“You may think we tested you.”
“Uh—”
“Truth be told, that was sort of the case. If you’re going to spearhead my project, I wanted to make sure you could handle it. Thought I could accomplish that best if I sat back and observed.”
She cut straight to the point. “And? Did I pass?”
“I’d like to hear more before I make up my mind whether to continue the contract.”
He was going to prolong her agony? “I thought we covered all the bases.” They’d cut their profit margin to the bone. What more—other than concede to letting the project manager report to him—could she do to keep his business? “We offered you a solid deal. What else is there to discuss?”
“I’m not ready to decide until I gather some additional information. How about we discuss my ideas over dinner tomorrow night?”
Defend the contract over dinner? She didn’t do dinners. Not social and definitely not business.
He mentioned a time and place. The information barely registered.
“You get first chance. Hopefully we’ll be able to find common ground, so I don’t have to go elsewhere.”
She hung up, unable to move.
“That was Collier, right? Do we keep the job or not?” Dave’s voice sounded like it was two blocks away.
She repeated the developer’s statements as well as his dinner invitation.
Dave massaged his jaw. “Not the best news, but not bad either.”
“Don’t you get it? He wants to go over the sticking points tomorrow night over dinner. Just the two of us.”
“Yeah? So? I heard you yesterday. You did fine until you got into the stuff about his health. Since you apparently didn’t tick him off, sounds like full speed ahead.”
She drew herself up. How could she tell Dave the thought of doing business in a social setting with anyone, but especially Ned Collier, aka superstar Jake Bonneville, curdled her insides? “I-I’m not prepared for this.”
“So we spend the rest of today and tomorrow getting you prepared.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I’ve never participated in a business dinner. I have no idea how to act. Or dress. Oh, my god! What do I wear?” Her voice rose, but she couldn’t help it.
Dave patted her hand. “Calm down. Damned if I know what you should wear, but that’s not important. As long as you stick to our plan.”
Her wardrobe not important? She would be out in public with a man who knew his way around a place setting, who dined frequently with Hollywood starlets and dealmakers. How could she hold her own when she couldn’t even remember if she owned a decent dress?
Chapter Three
Shae plopped her notebook on her desk and massaged her temples. Was the room buzzing or was that her head about to explode? Dave had quizzed her the last two hours. “Enough, Dave, enough. Thanks for skipping your site visits this afternoon to help me get ready for tomorrow night. But cost projections, staff levels, and work schedules are going to haunt my dreams.”
Dave set his folder down with less irritation than she’d displayed. “That was the whole point of this exercise. So you can quote any part of the contract and work plan, even if you’re in the midst of cutting a piece of steak—”
“Tilapia with mango salsa. Port of Call specializes in fish and seafood. I searched online for their menu so I won’t appear overwhelmed as I decide what to order.” Her research helped calm her nerves about dining while discussing business. Thanks to Dave, she was now more than ready to handle the data part as well. “I can’t believe how little I actually knew at our first meeting with Ned Collier, given all I’ve learned since.”
“Even so, you winged it pretty well. Now you can relax and enjoy dinner. You might even have enough energy left to defend whatever objections he raises.”
“How has Dad dealt with these social things? He’s no more into fine dining than I am.” They’d lost her mother when she was just a toddler. She and Sean had been looked after by housekeepers while their dad built the business. There’d been no feminine influence in the house to expose them to a diet beyond basic meat-and-potatoes cuisine that either came out of can or a box.
It wasn’t just that she had to adjust to a public appearance with a well-known personality. She had to do that while she ate gourmet food and simultaneously debated the merits of their current contract. And emerge victorious. How would she navigate those waters? Shae scrubbed her hands down her face and blew out a frustrated breath.
“Why not take the rest of the afternoon off?” Dave suggested. “The wife treats herself to a mani—her word—whenever she needs a boost.”
Shae sneaked a look at her fingernails—chipped, uneven, ugly. Dave was proving to be more than a good superintendent. He was a pretty good counselor, too, his quotient of tact and subtlety rising as well. “Good idea.”
Once the nail tech had stopped tsk-tsking and gotten down to work on the repair of Shae’s nails, the manicure helped calm her nerves, despite her initial reservations. Her newfound tranquility lasted all of an hour, until she returned to her dad’s house, where she was staying, and checked her wardrobe. Blue jeans, slacks, a few pantsuits, but pretty light on dresses. She rarely wore them. But for some reason, a dress seemed appropriate for this business dinner, perhaps because she hadn’t had time to dress more professionally for their first meeting and she wanted to show him she how professional she could be.
By late mid-afternoon on Saturday, within hours of the dinner, she had become desperate enough in the wardrobe department to make a trip to the mall. It only took fifteen minutes to wend her way around a maze of counters, shelves, and racks of women’s clothing before she wanted to collapse in the nearest chair. Other than exhaustion and confusion, the only other result of her efforts was a new blue blouse to wake up her trusty pantsuit.
As if on cue, a young woman’s voice asked, “Got time for a makeup consultation?” A blonde twenty-something with black hair extensions stood three feet away, makeup brush in hand, hopeful expression at the ready. Though the clerk’s fuchsia and green eyelids shouted retreat, the makeup chair next to her beckoned.
“I don’t use much makeup. It’s a pain in my line of work, but I have a business dinner tonight—”
“Say no more.” The clerk adjusted twin mirrors that framed her station and pulled out one of the ten drawers in the cabinet below. “I know just what you need.”
Sounded like a good reason to get back on her feet and flee, but it felt so good to close her eyes and shut out the blinding confusion of wardrobe overload, Shae relented. “I don’t need much.”
The young woman drew a fingertip across Shae’s cheek. “You have a wonderful complexion.”
“Thanks.”
“I have something here that will highlight that asset.”
“Highlight?”
“Make your complexion look even better. By the way, my name’s Cecily, and I’m a certified makeup consultant.”
“Is there a charge for this service, Cecily?” She’d willingly pay to sit here a few more minutes, but she’d better find out how much it would cost before getting too comfortable.
Cecily threw a small black drape over Shae’s shoulders. “No charge, unless you fall in love with any of the products we use. Which I’m sure you will. Just sit back, relax, and let me do the creating.”
“Creating?” Yet another light flashed, which should have sent her sprinting.
Cecily moved in front of Shae, made an L with both hands, like a movie director envisioning her next shot. “Your face is a blank canvas and I’m the artist. A well-trained one, if I say so myself.” She reached for a cotton ball, dabbed some kind of liquid on it. “First thing, we rid your face of all the residue that’s built up since you last cleansed it.”
The cotton ball was cold to the touch and tingled. The faint smell of alcohol reached her nose.
Cecily applied what appeared to be liquid foundation, let that set a bit, then followed up with something in a jar into w
hich she dipped one of her brushes. She stepped back and appraised her work. “Not bad.”
Shae merely smiled, fearful of the extent of her “makeover” if she gave Cecily the slightest encouragement.
“Ever worn fake eyelashes? I’d love to see how they look on you.”
“I wouldn’t. Skip those.”
The makeup guru clucked. “Too bad. I don’t see many women with such striking blue-green eyes. Do you have trouble getting people to take you seriously when you gaze at them directly?”
This was getting too personal. “Uh, sometimes.” Always.
“What are you wearing to this business meeting?”
Shae shrugged through the shoulder cape. “I’m not sure. I looked for something here, but came up short. Now I’m out of time. Looks like it will be either the black or the brown dress in my closet.”
“Black. Definitely black. Much more dramatic.”
“I don’t want drama. I just want to make my point.”
“Of course. But black says you mean business and you’re serious. Brown suggests you’re vulnerable. I’m going to play up your gorgeous eyes to go with black.”
Shae sat forward when she noticed the palette Cecily had selected. “Forget the eyes. I can’t wear that paint. It’ll smear and make me look ridiculous.”
Cecily held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll go light. But you need something. Just a dab here, a smidgen there.” She set to work applying one color after another. “This will all blend together. It’ll hardly be noticeable.”
Did she really want to trust the word of this, what did she call herself? Consultant?
After another minute and several swift strokes of the brush, Cecily stepped back to survey her work. “If I do say so myself, another brilliant job on my part. You are one sexy woman.”
Sexy wasn’t quite what Shae had in mind.
Cecily reached for a hand mirror. “See for yourself.”
“Sorry. Can’t. Gotta run. I’ll check it in the car.” When I’m alone and can grab a tissue to rub it off. She reached in her purse for her credit card and handed it to the clerk. “I’ll take a bottle of that foundation.”
She finished the transaction and ran for the parking lot. Only then, in the presumed privacy of her vehicle, did she check her reflection in the overhead mirror. Oh. My. God. She looked like a streetwalker. Not that she’d ever seen one in person. She dug frantically in her bag for a tissue but couldn’t find one. She flung open the glove compartment. Several drinking straws spilled onto the floor, but no tissues. Not even a paper napkin.
How could she have been so foolish? Cecily was a total stranger. Probably bored and needed something with which to amuse herself. Okay. Fine. She’d be home soon enough. Even though she was running short of time, she’d make time to rid herself of all this…this…color. What had she been thinking?
****
“Wine?” Ned lifted the bottle in anticipation. “I asked the sommelier to recommend one of their best reds.”
Shae put a hand over her glass. “No, thanks. But you go ahead.” She needed to keep a clear head for the discussion to come.
Ned poured himself a glass and set the bottle back in its holder. “Maybe later?” He swished the contents of the glass, gave it a slight sniff, and took a sip. “Umm. The sommelier knows his stuff. Sure you won’t change your mind?”
“Not now. But if we can find common ground, I’ll be happy to toast continuing as your general contractor.” She hoped her words would remind him they were here to do business. Not drink. Not for chitchat.
He glanced around the room. “I asked for a semi-private spot. I had no idea they’d give us a room all to ourselves.”
“Why are we meeting at a restaurant anyhow? I thought you wanted to keep a low profile.”
He leaned in and cupped a hand around his mouth, conspirator fashion. “Truthfully? I’m staying at Mike Woodley’s family home, and the walls were closing in. A guy’s got to get out sometime.”
Get out? Good one. His actions this evening meant she had to hide out in a private dining room, arrive in a chauffeur-driven car, and slip in the side door. “Do you ever tire of the star treatment?”
He shrugged. “It was fun at first. But these days, I prefer to stay away from the crowds when I’m not on stage. I use my celebrity sparingly, when I need a little privacy.”
“It certainly got a workout tonight.”
“How’s your fish?”
She had no idea. She couldn’t taste a thing. Her meal was easy to cut and consume, the only positive aspects of her selection. The mango salsa slid right down her throat, once she figured out which fork and which knife of the ten assembled utensils to use. “Uh, fine.”
“By the way, you look very nice tonight.”
She touched a cheek. “Uh, thanks. I, uh…thanks.” He couldn’t be serious. Even though she’d removed most of her makeover, she still felt she must look like a clown in judge’s garb. What had she been thinking to trust that woman with her makeup?
She’d wanted to look good this evening. So much for that. His expression when she arrived had almost sent her back to the door. His smile had morphed from startled to amused to sympathetic, as if he was fighting off pity for her abysmal sense of style.
She tugged at the dress’s high satin collar, which constricted her breathing, and glanced up to find him watching intently. “Feel all right?”
“I’m fine. It’s just—” Oh, hell, tell him. “My collar’s a bit tight.”
“Loosen it. Undo one or two of those top buttons. I won’t report you to the house mother.” He leaned toward her. “Do you need help?”
She backed up in her chair, and her hand nearly toppled her water glass. The thought of him touching her, even for so innocent a reason, sent waves of heat through her private parts. “No, no. I can manage.”
He propped his chin into his palm and eyed her. “I’ve wondered about that collar ever since you arrived. Who would design something so uncomfortable?”
Did he have any idea what efforts she’d put herself through to look like this tonight? Then the absurdity of the situation hit her, forced her to laugh, too. “Wardrobe isn’t one of my strong suits. I bought this dress for a job interview a few months back.”
“How’d that work out?”
She tried to recall. “Now that I think about it, I got the Dallas job with my other dress, the brown one.”
Ned raised a brow. “Your other dress? You only own two dresses?”
What had possessed her to be so candid? Might as well go down with a little humor. “What can I say? I’m a fashionista.”
“I’m impressed. Most women’s closets are packed so tight they can barely remove a hanger.”
“And you’re an authority on other women’s closets, how?” Oh God, oh God, oh God! Could she have picked a worse response? She didn’t want to appear to flirt. As if she could pull off the femme fatale thing anyhow.
“Hypothetically speaking, of course.”
God, he was smooth.
“If you got a job in Dallas, why are you still here?”
It was such a mistake to have dinner alone with this man. She couldn’t trust herself around him. Something about him disconnected the filter in her brain from the circuitry that controlled her mouth. “Like I said, my dad asked me to step in for him while he recuperates.”
“I know. But why were you leaving Two Rivers in the first place?”
How could she answer his question without impugning her father? “Dad’s a real hands-on sort of guy who fought hard to build the company to where it is today. He’s had to control everything under his nose, which hasn’t left much room for me to participate as fully as I would have liked.”
“It must be killing him to let you run the company now.” The words were no sooner out than he must have realized their inappropriateness. “Sorry. That was—”
“Don’t worry about it. Actually, it probably would have killed him if he hadn’t let me or someone else r
un the company right now. So he decided to keep it in the family.”
“Let’s talk about your continued role with this project. Your dad’s heart problems have placed you and your company in a tough position. But I’m sure you can understand why I have to protect my interests, if I decide to remain with Two Rivers.”
He was actually getting to the point. Hopefully, her stomach would be satisfied with the few bites of fish she’d taken, because further consumption of her meal wasn’t going to happen. She forced a positive smile. “How do you propose to protect your interests?”
“First item, suppliers. From now on, I want to review all contracts with suppliers before they’re signed.”
“You want to review their contracts?” Stay cool, girl. This was just his first demand, and it was a doozie.
“I studied the list of suppliers you plan to tap as construction gets underway. Others outside this area can underbid them.”
“Even with shipping charges?” This was solid ground for her, given her previous responsibilities. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ve located some high-volume dealers who want the business enough they’re willing to absorb some or all the shipping costs. Rayburn Hardware in Milwaukee. Cram’s Plumbing Supplies outside Chicago. There’s more, if you want to hear about them.”
“That won’t be necessary.” She forced herself to take a breath. “Unacceptable, Ned. We need our local suppliers. We can’t let you undercut them.”
“This isn’t a request, Shae. I can get us some better deals.” He continued to smile, but his chin jutted out a little more than it had a minute ago.
“With all due respect, you don’t know enough about construction to make final calls on the purchase of supplies and materials.” Had she really said that? She’d come here tonight prepared to hold the line with her knowledge and charm so Ned would have no other choice but to stay with Two Rivers. Instead, he’d asked for additional involvement, and all she’d done so far was say no. Some negotiator she was.
“You’re an authority on the purchase of supplies and materials?”
She kept her gaze steady. “Actually, yes. Purchasing has been one of my responsibilities.”
Tough Enough to Tango Page 3