’ve accepted.”

  “The contract isn’t final,” Tori muttered.

  “If you’re really worried about it, ask Ellis to review it again before I sign. I don’t care. Seriously, I’ve been worried about you lately. You’re working too hard. You don’t seem happy.”

  She moistened the end of her finger and rubbed at a water spot on her boot. “I know I’ve been tense lately but I can’t slack off now. They’ve been ruthless with the associates the past couple of years. If I want to make partner, I’ve got to have amazing numbers, and I missed all that work last year when my mom had pneumonia—”

  Jerry snorted. “You bill twice the hours of the other slackers at that firm and you know it. But I’m not going to give you a hard time about it now. I want you to have some fun. I know you’ve got a thing against good-looking men, but try to put it aside. We’re not all bad.”

  Though Tori sometimes forgot because she had been friends with Jerry so long, he was a ladies’ man in his own right, with longish blond hair and a tall, rangy build. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a client, or perhaps the chemistry simply wasn’t there, but in either case, Tori never thought of Jerry as anything other than a brilliant software designer and dear friend.

  “Don’t worry, Jerry,” she said. “I don’t consider you one of them.”

  “You’re lying. But I forgive you.” The laughter slowly left his voice. “You know, you’re also one of the few people in this world I care about, so you tell him you’ve got a much stronger, better-looking guy on your side, if he doesn’t play nice.”

  Tori snorted. “Right. I’ll make sure to do that first thing. Thanks for the date, Mr. Bencher, but I want you to know if you aren’t nice to me, my friend Jerry will beat you up.”

  Jerry paused. Tori realized what she’d said a moment too late to recall the words. She could practically hear one of Jerry’s bushy blond eyebrows raise in his trademark ironic gesture.

  “But Tori,” he said, his voice laced with wicked amusement, “I thought this wasn’t a date.”

  …

  After finishing her call with Jerry, Tori lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She thought about Fritzy, and Mrs. Jenkins.r />
  Maybe she was working too hard. Maybe she did need to let loose, take her mind off work for a night.

  The very thought of letting loose with Brit Bencher sent a rush of heat from her cheeks to the tips of her toes. With a sigh of pure desire, she let herself play out the fantasy. Imagined his strong hands slipping off her coat, caressing her through her thin silk blouse, and then pulling up her skirt and sliding over her hips to the warm, wet place in between.

  A buzz from her BlackBerry shook Tori from her erotic reverie. With a deep sigh, she sat up and scrolled through her in-box. Twenty unread messages, most from Karl Bulcher, her most demanding client. They had a 9:00 a.m. meeting the day after tomorrow, and he wanted to move it to seven. Seven in the morning.

  She’d be exhausted. Jet-lagged. In desperate need of a day off. And thanks to Karl she’d now be going into the office at 7:00 a.m.

  Work. That was her life. Not hot sex with guys like The Slayer.

  Anyway, Brit had asked her to dinner, not a naked hot tub party. He was being polite. Either that, or he wanted something from her and it had nothing to do with sex.

  Tori’s Rules of Negotiation Number Two: assume nothing. If he came on to her, well, she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it. But she wouldn’t hold her breath waiting, and she refused to play the fool. She’d learned that from her mother.

  No man would get the better of Tori Anderson. Even if he was The Slayer.

  Chapter Three

  Tori smoothed her hair and peered into the mirror for the hundredth time as she waited for the soft buzz of the hotel phone. After reluctantly calling Brit and agreeing both to the basic terms of the deal and to dinner, she had taken a long soak in the hotel’s hot tub and an equally long shower. In that time, she had gathered any number of reasons to call him back and cancel their date.

  For one, Brit was far too charming. Tori had never trusted charming men—they reminded her of her father. That was why she preferred to date men like Phil and Richard Finnley. They were smart, decent men, without a charming bone in their bodies.

  What if Brit did want something more than just dinner? Like a kiss, maybe? She tried to imagine him leaning in toward her and burst out laughing. Next thing she knew, she’d be imagining flying unicorns and sparkly fairies taking her for a ride on a rainbow.

  Tori grabbed her boots from the tiny hotel closet, sat down on the edge of the bed, and then began the arduous process of shoving her extra-wide feet through the extra-narrow leather.

  A soft knock startled her from her reverie. She hopped awkwardly toward the door, still shoving her right foot into her boot. Stumbling over her own feet, Tori barely caught the door handle before awkwardly regaining her balance. She opened the door.

  The sultry fragrance of lilies tickled her nose. She stared in shock at a bouquet of white and pink Stargazers, then let her gaze travel slowly up the outstretched arm of the man offering them to her.

  “Brit?” she breathed with horror. He was early. Not to mention standing in the hall outside her door instead of meeting her in the lobby like she’d expected. “What are you doing here?”

  She tried not to picture the room behind her. She had only been there for a night, but after years of traveling, she tended to treat hotel rooms like second homes. The unfortunate unpadded bra had been flung across an end table, and her black lace nightgown lay on the armchair by the bed. Her laptop was blinking on the desk, a mountain of paperwork beside it, and the remnants of her half-starved raid on the minibar—M&M’s wrappers, a can of Diet Pepsi, and a half-empty bag of peanuts—littered the other available surfaces.

  He chuckled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you aren’t happy to see me.”

  Though she wouldn’t have thought it possible, he looked even better now than he had in the Excorp boardroom. His pinstriped suit and power tie had been replaced by a pair of snug-fitting khakis and a midnight blue sweater. Broad shoulders simply begged to be touched, and his narrow waist gave her visions of running her fingers along the inside of his pants.

  A rush of adrenaline jump-started her heart into a staccato rhythm.

  She swallowed hard. “I thought you were going to meet me in the lobby.”

  He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

  Changed his mind? Brit Bencher didn’t change his mind. He had come up here for a reason. Her eyes narrowed. If this were a negotiation, she’d say he was trying to throw her off her guard, fluster her by showing up at her door. But to what end? A man like Brit didn’t have to play games to get a woman in his bed.

  She studied him a moment, then shook her head. No sense trying to read his mind. She would know soon enough what he wanted. Meanwhile, Tori’s Rules of Negotiation Number Three: when in doubt, attack.

  Forcing a wide, easy smile, she took the flowers and pulled open the door. “Come in.”

  Tori set the bouquet on the desk, picked up her nightgown, and threw it into her open suitcase. Her heart leapfrogged from rapid to I just ran a marathon and think I might die.

  What was she doing? Playing games with The Slayer?

  Had she lost her mind?

  Brit’s broad-shouldered frame easily filled the small space between the single queen-size bed and wooden wardrobe. A smile hovered around the corners of his mouth. “No need to tidy up on my account. I really ought to have called first.”

  If anything, he seemed to grow more comfortable the longer he was in her room. Absurd to think a woman’s negligee could make The Slayer nervous.

  Tori knew she had lost control of the situation—no, scratch that: she’d never had control. She’d been insane to think she could hold her own against a man like Brit.

  Her mind spun furiously. Should she retreat? Swear off dinner?

  No. Her pride screamed in protest. No way.

  She found herself staring at his lips as a fresh wave of panic passed over her.

  She thought about Jerry, nine months without a date, and gritted her teeth.

  There would be no retreat.

  “I made us a reservation at Alessandro’s,” Brit continued, unaware of the battle raging inside Tori’s mind. “It’s a little Italian place in Queens. You aren’t one of those low-carb fanatics, are you?”

  Tori had told him to pick the spot for dinner, curious to see what his selection of restaurant would reveal. “Pasta is one of the reasons I get out of bed in the morning. That, and a nice piece of white toast with a slab of butter for breakfast.”

  The words were a form of challenge. Go ahead, she thought, compare me to your model girlfriends. Be my guest.

  His smile widened. “I like where you’re headed. Now add a couple of fried eggs and some real hash browns and you’re in business.”

  “Real hash browns, huh?” She crossed her arms below her breasts, forcing the soft fabric of her dress to stretch tightly over her full C-cups.

  “Shredded or cubed?”

  “Shredded, naturally.”

  She allowed herself a smile. “Now there’s a man who knows how to eat. We’ll get along fine, Mr. Bencher.”

  “Brit,” he reminded her.

  “Where did you come up with Brit?” she asked. “Isn’t your real name John?”

  “You’ve been reading about me?” He lifted one eyebrow and leaned against the wardrobe, thrusting one hand casually into his pant pocket. The move made the fabric pull tighter across his groin.

  Tori’s pulse skipped a beat. “Research. Know thy opponent, and all that jazz.”

  “Well, if I tell you how I got my name, you’ll have to tell me why you turned down a clerkship with a Supreme Court justice.”

  She sucked in a breath. “How in the world did you find that out?”

  “Research.”

  No one knew about the clerkship offer. Not even her mother—or rather, especially her mother, who was the reason she had been forced to turn it down. Whatever modicum of control Tori thought she had managed to retain slipped through her fingers.

  “Why don�
��t we head down to dinner?” She had no intention of discussing her clerkship, or any other matter involving her mother, with Brit Bencher.

  His steely gaze assessed, analyzed, and then silently agreed to back off. He glanced at her thin jersey dress with its deep V-neck. “It’s a bit chilly. Do you have a coat?”

  She shook her head. “I try to travel light.”

  “I’ll have the car brought around.” He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and stepped back toward the door to the room, speaking quietly.

  Tori took advantage of his distraction to scroll quickly through the messages on her BlackBerry. Her fingers trembled; she needed the familiar sight of the mountain of work waiting for her to break through her panic.

  At least at work she knew what she should do. Unlike here, in this hotel room, where she was completely lost.

  Brit finished his brief call and slipped his phone into his pocket. Tori fumbled with her purse, throwing in her hotel key card and wallet, noting as she did that her secret condom stash still had at least one foil-wrapped packet in it.

  Oh dear God, what if he did want to have sex? Could she do it?

  When she looked up again her face was burning. If only Brit didn’t have that tiny bend to his nose, the one that suggested he’d broken it in his youth, then perhaps she might not be acting like a hormone-driven teenager. But his combination of tough and sexy was giving her hives.

  She cleared her throat. “I guess I’m ready.”

  He surveyed her from head to toe. “Are you sure you’re a lawyer?”

  Suddenly aware of the curve of her waist and the way the dress outlined her thighs, Tori felt a rush of pure feminine pleasure. Finally, something she could say for certain: Brit hadn’t invited her out to dinner to talk business. Brit was coming on to her.

  But why?

  And did it matter?

  He’s on the other side of the deal, her sensible lawyer-self said.

  You finished negotiating the deal this afternoon, her sex-starved-self retorted. Besides, your client gave you permission. Hell, he suggested it!