by Joss Wood
“And I isolated four who, I think, have some idea of what we want. They aren’t perfect by any means, but their ideas have potential. One of them is better than the others.”
“Who?” Sage asked Linc.
Linc shook his head. “Listen to their pitches and make up your own mind.”
Beck glanced at his watch. “When are we due to start?”
“Fifteen minutes,” Jaeger replied.
“Good, I have time to change. Where’s Amy?” Beck asked, standing up, his coffee cup in his hand.
“She should be out in the reception area meeting and greeting the company representatives,” Linc replied.
Beck nodded. “I just need to say hi to her and I’ll see you back here in fifteen.”
“Beckett,” Linc said as he reached the conference door. Beck heard the note of concern in Linc’s voice and turned around to look at his brother.
“Yeah?”
“Remember that we’re making the right choice for the company. That might not be the right choice for you.”
Beck looked from Linc to Jaeger and to Sage’s worried eyes. “What the hell do you mean by that?” he demanded.
“You’ll see.”
Beck heard Linc’s ominous words and felt a shiver run up his spine. He looked down the hall to the bank of elevators and wondered why he had the instinctive urge to run.
* * *
What in the name of all that was holy was she doing here?
Saving her business, Cady reminded herself. No more, no less. Sitting on one of the low, tangerine-colored ottomans in the reception area of Ballantyne and Company, she placed her hands under her thighs and ordered her knees to stop knocking. God, there was Gayle from Jenkins and Pale, Ballantyne’s long-term PR partner. And was she talking to Matthew from Anchor and Chain Consulting? They were at the top of the PR food chain. She was plankton. Or the stuff plankton ate.
Cady fixed her eyes on the large, abstract painting on the wall behind the receptionist’s head and begged her queasy stomach to settle down. Yes, baby, it’s been a hell of a week, but I had no choice. If we want to eat and have a roof over our heads, I have to work and not sleep, as I so want to do.
Ten days ago, after her disastrous meeting with Tom, she’d doubted she could pull herself out of this hole. Accepting that her baby’s father was a cyanide pill, she’d headed back to the office that night, knowing that she had plans to make. When dawn broke that Saturday morning, she realized that she had three months to turn her business around. If she didn’t she would be single, pregnant and broke.
Not knowing how to do that, she’d fallen asleep on the sofa in her office and was jerked awake later that morning by the ping of her computer, informing her of a new email. Congenitally unable to ignore a communication, whether it was an email, a text message or a smoke signal, Cady opened the email from [email protected].
Ballantyne International is seeking to appoint a specialist PR agency to work with us to reinvent our century-old brand. We require a passionate and creative firm/individual to develop and install a range of external communications and media activities.
The brief attached sets out our objectives and requirements, together with a range of background information on Ballantyne International. Interested agencies are asked to respond in full by 9:00 a.m. Monday January 3 at the latest.
Somehow, somewhere, the PR person at Ballantyne’s had heard of her and she was invited to the party. Late, but still invited.
Given the choice, she would’ve avoided doing work for Beck’s company but she didn’t have that luxury. Winning this project would keep Collins Consulting afloat. Sure, she was a minnow competing with the sharks and she didn’t have that much of a chance, but if she didn’t submit a proposal she didn’t have a chance at all.
Basically, it was a choice between telling her parents she was pregnant, single and could support herself and her child or that she was pregnant, single and could they help her out until she found a job?
Yeah, when she broke it down like that, it was no contest.
But first, she needed to face Beck.
At the thought of him, she resisted the urge to grab her laptop and run. She had no other option. She had a business to save, a baby to raise, money to earn. Unlike Beck, she didn’t have endless family money and hefty trusts as a backup plan.
Not fair, she chided herself. Beck never used his position as a Ballantyne heir as an excuse not to achieve. If anything, it spurred him on to prove to the world that he would be successful whether he was a Ballantyne or not. Even though the Ballantynes were practically American royalty, Ivy League schools didn’t hand out MBAs just because you were rich.
But she didn’t want to be fair. Beck’s actions in Thailand, his playing loose and fast with her feelings and her love, had devastated her. And she wished more than anything there was something she could do to never lay eyes on him again.
“Cady?”
At the sound of her name Cady looked up and saw Amy standing over her. Amy? Beck’s Amy?
“Hi. I’m glad you made it through the selection process.” Amy smiled at her, effortlessly confident.
Cady quickly realized Amy must have sent her the pitch documents and the brief; the timing made sense since she’d given her card to Julia Parker on Friday night and she received the email on Saturday morning. Well, the how made sense but not the why.
“You emailed me,” Cady said as she stood up. “Why?”
“Take a walk with me,” Amy suggested and Cady fell into step with her as she proceeded down the hallway that led to the glass-walled offices of Ballantyne International.
Amy stopped under another large, expensive art piece. “Linc asked me to contact a range of PR firms, both big and small, to bid for this job. Julia said that you did good work for Trott’s, so I gave you a chance to pitch, just like I gave seven other companies the same chance. Linc liked your ideas and you’re one of the final four.”
“So this has nothing to do with you feeling guilty about taking my place with Beck?”
Cady felt like a twit the second her words left her mouth, and Amy’s laughter deepened her embarrassment. God, she sounded like a sulky teenager.
When she stopped laughing at her, Amy said, “That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard for a long, long time.”
“Hey, Ames.”
Oh, damn. She recognized that voice; she heard it in her dreams often enough. Dark as sin, rich as butter, warm as hot chocolate after playing in the snow.
Cady looked over Amy’s shoulder and watched him walk down the hall toward them, dressed in battered jeans, boots and a navy, long-sleeved T-shirt the exact color of his eyes. The shirt was tight across his chest, skimming his muscled stomach. Blond stubble covered his cheeks, and his wavy hair brushed his collar. He looked rough and hot and fifty times better-looking than the Greek god she’d traveled with so many years ago.
His hair was a lot shorter than she remembered; the man bun was gone and so was the heavy beard. His eyes, a brilliant dark blue, seemed harder and his face thinner. His mouth, that clever mouth that had once dropped hot kisses all over her body, was a slash in his face. He looked hard and tough and every inch the smart, determined, sometimes ruthless businessman he was reputed to be. He looked like he could handle any and all trouble that came his way.
Her knees buckled and air rushed out of her lungs as she remembered those brawny arms around her, the way he used to easily lift her off her feet to kiss him. Cady tasted him on her tongue, could feel his heat, and smell his citrus and cedar scent. She was back in Thailand, the air was muggy, the sky was blue and she was turned on.
Breath short, mouth dry, panties damp...so turned on.
Oh, dammit!
Beck didn’t pay her any attention as he scooped Amy off her feet and dropped a kiss on her li
ps. He hugged her again before he allowed her feet to hit the ground, his hands on her hips.
“Before you ask, no, I didn’t bring you a present,” he told Amy, that open smile flipping Cady’s stomach up and over. She shivered, remembering the sexy phrases he’d muttered in that same baritone as he’d taught her how to give and receive physical pleasure.
Amy mock pouted before half turning away from him. Cady saw her suck in a deep breath before she placed her hand on Cady’s bicep. “Obviously you remember Cady, Beck.”
Color drained from Beck’s face as he looked from Cady to Amy and back again. The warmth in his eyes faded and she watched, fascinated, as his eyes raked her from head to toe. She saw his eyes deepen with... God, could that be desire? But when they met hers again, they were the dark, cold blue of a winter’s ocean.
“Cady. What are you doing here?” His voice held no emotion as his words whipped across her.
Before she could answer, Amy flashed him a bright smile. “Cady is in PR. Julia knows Cady’s work and she suggested that Cady take a stab at developing a proposal to rebrand Ballantyne’s. Since Julia is one of the most respected consultants in the city and since she rarely makes recommendations, I thought her advice was worth taking.”
Beck didn’t drop his eyes from hers as he leaned one big shoulder into the wall. God, he was still so sexy—no, scrap that. He was even hotter than he used to be. And so remote, disinterested.
His eyes finally moved to Amy and as he narrowed them on her, Cady realized that he was pissed.
So Beck wasn’t happy to see her.
She couldn’t do this; she absolutely could not be around him. He’d sent her home, tossed her away. She couldn’t stay here and be constantly reminded that she wasn’t enough.
Cady started to turn to walk away and then she remembered what was at stake. Her business was her only source of income and she needed that income. If she wasn’t pregnant, she would leave but she was now responsible for another life, and walking away wasn’t that simple anymore.
She needed this damned job.
Cady planted her feet and turned her attention back to her ex-lover and potential client and to Amy, who obviously had an important position in his company.
“Linc asked me to source proposals from new, hungry firms as well as the established companies we’ve worked with before. Cady made it through the first round and she’s about to do her presentation,” Amy explained, still sounding cool and composed.
Cady could see the tension in his body, see his fist clench. “You’ve gone too far, Amy.”
“I have not. This is a business arrangement, a job. She’s creative, hungry and needs work, and Ballantyne’s needs someone creative, something different. You’re making this personal, not me,” Amy retorted.
How could it not be? What they had had been very personal indeed. She allowed this man to do things to her that still made her blush. And she’d returned the favor...
As she remembered hot mouths, desperate hands, labored breathing and mind-shattering orgasms, she had to place her hand on the wall to keep her balance. Beck’s eyes slammed into hers and she caught a flash of awareness, a lick of fiery heat, and she knew that he knew exactly what she was thinking. For an instant he was there with her, holding himself above her, about to slide into her.
His eyes always turned that particular shade of cobalt-blue when he was turned on. Cady licked her lips and dropped her eyes to his crotch...
Nope, nothing. No action at all. Mortified, she lifted her hot face to see the ice in his eyes. So, she was alone in that little fantasy, and Beck was definitely not taking a walk down memory lane.
But Beck was giving her another once-over, his gaze starting at her nude heels, moving slowly up her skinny black trousers to her blush-pink silk blouse. She’d pulled her long hair into a severe braid, which she twisted into a low knot at the back of her head, and her makeup, while minimalist, was flawless. With black, heavy-framed glasses, she looked every inch the New York businesswoman and nothing like the free-spirited girl he used to know.
While he inspected her like she was a car he was considering buying, she thought that Beck was now bigger and broader, harder, and he exuded power from every sexy pore. Even dressed casually, he emitted a don’t-mess-with-me vibe that dried up the moisture in her mouth and sent it straight to that special spot between her legs.
Damn.
Amy broke the tension by poking Beck with her red-tipped finger. “You need to change. You can’t listen to presentations looking like you’ve just walked off a trail.”
Beck grabbed her finger and held it, just enough for Amy’s eyes to widen and for her to realize that Beck was still pissed off. “Do try to remember who the boss is.”
Amy, utterly indefatigable, just grinned. “I do. It’s me. Let’s get back to work, people.”
Cady spun around and walked back to the reception area and ignored the curious looks she received from her fellow competitors. Beck, she presumed, went to clean up.
Neither of them saw the gleeful expression on Amy’s face or heard her whispered words. “Watching them is going to be so much fun.”
Three
Keyed up and tense after her ninety-minute-long presentation, Cady left the conference room feeling like a washed-out rag. Needing a comfort break, she headed down the hall to the ladies’ room, thinking that she’d wash her hands and face, reapply some war paint and try to catch her breath. The Ballantyne siblings—with the exception of Beck, who had just sat there, as immovable and silent as a rock—had bombarded her with questions, most of which she’d deftly answered.
She’d done her best in the limited time she’d had, putting together a mammoth strategy for a global company, but she had no illusions. She was up against the best in the business. If she got the contract then she’d earn herself a get-out-of-bankruptcy card. If she didn’t, in a month or two she’d be packing her bags and throwing herself on the mercy of her parents.
They’d take her in; there was no doubt about it. But she’d have to learn to live with disapproving looks and the what-were-you-thinking lectures. And the image of the perfect family, the one her mother tried so hard to project, would be shattered. The pastor’s daughter, single and pregnant, the one who had so much potential, would be hot, hot gossip.
Her mother was going to kill her.
Cady felt a big hand wrap around her upper bicep and she spun around to look into Beckett’s deep blue eyes, the exact color of the navy-and-white polka-dot tie he now wore over a finely striped light-blue-and-white shirt. Walking into the conference room earlier, the last company to present, she’d immediately noticed that he’d changed and couldn’t help thinking he should always wear blue. The cuffs of his shirt were folded over the sleeves of his trendy cardigan, and both sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, showing his thick, muscled forearms.
Beckett was a snappy dresser.
“Beckett, I need to use the facilities,” she protested as he walked her past the ladies’ room.
“I have a private bathroom adjoining my office,” he growled and Cady had to half jog to keep up with his long-legged stride. He ignored Amy’s startled face as he walked past her desk and into the office on the right. Through the glass walls, a feature of the Ballantyne offices, she could see that Linc’s office was empty. Cady wondered if they ever felt like they were working in a fish tank.
Beck pushed her through the glass door into his messy office.
“The bathroom is through there.” He nodded to a door at the other end of the large space. “When you’re done, we’re going to talk.”
That didn’t sound good. Cady kept her face blank, not wanting Beck to see her flinch. Nodding once, she placed her laptop bag on one of the two bucket chairs facing his ridiculously large desk and headed for the bathroom.
After using the facil
ities, she took her time washing her hands and touching up her makeup. Beckett could wait until she got her galloping heart under control.
Cady gripped the counter of the vanity and stared at herself in the mirror. Severe hair, white face, bands of blue under her unusual eyes. Two stripes of color on each cheekbone, saving her from the need to apply blush.
She looked like what she was: a stressed-out woman trying to hustle a job. She didn’t look pregnant but she did look flustered, and a little unhinged. She was older and more experienced, so why did she feel like she was nineteen again? Her palms were damp, her panties, too. He just needed to touch her and she’d go up in flames.
She might be older, but she wasn’t any wiser, Cady thought, washing her hands for the second time.
“You’re stalling, Cady. Get out here. I don’t have all day.”
“Yes, Your Lordship,” Cady muttered, yanking the door open and stepping back into his office.
Beck stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his hands jammed into his pockets, every square inch of his long body taut with tension. Cady walked over to the window and stopped next to him, her arms folded across her chest. She felt equally uptight herself.
Cady looked down to the iconic Manhattan street below and watched the pedestrians navigate the busy intersection, their chins and noses tucked into scarves or coat collars, their faces ruddy from the icy winter wind.
“Why are you doing this, Cady?”
She turned to look at him. This was, at least, a question she could answer.
“It’s my job, Beckett. Like you, but on a far smaller scale, I am running a business, a business that I’d prefer not to see go under. I need new, bigger clients. Ballantyne International is a new, big client.” Cady shrugged, knowing that her edgy attitude wasn’t conducive to good client–service provider relationships.
Beckett rolled his head on his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck. “I would’ve liked some damn warning that you were going to drop back into my life.”