by Lisa Plumley
She arched her eyebrows expectantly. Also, hilariously.
Jason couldn’t believe she’d had the audacity to pantomime that gesture. She’d seemed like the supersexy librarian type.
“You are kind of a rock-star CEO,” Danielle clarified. “Isn’t signing unconventional autographs part of your oeuvre?”
With vigor, she made rock on! devil’s horns with both hands. He figured he deserved a medal for not applauding her.
If he had to be banished to the heartland for a few days, he could do worse than spend his time around someone like her.
“All Bethany wanted was a photo with me,” he explained. Oddly, when he’d spoken with Bethany, she’d mentioned that the photo her friend had taken hadn’t received nearly as many hits as the impromptu ambush photo, which was apparently still circulating nonstop on the news. Jason had been in the bizarre position of consoling Bethany because not enough people had viewed the “right” photo of her. “She wanted to be part of an online meme: topless selfies with strangers.”
“Sounds kinky.” Danielle crinkled her nose. She shook her head. “Nope. Can’t say I’m familiar with that one.”
“Yeah.” Jason hadn’t been either. “It was only supposed to be on Bethany’s Facebook page. We talked awhile longer. I found out about her anthropology studies and her self-image issues. I told her about my upcoming trip to Antigua for Christmas—”
“You’re going to the beach for Christmas?” Danielle gave an adorable ugh face. “What are you, some kind of communist?”
“—and that was that. I thought it was over with.”
“It wasn’t over with.” Danielle examined him. It felt as though she could peer into his less-than-pristine soul. “Have you seen what the news media is saying about this?”
“I try not to look. There’s no payoff in it.”
She stared at him with disbelief. “You don’t look?”
He shrugged. “What other people think of me is their business, not mine. It’s not reality. It’s opinion.”
“The prevailing ‘opinion’ seems to be that you’re a hard-partying degenerate with a penchant for racy situations and a complete disregard for the consequences of your actions.”
“Hmm.” Jason pretended to consider that. “In that case, maybe it’s more like ninety percent opinion and ten percent fact.”
Danielle looked him up and down. She appeared skeptical.
She shook her head. “Sixty-forty.”
“Eighty-twenty.”
“Seventy-thirty,” she relented. “But only if you don’t smile. If you smile, you look as though you’re on your way to cause trouble.”
He felt ludicrously encouraged. At least he’d made an impression on her. “You like my smile?”
Her answering grin said she did. Contrarily, she shrugged.
“As one of the several million people in this hemisphere who seem to . . .” Her eyes sparkled at him, blue and forthright. “I guess your smile probably doesn’t scare small children.”
As flattery went, hers was . . . subtle. But Jason loved it anyway. Because maybe she liked him—at least enough to kid around with him. And he, he realized, definitely liked her.
Why wouldn’t he? Alone among everyone he could think of, only Danielle Sharpe had given him a chance to explain himself before making any assumptions. She was smart. She was in charge. She was pretty and stubborn and much too untrusting for a woman who lived in the equivalent of The Nutcracker come to life.
Maybe he’d been staring at snow flurries for too long, but he felt . . . drawn to her in a way that didn’t usually happen to him.
On the other hand, women typically drew themselves into his orbit. It was refreshing to meet someone who made him work for her attention. Even if she was smart-mouthed. Full of questions. And way too bossy for someone who was technically in his employ.
“Scare small children? Nope. Not since I got all the braces and headgear taken off, at least,” he joked. “Before that . . . whew! All the screaming, the running away, the riots that occurred—”
“Aha. Orthodontia would explain your perfect smile. It’s all just rubber bands and night guards and fervent hope at fourteen, right? Then wham! Overnight, you’re a total babe.”
“Maybe you are.” Perfect smile sounded good. But he’d been ad-libbing the braces talk. Sentimental journeys about orthodontia were beyond his experience. His family had struggled and scraped to afford basic dental checkups. Perfection had been out of reach. “But me—”
He shrugged, indicating that he was far from perfect.
“Nope. Don’t go all modest on me now. I’m counting on you.” Danielle waved away his protest. With a suddenly energetic air, she sized him up. Blatantly. At length. Given her heels-to-head scrutiny, he began to feel sort of objectified. Not that he minded. Not as long as she kept on looking. “You are going to bring so many people into my store! I didn’t have time to prepare properly for this,” she confessed, “or there would have been a lot better turnout today. Just wait till I get going.”
Just when he was about to crack wise about feeling like a piece of beefcake, she lifted her gaze to meet his again. Her eyes gleamed with enthusiasm. Her posture crackled with energy.
She was serious, he realized. Serious about making the Kismet Moosby’s store a raving success this Christmas. With him as the . . . featured attraction? Reward? Bait? Yeah. Bait. Man bait.
Jason wanted to help her. He didn’t understand why. He’d theoretically been blackmailed into being there. He should have been hostile. Defiant. Grumpy and demanding and full of bad attitude. Except he didn’t roll that way. He never had.
Besides, maybe her salvation could be his salvation, too.
Maybe they could be a team, he mused with a burst of hope as he watched Danielle pick up a clipboard and diligently study its contents. He could help her bring customers into Moosby’s. She could help him . . . appear hot for one of his own employees.
Whoops. He couldn’t risk that. Not right now.
What he needed was a diversion. A buffer zone.
A way to stop wondering if Danielle brought that unstoppable energy of hers to everything she did. Even the things she did in private. Or atop a desk. In broad daylight.
He liked the way she held a clipboard. Being cradled like that, so close against her chest, would have been . . . ahem.
He wished he’d closed the office door behind him.
“So,” Danielle mused, “I guess the folks at Moosby’s HQ weren’t exactly thrilled with your racy vacation pics?”
Her return to the facts was like icicles dropping from the eaves and into his back. Edna Gresham couldn’t have done any better at squashing his unbusinesslike interest in Danielle.
“No.” Jason quirked his lips. “They weren’t.”
“So this appearance in Kismet—it’s meant to be your chance to apologize for looking like a horndog? Is that it?”
Wow. She pulled no punches. “That’s one way to put it.”
“Because usually these things are done at a podium in a big city someplace in front of scads of reporters, aren’t they?”
“At Moosby’s, we like to do things differently.”
Danielle pursed her lips in thought. She gave him a quizzical look. “Wasn’t that the title of your TED talk?”
“‘Do things differently’?” A nod. “Something like that.”
“Hmm. Well, you’re definitely doing apologizing ‘differently. ’” She went back to her clipboard. Checked off an item. Examined him again. “I have to say, you’re not very good at appearing contrite. Maybe you can take lessons from my ex-husband. He was really good at seeming sorry. Not so good at actually being sorry. Or at doing anything about it.”
Jason cleared his throat. “The last thing I intend to do while I’m here is apologize. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Not yet, maybe. But the way you look . . .” Catching his somber expression, Danielle stopped abruptly. “Oh. You’re serious?”
“Two years now.” Her friendly gaze pierced him. “You?”
“Me?” I’m just happy you’re single. It was wrong. But it was true. “I’m a die-hard bachelor, always looking for love in all the worst places. Don’t you read People magazine?”
She laughed. The husky, compelling sound of her laughter made him want to make it happen again. Often. Endlessly.
Uh-oh. He was getting carried away again. If a harmless crosswalk flirtation had sparked alarm in him earlier, this encounter with Danielle Sharpe should have kindled utter panic.
“Nope, I don’t read People,” she admitted, unconcerned with his newfound need to behave himself. “I don’t have time to keep up with what’s trending in gossip magazines. If I did, Betty and her protest crew wouldn’t have caught me off guard today. I’m usually better prepared than this, believe me.”
Her winsome smile assured him of it. So did her clipboard.
Jason still wanted to take away that clipboard of hers and take its place himself, cradled in her arms. It was dumb but inescapable. Something about Danielle got under his skin.
If he were smart, he’d find Edna Gresham. He’d get the hell out of there before he could get himself into any more trouble. Instead, he lingered. “I do believe you. You seem . . . efficient.”
Also, smart. Intimidating. Sexy. Sweet.
All the things he couldn’t indulge in right now.
She smiled as though he’d delivered her the world’s most awesome compliment. Her enthusiasm for efficiency was endearing.
He was crazy for thinking so.
Must. Find. Willpower. And Edna Gresham.
“Which means,” Jason forced himself to say before he could lose his resolve to be shrewd about this, “you probably know where I can find Edna Gresham. I thought she’d be here, but—”
“Edna?” Danielle looked perplexed. She crinkled her nose. “My best guess would be the yarn shop across the street.”
“The yarn shop?” Edna was blowing off work? Today?
A nod. “She’s an avid knitter. Otherwise, you could try The Wright Stuff, Reno Wright’s sports equipment store. It’s not far from here. Edna also coaches a peewee ice hockey league.”
“Edna does?” The grandmotherly woman he’d been imagining? Hmm. Maybe Charley had gotten confused about things. Also . . . “Reno Wright? As in Reno Wright, the former star NFL kicker?”
Another nod. “He’s kind of a big deal around here.”
“Because he’s a local who made it big in the NFL?”
“Because he usually wins the Bronze Extension Cord every year in the Glenrosen neighborhood holiday lights competition.”
“Seriously?” That was surprising. Also, Jason knew, he was getting sidetracked. As cool as it would be to meet a former NFL player, he was supposed to be looking for Edna Gresham.
“No, not seriously.” Danielle grinned. “Reno’s famous for football. But you might have heard of his wife, Rachel. She used to work in L.A. as a celebrity stylist. Now she has her own clothing line, Imagination-Squared. It’s pretty cool.”
It seemed to Jason that there’d been a scandal a few years ago involving “It” girl Alayna Panagakos, a nightmarish red-carpet gown, and the stylist responsible for it. He couldn’t remember the details. He didn’t follow fashion. Or gossip.
Not even his own gossip. Not if he could help it.
All he remembered was that his admins at Moosby’s L.A. headquarters had been abuzz about the incident at the time.
Confused, he refocused. “Sure. Anyway, I need to find Edna Gresham,” he clarified. “The manager who’s in charge of the model store initiative. The one who’s supposed to be promoted?”
“Promoted?” Danielle looked as though someone had cranked her smile to the delirious setting, IMAX version. In stunning 3-D and all the rest. “Then it’s real? The promotion is real?”
“My chairman of the board promised Edna Gresham a promotion,” Jason hedged, baffled by Danielle’s enthusiasm. “I’m here to make sure she understands . . . the situation.”
“Then there’s really an executive position available? Still? Is it at Moosby’s in L.A. or someplace international?”
Why was she cross-examining him? “There’s always room to promote qualified Moosby’s team members. And yes, most of our executives work from the L.A. office.” Jason said so by rote, only belatedly realizing that he shouldn’t be discussing this with her. He wanted to give Edna Gresham an easy letdown himself. He didn’t want to make her seem foolish for believing Chip’s lies. The fewer people who knew about this, the better.
“I knew it!” Danielle crowed. She gave an air punch, then whirled around, still hugging her clipboard. “It’s happening!”
“Nothing is happening yet,” Jason cautioned. Maybe Danielle thought that, with Edna promoted, she’d take her place as manager of the Kismet Moosby’s? “I can’t give more details.”
About Chip’s imaginary, nonexistent promotion offer.
“Of course.” Danielle’s eyes shone. Her eagerness was palpable. “Of course you can’t say anything official yet.”
Gulping back what appeared to be a squeal of excitement, she strode across the office. Again, Jason’s gaze was drawn to the personal items in that office—the jacket, the lip-glossed coffee cup, and the framed photo. The little girl looked—
“You do mean me, though, right?” Danielle burst into his thoughts with a frown. Her long hair whirled as she turned to face him. “I mean, Edna hasn’t worked here for six months. She’s not the one who made this place a Moosby’s model store.”
Model store. Ugh. That again. Given Danielle’s proud, shining face and expectant attitude, Jason didn’t have the heart to disillusion her about that. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
Besides, parts of it were true. Technically.
“This store does have the best sales in the chain,” he agreed, accidentally supporting Chip’s lies in the process. Damn it. He just couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to take the heat for Chip’s asshattery. He also didn’t want to see Danielle’s proud expression fade. Not yet. “For the past six months, this store has posted record sales in all categories.”
Danielle stopped in front of him. She beamed more broadly.
Her smile was, it occurred to him, exactly the same as the little girl in the photo. That’s when the truth hit him, along with Danielle’s words. Too bad they were on a ten-second delay.
“You’re Edna Gresham,” Jason told her.
Edna hasn’t worked here for six months. She’s not the one . . .
Six months. Record sales. “Some manager” whose name Chip hadn’t remembered. Charley had gotten his reconnaissance wrong.
This wasn’t Edna Gresham’s office. It was Danielle’s.
Danielle Sharpe was the one who’d spoken with Chip about her supposed Moosby’s model store. That’s why she was excited.
She thought she was getting a promotion. Because of Chip. Because Chip had gotten petty and vengeful. Because Jason had refused to do the apology tour. Because Jason had stormed out of the board meeting. Now Danielle was going to pay for it.
All because Jason had had an unguarded moment with a topless woman. It wasn’t even his fault. This was so messed up.
“You could put it that way, yes,” Danielle was saying. She grinned at him wholeheartedly. “I’m the new Edna Gresham at this store. Except I’m better at getting results. You’ll see.”
She went on to describe some recent sales initiatives she’d taken. Jason was too busy kicking himself to listen carefully.
“. . . so when Chip Larsen said they were contemplating major changes in management,” Danielle said next, “I knew what he meant. He meant there was a promotion in the offing. For me!”
Actually, Jason mused, Chip had meant that the board was considering replacing him as CEO. But he couldn’t tell Daniel
le that. He couldn’t tell anyone that. He refused to believe it.
He could stop it from happening, though. If he behaved himself. If he resisted the temptation involved in being paired with an adorably fast-talking, ridiculously dishy brainiac brunette instead of a harmless grandmotherly chaperone /manager for the duration of his image-rehab tour of duty. He could do it.
He could do it and he could make sure that Danielle got the promotion she wanted—the promotion she’d been promised.
Because it was the right thing to do.
Also, because it might make her smile at him again.
Right from that moment, that became his mission in Kismet.
One: Get Danielle Sharpe promoted. Two: Don’t flirt with her.
The two didn’t have to be mutually exclusive, did they?
Just as Jason made that noble (if potentially delusional) pledge, an uproar outside the office caught his attention.
He looked beyond the stacked-up inventory boxes and the mini-fridge, past the filing cabinet, into the heart of the ongoing holiday party . . . all the way to the four camera-wielding members of the media who were very determinedly headed his way.
They’d found him. In a situation that could (given the kinds of simultaneously sappy and X-rated thoughts he’d been having about Danielle) seem less than saintly. Again. Damn it.
He wasn’t a bad guy! He just looked that way on camera.
He wasn’t the kind of man who let down the people who were depending on him, though. Jason knew that. Even if those people didn’t realize they were doing it. Like Danielle . . . who was now added to the list of his responsibilities, along with Mr. Moosby.
That said . . . sometimes when you found yourself too far on the wrong side of the field, it was better to punt than take chances.
“So.” Brightly, Jason turned to Danielle. “I really need to get out of here. Is there someplace I could go?” He looked over his shoulder. Uh-oh. They were even closer now. “Out a back door would be a really good start.”
Chapter Six
“Sure. I know just the place.” Now that Danielle knew that being promoted to the executive level was a real possibility, she wasn’t letting Jason Hamilton out of her sight. “Come on.”