Then she realized that his lips—which had, to this point, only been compressed into a thin line of anger or dropped open in shock—were curving into a far-too-cocky grin. He’d scored a hit on her, and he knew it.
She quickly schooled her face into the appropriate demureness, using the excuse of taking more pictures to do so.
“I am, in fact, highly qualified to appraise the contents of this office. I have a bachelor’s degree in art history and a master’s of fine art. I was the manager at Galerie Solaria for several years. I have extensive connections with the local arts scene.”
She stated her qualifications in a light, matter-of-fact tone designed to put him at ease. Which, given the little donut stunt she’d pulled, would probably actually make him more nervous—if he had his wits about him. “And if anyone would know the true value of these objects,” she added, straightening to give him her very best smile, “it’d be a Beaumont—don’t you think? After all, this was ours for so long.”
He didn’t fall for the smile. Instead, he eyed her suspiciously, just as she’d suspected he would. She would have to reconsider her opinion of him. Now that the shock of her appearance was wearing off, he seemed more and more up to the task of playing this game.
Even though it shouldn’t, the thought thrilled her. Ethan Logan would be a formidable opponent. This might even be fun. She could play the game with Ethan—a game she would win, without a doubt—and in the process, she could protect her family legacy and help out Delores and all the rest of the employees.
“How about you?” she asked in an offhand manner.
“What about me?” he asked.
“Are you qualified to run a company? This company?” She couldn’t help it. The words came out a little sharper than she had wanted them to. But she followed up the questions with a fluttering of her eyelashes and another demure smile.
Not that they worked. “I am, in fact,” he said in a mocking tone as he parroted her words, “highly qualified to run this company. I am a co-owner of my firm, Corporate Restructuring Services. I have restructured thirteen previous companies, raising stock prices and increasing productivity and efficiency. I have a bachelor’s degree in economics and a master’s of business administration, and I will turn this company around.”
He said the last part with all the conviction of a man who truly believed himself to be on the right side of history.
“I’m quite sure you will.” Of course she agreed with him. He was expecting her to argue. “Why, once the employees all get over that nasty flu that’s been going around...” She lifted a shoulder, as if to say it was only a matter of time. “You’ll have things completely under control within days.” Then, just to pour a little lemon juice in the wound, she leaned forward. His gaze held—he didn’t even glance at her cleavage. Damn. Time to up the ante.
She let her eyes drift over those massive shoulders and the broad chest. He was quite unlike the thin, pale men who populated the art world circles she moved within. She could still feel his lips on the back of her hand.
Oh, yes, she could play this game. For a short while, she could feel like Frances Beaumont again—powerful, beautiful, holding sway over everyone in her orbit. She could use Ethan Logan to get back what she’d lost in the past six months and—if she was very lucky—she might even be able to inflict some damage on AllBev through the Brewery. Corporate espionage and all that.
So she added in a confidential voice, “I have faith in your abilities.”
“Do you?”
She looked him up and down again and smiled. A real smile this time, not one couched to elicit a specific response. “Oh, yes,” she said, turning away from him. “I do.”
Three
He needed her.
That crystal clear revelation was quickly followed by a second—and far more depressing one—Frances Beaumont would destroy him if he gave her half the chance.
As he watched Frances move around his office, taking pictures of the furniture and antiques and making completely harmless small talk about potential buyers, he knew he would have to risk the latter to get the former.
The way all those workers had been eating out of her hand—well, out of her donut box? The way not a single damn one of them had gotten back to work when he’d ordered them to—but they’d all jumped when Frances Beaumont had smiled at them?
It hurt to admit—even to himself—that the workers here would not listen to him.
But they would listen to her.
She was one of them—a Beaumont. They obviously adored her—even Delores, the old battle-ax, had bowed and scraped to this stunningly beautiful woman.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said in that delicate voice that he was completely convinced was a front. She kicked out of her shoes and lined one of the conference chairs up beneath a window. She held out her hand for him. “I’d like to get a better shot of the friezes over the windows.”
“Of course,” he said in his most diplomatic voice.
This woman—this stunning woman who’s fingertips were light and warm against his hand as he helped her balance onto the chair, leaving her ass directly at eye level—had already ripped him to shreds several times over.
She was gorgeous. She was clearly intelligent. And she was obviously out to undermine him. That’s what the donuts had been about. Announcing to the world in general and him in particular that this was still the Beaumont Brewery in every sense of the word.
“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she stepped down.
She didn’t stick the landing, although he couldn’t say if that was accidental or on purpose.
Before he could stop himself, his arm went around her waist to steady her.
Which was a mistake because electricity arced between them. She looked up at him through those lashes—he’d lost count of how many times she’d done that so far—but this time it hit him differently.
After almost a month of dealing with passive-aggressive employees terrified of being downsized he suddenly felt like a very different man altogether.
“Thank you,” she said again, in a quiet whisper that somehow felt more honest, less calculated than almost every other word she’d uttered so far. Imperceptibly, she leaned into him. He could feel the heat of her breasts through his suit.
As soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall over, he stepped well clear of her. He needed her—but he could not need her like that. Not now, not ever. Because she would destroy him. He had no doubt about that. None.
Still...an idea was taking shape in his mind.
Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong. Instead of trying to strip the Beaumont out of the Beaumont Brewery, maybe what he needed to do was bring in a Beaumont. The moment the idea occurred to him, he latched on to it with both hands.
Yes. What he really needed was to have a Beaumont on board with the management changes he was implementing. If the workers realized their old bosses were signing off on the reorganization, there wouldn’t be any more mass food poisonings or flu or whatever they’d planned for next week. Sure, there’d still be grumbling and personnel turnover, but if he had a Beaumont by his side...
“So!” Frances said brightly, just as she leaned over to adjust the strap on her shoe.
Ethan had to slam his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be caught staring at her barely contained cleavage. If he was going to pull this off, he had to keep his wits about him and his pants zipped.
“How would you like to proceed? Ethan?” It was only when she said his name that he figured it was safe to look.
As safe as it got, anyway. More than any other woman he’d seen in person, Frances looked as if she’d walked right off a movie screen and into his office. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and her eyes were a light blue that took on a greenish tone t
hat matched her dress. She was the stuff of fantasies, all luscious curves and soft skin.
“I want to hire you.”
Direct was better. If he tried to dance around the subject, she’d spin him in circles.
It worked, too—at least for a second. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly got herself back under control. She laughed lightly, like a chime tinkling in the wind. “Mr. Logan,” she said, beaming a high-wattage smile at him. “You already have hired me. The furniture?” she reminded him, looking around the room. “My family’s legacy?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replied. “I want you to come work for me. Here. At the Brewery. As...” His mind spun for something that would be appropriate to a woman like her. “As executive vice president of human resources. In charge of employee relations.” There. That sounded fancy without actually meaning anything.
A hint of confusion wrinkled her forehead. “You want me to be a...manager?” She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Out of the question.” But she favored him with that smile he’d decided she wielded like other people might wield a knife in a street fight. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t possibly work for the Beaumont Brewery if it wasn’t owned by an actual Beaumont.” With crisp efficiency, she snatched up her cape and elegantly swirled it around her shoulders, hiding her body from his eyes.
Not that he was looking at it. He felt the corners of his mouth curve up in a smile. He had her off balance for possibly the first time since she’d walked onto the Brewery property.
“I’ll work up an appraisal sheet and a list of potential buyers for some of the more sentimental pieces,” she announced, not even bothering to look over her shoulder as she strode toward the door.
Before he realized what he was doing, he ran after her. “Wait,” he said, getting to the door just as she put her hand on the knob. He pushed the door shut.
And then realized he basically had her trapped between the door and his body.
She knew it, too. Moving with that dancer’s grace, she pivoted and leaned back, her breasts thrust toward him and her smile coy. “Did you need something else?”
“Won’t you at least consider it?”
“About the job offer?” She grinned. It was too victorious to be pretty. “I rather think not.”
What else would she be thinking about? His blood began to pound in his veins. He couldn’t admit defeat, couldn’t admit that a beautiful woman had spun him around until he hadn’t realized he’d lost until it was too late. He had to come up with something to at least make her keep her options open. He could not run this company without her.
“Have dinner with me, then.”
If this request surprised her, it didn’t show. Instead, she tilted her head to one side, sending waves of beautiful red hair cascading over her cloaked shoulders. Then she moved. A hand emerged from the folds of her cloak and she touched him. She touched the line of his jaw with the tips of her fingers and then slid them down to where his white shirt was visible beneath the V of his suit jacket.
Heat poured off her as she flattened her palm against him. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and focus on the way her touch made his body jump to full attention. He wanted to lower his head and taste her ruby-red lips. He wanted to pull her body into his and feel her skin against his.
He did none of those things.
Instead, he took it like a man. Or he tried to. But when she said, in that soft whisper of hers, “And why would I agree to that?” it nearly broke his resolve.
“I’d like the chance to change your mind. About the job offer.” Which was not strictly true, not any longer. Not when her palm moved in the smallest of circles over his heart.
“Is that all?” she breathed. He could feel the heat from her hand burning his skin. “There’s nothing else you want from me?”
“I just want what’s best for the company.” Damn it all; his voice had gotten deeper on him. But he couldn’t help it, not with the way she was looking up at him. “Don’t you?”
Something in her face changed. It wasn’t resignation, not really—and it wasn’t surrender.
It was engagement. It was a yes.
She lightly pushed on his chest. He straightened and dropped his arm away from the door. “Dinner. For the company,” she agreed. He couldn’t interpret that statement, not when his ears were ringing with desire. “Where are you staying?”
“I have a suite at the Hotel Monaco.”
“Shall we say seven o’clock tomorrow night? In the lobby?”
“It would be an honor.”
She arched an eyebrow at him, and then, with a swirling turn, she was gone, striding into the reception area and pausing only to thank Delores again for all her help.
He had to find a way to get Frances on his side.
It had nothing to do with the way he could still feel her touch burned into his skin.
Four
In the end, it’d come down to one of two dresses. Frances only had four left after the liquidation of her closet anyway. The green one was clearly out—it would reek of desperation to wear the same dress twice, even if Ethan’s eyes had bugged out of his head when he’d looked at her in it.
She also had her bridesmaid’s dress from her brother Phillip’s wedding, a sleek gray one with rhinestone accents. But that felt too formal for dinner, even if it did look good on her.
Which meant she had to choose between the red velvet and the little black dress for her negotiation masquerading as dinner with Ethan Logan.
The red dress would render him completely speechless; that she knew. She’d always had a fondness for it—it transformed her into a proper lady instead of what she often felt like, the black sheep of the family.
But there was nothing subtle about the red dress. And besides, if the evening went well, she might need a higher-powered dress for later.
The little black dress was really the only choice. It was a halter-top style and completely backless. The skirt twirled out, but there was no missing the cleavage. The dark color made it appear more subdued at first, which would work to her advantage. If she paired it with her cropped bolero jacket, she could project an air of seriousness, and then, when she needed to befuddle Ethan, she could slip off the jacket. Perfect.
She made it downtown almost twenty minutes late, which meant she was right on schedule. Ethan Logan could sit and cool his heels for a bit. The more she kept him off balance, the better her position would be.
Which did beg the question—what was her position? She’d only agreed to dinner because he’d said he wanted what was best for the company. And the way he’d said it...
Well, she also wanted what was best for the company. But for her, that word was a big umbrella, under which the employees were just as important as the bottom line.
And after all, if something continued to be named the Beaumont Brewery, shouldn’t it still be connected to the Beaumonts?
So dinner was strictly about those two objectives. She would see what she could get Ethan to reveal about the long-term plan for the Brewery. And if there was something in those plans that could help her get her world back in order, so much the better.
Yes, that was it. Dinner had nothing to do with how she’d felt Ethan’s chest muscles twitch under her touch, nothing to do with the simmering heat that had rolled off him. And it had even less to do with the way he’d looked down at her, like a man who’d been adrift at sea for too long and had finally spotted land.
She was Frances Beaumont. She could not be landed. For years, she’d had men look at her as if they were starving and she was a banquet. It was nothing new. Just a testament to her name and genetics. Ethan Logan would be no different. She would take what she needed from him—that feeling that she was still someone who mattered, someone who wielded power—and leave the rest.<
br />
Which did not explain why, for the first time in what felt like years, Frances had butterflies in her stomach as she strode into the lobby of the Hotel Monaco. Was she nervous? It wasn’t possible. She didn’t get nervous, especially not about something like this. She’d spent her entire life navigating the shark-infested waters of wealthy and powerful men. Ethan was just another shark. And he wasn’t even a great white. He was barely a dogfish.
“Good evening, Ms. Beaumont.”
“Harold,” she said to the doorman with a warm smile and a big tip.
“Ms. Beaumont! How wonderful to see you again!” At this rather loud pronouncement, several other guests in the immediate vicinity paused to gape at her.
Frances ignored the masses. “Thank you, Heidi,” she said to the clerk at the front desk with another warm smile. The hotel had been catering to the Beaumont family for years, and Frances liked to keep the staff on her side.
“And what can we do for you tonight?” Heidi asked.
“I’m meeting someone for dinner.” She scanned the crowd, but she didn’t see Ethan. He wouldn’t be easy to miss—a man as massively built as he was? All those muscles would stand out.
Then she saw him. And did a double take. Yes, those shoulders, that neck, were everything she remembered them being. The clothing, however? Unlike the conservative gray suit and dull tie he’d had on in the office, he was wearing a pair of artfully distressed jeans, a white button-up shirt without a tie and...a purple sports coat? A deep purple—plum, maybe. She would not have figured he was the kind of man who would stand outside a sartorial box with any great flair—or success.
When he saw her, he pushed himself off the column he was leaning against. “Frances, hello.” Which was a perfectly normal thing to say. But he said it as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes—or his luck—as she strode toward him.
He should feel lucky. “Ethan.” When he held out his hand, she took it and used it to pull herself up so she could kiss him on the cheek.
Falling For Her Fake Fiancé (The Beaumont Heirs 5) Page 3