Rules of Negotiation

by Inara Scott

  “You really shouldn’t leave them with a neighbor,” Brit said with a frown. Sometimes he wondered how Ross’s ex-wife could have agreed to shared custody. “Besides, isn’t it past bedtime?”

  “Brit fancies himself everyone’s father,” Ross confided to Tori. “He thinks I’m an absolutely hopeless parent.”

  “Oh really?” She gave Ross one of her warm, genuine smiles. “That’s hard to believe.”

  “All too true,” Ross said, warming to his topic. “And you wouldn’t believe the way he hovers over our sister, Melissa. It’s a wonder she doesn’t—”

  “Don’t you need to check on your order?” Brit asked. The last thing he needed was for Ross to open his big mouth.

  “No, Serena’s bringing it out to me.” Ross glanced back and forth between Tori and Brit, his gaze turning speculative. “So what brings you to Alessandro’s, big brother? This isn’t your usual after-work hangout.”

  “I thought Tori would enjoy Frank’s Alfredo.”

  “Is that right?” Ross waited for a moment.

  Brit tightened his jaw and refused to elaborate. Damned if he was going to explain anything to his distinctly untrustworthy brother.

  “I’m flying back to Philly tomorrow,” Tori added. “I’m only in town for the night.”

  “You know, it’s interesting. I don’t think Brit’s ever brought anyone here before. At least, not that I’ve ever seen.”

  Serena appeared with a brown paper bag and handed it to Ross. He took it and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Looks like I’m ready to go. You two have a nice dinner. Brit, I’ll see you next Saturday. Don’t forget, Luke has a game at eleven.”

  Brit snorted. “You’ve forgotten more games than I have.” He sighed with relief as Ross said good-bye to Tori and left the room. “Sometimes it’s great to have a close family, and sometimes…”

  Tori glanced at Ross’s retreating back. “He seems very nice.”

  Nice like a hyena, Brit thought. “Sometimes I get a little tired of cleaning up after him, but someone’s got to do it. What about you?” he asked. “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “No. Just me and my mom.” She buried her head in her menu. “I suppose I better take a look at my options—or should I go with the Alfredo?”

  Brit made a mental note to find out what had happened to the mother she was so uncomfortable talking about.

  “Trust me,” he said. He pulled the menu from her trembling hands. She was too bright for him to bring up Solen now, he thought, with a small amount of relief. Perhaps after dinner. Yes, that was it. When they’d had a few bottles of wine, and her defenses were down. He’d ask her about Solen then.

  “I’ll take care of you tonight,” Brit promised. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  Chapter Five

  After Ross’s departure and several glasses of an excellent merlot, Tori began to relax enough to enjoy Brit’s company. He kept her off-balance by alternatively stroking her hand and gently touching her knee under the table, but she managed not do anything morbidly embarrassing, like drop a noodle down her dress, spill her wine, or say anything further about her mother.

  It took some effort, though, to silence her mother’s voice, echoing in her mind.

  He’s not your type, Tori.

  Never trust a charming man, Tori.

  He’ll break your heart, Tori. Men like that always do.

  Resolutely, she pushed the familiar warnings aside. Tonight was going to be different. Brit’s behavior around his brother, the possessive, almost proprietary way he growled at Ross when he kissed her hand, had finally convinced her that this date might be for real. She convinced herself to relax and enjoy whatever the night may bring.

  At least for now. When they were alone, she planned on freaking out all over again.

  The Alfredo was indeed something to write home about—creamy and fragrant, and so rich she could eat only a tiny portion of the enormous plate she was served. Brit was as funny and charming as the gossip rags suggested. He made her laugh with his dead-on imitation of Harold, and they discovered a shared love of unhealthy food and good wine. In fact, the evening passed so quickly that Tori was shocked it was after midnight when they finally headed out for Brit’s car.

  The wine had left her head pleasantly fuzzy, and she leaned gratefully on Brit’s arm as he guided her out the restaurant door and into the waiting Mercedes. Ella Fitzgerald’s throaty voice filled the interior as Tori leaned her head against the back of the seat and slouched down into the soft leather.

  Putting her arms behind her ears, she stretched languidly. “Mmmm,” she sighed. “That was truly an exceptional meal. Frank makes the finest tiramisu I’ve ever tasted.” The chef had come to their table not long after they finished the main course. He had insisted she try the rich, espresso-soaked cake, even though Tori protested that she had already gained three pounds from eating her pasta.

  Brit cast her an amused look. “You look like a cat, all ready to curl up and take a nap in the sun.”

  She watched him through her lashes and stretched again. Her body felt heavy and full, the food and the wine combining with a delicious sensual anticipation that left everything clouded in a pleasant haze.

  “Meow.”

  Tori was startled by the sound of her own voice.

  Did you actually make a sound like a cat?

  She was obviously still living some other woman’s life. Tori Anderson, workaholic overachiever attorney, would never make that sound. Hell, Tori Anderson would never be here, in the back of a car, with a man destined someday to be voted Sexiest Man in America.

  He leaned over and ran a hand along the side of her face, where a mix of waves and curls spilled over her shoulder. In a second, her body became alert, acutely aware of his every move. His fingers stroked the length of her hair, then came back to trace the line of her jaw. Her throat tightened, and without conscious thought, she placed her own hand on his thigh. A muscle moved, hardened under her touch. She slid her hand from his knee to the top of his hip, marveling as she did at the ridges of muscles under her fingers.

  They stopped at a red light. As throaty saxophones harmonized with Ella, Brit caught her hand and pulled it to his lips.

  “I would take you home with me,” he said into her flesh, “but I don’t think I can wait that long. Your hotel is closer. Is that all right?”

  He waited for a response, leaving the larger question unasked. In a heartbeat, the old Tori Anderson reasserted herself, and her eyes fluttered closed. She didn’t even know this man, other than his reputation, and worse yet, they were in the midst of finalizing a deal.

  She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.

  She nodded. “Please.”

  …

  By the time they reached the hotel, Tori’s entire body was throbbing with a mix of fear and anticipation. Brit led her inside. Though it was late, the lobby was still humming with life, businessmen in suits checking in with black rolling suitcases, women in evening gowns and diamonds laughing from barstools in the restaurant.

  The panic that had been toying with her all night returned in a rush as they made their way toward the elevators. She slowed her pace, unable to face what came next.

  I shouldn’t do this. I can’t do this…

  Brit stopped. He scrutinized her face, then pulled her into a sheltered alcove. He touched her hand to his lips, breathing gently on it. “Tori, I think you know how I want this evening to end. But if you’d rather I went home now, say so. I won’t push you into anything you don’t want to do.”

  “I…I…” She stumbled over the words. Perhaps other, more sophisticated women would know how to act right now, but the truth was, she didn’t know the first thing about one-night stands. Especially with men like Brit.

  Lord, I can’t even get a fling right.

  “Tori?”

  Damn it!

  She tipped her face toward his and heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Brit, but I think you should go.”

  H
e paused, and in that moment Tori hated herself. She hated her fear, her inability to relax with a beautiful man, and most of all, she hated her total, utter commitment to her job.

  “Because of the deal?”

  She nodded. “That. And…I can’t.” She shook her head, wishing she could die, right then and there, and never have to look him in the eye again. “Maybe another time.”

  Brit touched his hands to her waist. With a smooth, practiced motion, he tugged her closer, until she pressed against the length of him. He barely paused before capturing her mouth, claiming her with a kiss that reached all the way to her toes. When she had been turned from a firm, resolute woman to a helpless creature of need, he pulled back and grinned.

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Tori sucked in a breath. Dear God, did he mean it? The barest hint of an answering smile touched the corner of her mouth.

  He placed one final butterfly kiss on the tip of her nose. “Until we meet again.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Six

  “You went on a date with The Slayer? The SLAYER? I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!”

  Betsy’s voice started at a whisper but rose with each word. They were standing in the hall in front of Tori’s office. Tori checked up and down the sleek, light-filled hallway of the newly remodeled office, her face burning; with her luck a senior partner would pick exactly that moment to wander past. Luckily, the passage was clear. It was almost six-thirty, and most of the lawyers and staff had gone home.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tori hissed at her assistant. “All I said was that we had dinner. I never said it was a date.”

  Betsy was a short, round woman with carefully teased black hair that had more than a few streaks of gray, and heavy makeup that she proudly attributed to Avon. Betsy was only forty-five, but she insisted her four children had aged her prematurely. She had been Tori’s assistant for four years, ever since Tori joined the firm, and they worked together well, taking turns envying each other’s lives. Betsy had a fabulous marriage, great kids, and the air of satisfaction that Tori supposed came from knowing she was doing exactly what she was meant to do. For her part, Betsy envied Tori’s travels and her supposedly glamorous, carefree existence.

  Betsy wagged a finger at Tori. “I know what you said, but you’ve been in a daze ever since you walked into the office this afternoon, and I swear I heard you hum. Need I point out that Tori Anderson never hums? You’ve checked that BlackBerry a hundred times since you got here, and that’s bad, even for you. That, and someone delivered three dozen roses to your office while you were in your last meeting.”

  Tori froze. “Roses?” she croaked. “For me?”

  “Yes, you,” Betsy laughed. “Don’t look so appalled. Roses are a good thing, not a sign of the apocalypse.”

  Tori was already hurrying into her office, her gaze darting around until she saw the crystal vase filled with dark red roses sitting in the middle of her enormous antique walnut desk, the sultry fragrance already filling the room. Without even pretending not to care, she jerked the envelope from the plastic holder and ripped it open.

  Here’s to next time—Brit

  “Here’s to next time?” Betsy shrieked. “Oh my God, did you sleep with him?”

  Tori spun around. “Betsy, hush!” She jumped up to close the door to her office. “Of course I didn’t sleep with him. We, um, kind of made out.”

  She shouldn’t be telling her secretary this. She shouldn’t be telling anyone this. But the tiny smile she’d been hiding all day burst free, for one tiny moment. She still couldn’t believe she’d kissed Brit Bencher. Maybe she had freaked out afterward, and maybe she didn’t have the guts to actually consummate the deal, but hell, he hadn’t run screaming from her or laughed at her refusal to let him spend the night. What kind of a man did that?

  “Made out? What is this, high school?” Betsy grabbed the card and studied it for a moment. “Here’s to next time? Sounds like someone wants to finish the job.”

  “Well, that’s romantic.” Tori rolled her eyes, though the thought of finishing anything with Brit set every nerve in her body on fire.

  Especially the ones between her legs.

  “Romance schmo-mance. You’ll be back to New York to close the Technix deal in a couple of weeks, right? You can jump in bed with him then.”

  “I’m going there for business, not to sleep with Brit Bencher. You know I don’t have time to fool around, Betsy. I promised the business group I’d do a song and dance about my practice for the summer associates starting next week. I’ll need your help with a presentation. And then there’s—”

  “Karl Bulcher,” Betsy interrupted. “I saw your e-mail and I moved the appointment on your calendar to seven tomorrow morning.”

  Tori rubbed her eyes. The mere mention of Karl was enough to wipe away any remaining giddiness over her night with Brit. “If he’s serious about this new acquisition we’ll have to start assembling a team. We’ll need a few associates, all the summer people, and at least one other paralegal to help with the due diligence.”

  Betsy held up her hand as if to stop the flood of assignments. “I get the picture. Do you need me to come in early?”

  “No, we can work on it when you get in.” She opened her eyes to the sight of deep crimson velvety petals. Karl Bulcher disappeared from her thoughts and an image of Brit’s eyes, locked on hers as he leaned in for a kiss, appeared in its place.

  “Was he as good as they say?”

  “Betsy!” Tori said in a strangled voice.

  A broad smile brought out the dimples in Betsy’s plump cheeks. “I thought so. Man, some people have all the luck. Tell me again why you didn’t sleep with him?”

  Tori sank into the leather chair behind the desk. “You are incorrigible.” She steepled her fingers and rested her chin on top, staring down at the Ben Franklin Parkway and the collection of brightly colored flags that lined it. “We’re in the middle of the deal. It was too weird. Besides, he’s like a movie star or something. I can’t imagine he’s really interested in me.”

  “You have a serious self-esteem problem,” Betsy said. “I saw this show once on successful women, and it said they’ve been conditioned to undervalue their worth—”

  “Betsy! If I want a talk show dose of therapy, I promise, I will get one. Anyway, I assume, since you make my calendar, you’ve looked at it? Did you see a lot of free nights in there?”

  “That is your choice, not a requirement,” Betsy retorted. “You nailed down the Excorp deal yesterday. You could take a night off. No one expects to make partner in their sixth year anymore.”

  Tori thought about her mother, and Langston Estates. She knew Betsy did, too, because her assistant’s face softened, and sympathy creased her heavily made-up eyes.

  How much time do I have? A year? Two?

  “Oh, hon,” Betsy shook her head. “I’m sorry. I understand. At least call Brit back. You’ve got to say thank you for the flowers, don’t you?”

  “I’ll send him an e-mail.”

  “You’re kidding me. You’re really going to walk away from the first real man I’ve seen you with in the past four years?”

  “Have you been talking to Jerry?” Tori asked.

  Betsy ignored the question, pinning her down with a mother’s glare. “I’m not saying you have to date Fabio, but please, at least go for someone in your own class.”

  “My class is five-six and pasty. Besides, I don’t like charming guys. They’re shifty. You can’t trust them.”

  “They’re not all like your dad,” Betsy said.

  Tori ignored the reference to her father. She regretted, not for the first time, the fact that Betsy had known her mother before the Alzheimer’s. She leaned back and put her hands in her lap. “Betsy, you researched Brit for me—you know he’s with a different girl every week. Why in the world would you want me to go after someone who gives new meaning to the phrase �
�love ’em and leave ’em’?”

  “Maybe it would be different with you. Maybe you’ll be the one to tame his wild, cowboy soul.”

  A smile cracked the corner of her mouth. “Right. I couldn’t tame my own cat.” She picked up the top piece of paper from the mountain of correspondence Betsy had stacked beside her computer. “I’ve got enough work to last me until Christmas. You should get home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Pursing her lips, Betsy studied Tori’s face. “You flew in this morning from New York, and from the look of those bags under your eyes, I’ll guess you only got a few hours of sleep last night. Why not knock off now? The work will be here in the morning.”

  “No can do. Especially now that I know Karl’s serious about this acquisition.”

  “Remind me exactly why you are the only one who can handle this?” Betsy asked. “Last time I looked there were forty other lawyers in this firm, and any one of them would be happy to take on Mr. Bulcher’s latest project.”

  Tori ground her teeth and prayed for patience. She had fought this particular fight with Betsy many times before. “Akro is one of our biggest clients, and for some unknown reason, no one can handle Karl like me. He’s a son of a bitch, but he knows I’ll get the job done. He’s my ticket into the partnership, Betsy. All I have to do is keep him happy.”

  Betsy heaved herself out of the chair and walked back to her cubicle on the other side of the hall, shaking her head as she went. “Whatever you say, boss. Whatever you say.”

  …

  The sun was throwing a curtain of pink across the horizon and the air was turning cool when Tori finally slid into the seat of her black and white Mini. A mountain of manila folders and heavy black binders—bedtime reading to prepare for her meeting with Karl—overflowed the passenger seat, along with the crystal vase and its cargo of roses. Their sensual fragrance overwhelmed the small space. Ella Fitzgerald’s voice slid through the car as Tori turned the key, and she sat still for a moment, instantly transported back to Brit’s Mercedes.