She wasn’t really considering quitting her job in New York for more time with Cameron, was she? Cameron, the man who wouldn’t fly. Goodbye, ten-year plan. Goodbye, dreams of travel and adventure. No, she couldn’t do that.
The ache of leaving him would fade at some point, wouldn’t it? Because this was unbearable. She had turned him down when he’d offered to take her to the airport. Out of sight, out of mind. Now, only a few hours after she had last buried her face in his chest and breathed in his warm, musky scent, she already regretted it. A few more minutes with his arms around her in the back of the car wouldn’t have made this moment better, but it would be one more memory. And in their two-week history, that was something.
But maybe it was better like this. Most of their morning had been without clothes, and it was hard to think about much of anything when Cameron wasn’t dressed. But if he had come back to her hotel room when she’d packed, she would have probably forgotten half her belongings. If she had spent the ride to the airport against his warm, hard body, she might have begged him...
But begged for what? For Cameron to come with her? He had already made it clear that he didn’t do airplanes.
So what if staying here in Sydney with him would mean crossing off pages of entries in her little red book. So what if he introduced her to games that were made for porn movies. Really good porn movies. She had wanted to travel for her whole life. She wasn’t giving up her little red book or her ten-year plan for a guy she had met two weeks ago. And that was that.
Jackson blew out a breath and looked at her watch. She still had another hour before her plane took off. She stood up and grabbed her carry-on bag. Coffee usually made everything a little better. Maybe it would even work for heartbreak. Not that this was heartbreak. It was just...readjustment.
The nearest café had a line to the door, but Jackson didn’t have anything better to do. She rolled her bag over to the little shop and parked herself behind the last person. And tried not to look at her phone. She had already looked at Cameron’s message about a hundred times. He wasn’t going to send another one unless she responded. Which she wasn’t going to. At least not until she was far away.
Jackson rubbed her eyes and looked for a distraction. She grabbed a paper off the newsstand and scanned the front page, slowing to a stop when she reached the bottom. There, in full color, was a photo of two A-list actors posing on the dance floor of the Bennelong Room at the Sydney Opera House. But it wasn’t the actors who caught her eye. It was the little black dress in the background.
Her little black dress. And Cameron’s large, sensual hands in the middle of her rear. His face was lowered to hers. The photo hadn’t caught either of them directly, but it was enough.
She remembered that moment. He was already half-hard and had whispered words in her ear that had made her forget they were in a public place. And she had brushed a lock of hair off his face, as if he were hers for real.
She stared down at the photo as she raced to spin this most public breach of conduct. Technically, they were off the clock at that point, but the board probably wouldn’t care. Could they just make some claim about helping her blend in? Besides, her face was turned, so maybe she wasn’t so identifiable. Damn. She was in PR, for God’s sake. She could do better than that, couldn’t she?
Except she couldn’t. All she could think about right now was the look on Cameron’s face. It was a combination of want and longing and something else she didn’t even know how to process. And it was printed on the front of the Sydney Morning Herald for everyone to see.
Maybe the Blackmore Inc. board didn’t read the Sydney Morning Herald.
Jackson refolded the paper and slid it back into the newsstand, photo side down.
Shit.
She couldn’t even pretend this was a mistake. She had known the risks, and that hadn’t stopped her. Because in the end she didn’t want to stop. This time, she’d wanted to give in. And she couldn’t make herself regret it.
What the hell was she going to do? Maybe her brain would kick back into gear somewhere over the Pacific. Because she had forty-eight hours before she’d be standing in front of the board. And Harlan Blackmore. If she didn’t come up with something, Harlan Blackmore and his board would come up with their own explanations. And none of them would be good.
Even the magical powers of coffee couldn’t help make this disaster better.
Just as she squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to make it all go away, her phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag, the word Mom in large letters across the screen.
“This isn’t such a great time, Mom,” she said.
“Oh, honey, you’re always too busy,” her mother said. “How do you expect to keep a good man if you don’t even have time for your mother?”
What was Jackson expecting? Anything in the range of What’s wrong, honey? was a stretch, of course, but maybe just I’ll try you later?
“My plane is boarding soon,” Jackson said. Soon, as in within the next forty-five minutes. “Was there something quick you wanted to say?”
That got her attention. “Oh, no. Am I calling internationally? Heavens.” Her mother let out a long breath. “Well, I just wanted to remind you that Marcello and Marco are turning three in a few weeks. I didn’t want you to forget. You know, some single dads are coming, some who might consider—”
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll be there,” she said. “Look, I have to go.”
Jackson stuffed her phone back into her bag. Her career was teetering on the edge of disaster, her whole body ached for Cameron and her mother was trying to fix her up with single dads. Welcome home.
* * *
Jackson smoothed her dark blue skirt and checked to make sure the top button of her blouse was still buttoned. She had dressed in her most conservative suit, but it wasn’t helping. She was the woman who they had sent over to tame Harlan Blackmore’s rebellious son, only to fall headfirst for his charms. And land on the front page of the Sydney Morning Herald. Which maybe, by some miracle, the board hadn’t seen.
She wasn’t the woman they thought they’d hired. She wasn’t the woman she thought they’d hired, either.
“I’m Jackson McAllister, to see the board,” she announced to the receptionist.
The woman gave her a once-over and raised her eyebrows. “Right this way, Ms. McAllister.”
Jackson followed the receptionist down the hall, ignoring the top-floor view of New York City. It was hard to believe that she had walked down this same hall less than three weeks ago. The person she was the last time she met the board felt far, far away. Her fling with Cameron was stupid and unprofessional. She had known it at the time, and she had still gone back to him, again and again. It was exactly the kind of mistake Jackson thought she wasn’t capable of making. The board must have thought the same, since they’d sent her over there, despite Cameron’s reputation.
Now she had to hope that none of them happened to scan the front page of the Sydney newspaper two days ago. If she could just get through this meeting and close the file with Blackmore Inc., she could catch her breath. And try to figure out what the hell she was doing.
The receptionist opened the door to a large conference room at the end of the hall. The first slide of her presentation was already displayed on the wide screen across the room. Harlan Blackmore sat at the head of a long table, and the board members took up the seats along the two sides. The only empty seat was at the other end, nearest the door. She walked to her place, pulled out the chair and froze. On the table in front of her was the Sydney Morning Herald from two days before. Her own little black dress was no less recognizable, nor were Cameron’s strategically placed hands.
Cameron. Just this little glimpse of him brought on a wash of want and longing she had tried so hard to put behind her these last forty-eight hours.
Don’t go. Stay here in Sydney with me. He had held her fac
e and kissed her until all doubts were gone. But the next morning she had left. And now she was here in New York, across the conference table from his father, about to discuss the specifics of her last two weeks. Shit.
Jackson swallowed hard and straightened up. At least her first question was answered. They knew. She had played out this scenario in her head, but how did she decide to spin it? Her mind had gone blank.
So she sat down, folded the paper back up and set it aside.
“You have my report, but—” she gestured to the newspaper next to her “—it seems you want to discuss something else.”
A smile formed on Harlan Blackmore’s hard countenance, but it held no warmth. “I already knew my son would go to all lengths to tell me to fuck off. I just assumed you were too smart for that. Apparently, I was wrong. But who knows how a woman’s mind works.”
Jackson pressed her lips together, shutting down various hotheaded responses that came to mind. She didn’t even know where to start being offended. At the insult to her intelligence? At the insult to women in general? Or should she be offended that not one of the board members spoke up?
“What can I say?” Blackmore’s voice held a hint of admiration. “He’s my son. He’s good at what he does.”
He took a single sheet of paper from in front of him and passed it down the table. Each man glanced down at it before passing it on. Harlan Blackmore was putting on a show, reminding her of who ran this meeting.
The paper landed in front of her. Jackson clenched her jaw and forced herself to look down. It was a printout of an email from Cameron to the other three members on his team, written on the first day she had been at the Blackmore Inc. office. It was short, and one of the sentences was highlighted in yellow, doubtlessly by Blackmore himself, just to make sure no one missed the message: Figure out Jackson McAllister’s weak spots at dinner tonight. Tomorrow we’ll discuss how to exploit them.
Jackson could feel the heat creeping up her neck as she reread the sentence. No. This couldn’t have come from the man who’d asked her to stay yesterday. It just couldn’t.
Except that everything else about it looked real. Surely it was below even Harlan Blackmore to fake something like this. And what would he gain by doing it? But if it wasn’t faked, then Cameron took her back to his apartment just to discredit her.
He wouldn’t do that, would he?
“Ms. McAllister?” Harlan Blackmore’s voice boomed from the other end of the table.
Shit. She was still at the beginning of this meeting from hell, with no escape in sight. Yes, she could get through this. She had been through worse. But what this meant about her last two weeks with Cameron stung more than she wanted it to.
Jackson took a deep breath and met Harlan Blackmore’s cool gaze. “You have an email that says your son will discredit me, and you have a news photo of him fondling me. It’s my job to worry about what these items say about your son, not about me. We can start that discussion by looking over my report.”
The board members were watching this discussion play out, tennis-match style. Their heads turned together for Blackmore’s response. Except nothing came. His expression didn’t falter, but the hesitation itself was all the answer she needed.
The corners of his mouth turned up in what could have been amusement. “I can see why he went for you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” said Jackson with a tight smile. “Shall we begin?”
Jackson settled into her seat and leaned over to pull her files out of her bag. But as she reached in, the conference room door handle clicked, and the receptionist’s clipped tones came through the doorway.
“...in the middle of a meeting, but—”
“Thank you for escorting me. I’m here for the board meeting, too.”
His voice. No. Impossible.
She sat up straight and slowly turned toward the door. Cameron was taking up most of the doorway, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, carrying a leather jacket. He had grown a beard again or forgotten to shave. More likely the latter, considering the messy hair and dark circles under his eyes. Those deep blue eyes were a little glazed over, but they were alive with emotion. And he was staring right at her.
“What?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
Cameron had the nerve to chuckle. “I came to help you through this. Though by the look on my father’s face, I’m guessing you’re doing just fine on your own.”
Jackson’s heart raced faster, and her fingers tingled. Somehow, he had made it here. The man who had sworn off planes forever had flown here, to New York. She ached to touch him, to make sure he was real. She ached to do a lot more than that. So she grabbed the file in front of her and held on tight.
Because...that email. He had planned to discredit her. He had written it out and sent it to his team. Had he come to New York to play her, start off nice before he finished her off? She didn’t want to believe that the Cameron she knew would do that, but he was the son of Harlan Blackmore. Good at what he did. And he had shown her just how much he loved playing games. And winning them.
But Jackson wasn’t going to think about that. She sat on the edge of her chair, searching for something to say. Harlan Blackmore beat her to it.
“Well, son, this is a surprise,” he rumbled. “If I had known that pussy would bring you to a board meeting, I would have arranged for it long ago.”
Jackson sucked in a harsh breath, and Cameron froze. His hands balled into fists, and his jaw worked angrily. This was bad in so many ways. Harlan Blackmore was just as awful as Cameron had insinuated. Even worse. And Cameron looked about two seconds away from punching his father in the face.
“Don’t, Cameron,” she said. “What’s the point?”
Her voice shook a little, but she was beyond caring.
Cameron closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He unclenched his hands, and his heavy shoulders came down a fraction of an inch.
“I would have thought a comment like that was beneath even you, Father,” he said slowly. “But you’re full of surprises, as well.”
He headed for the corner of the room and grabbed an extra chair. He set it down next to Jackson. What the hell was he doing? She couldn’t sit next to him. She couldn’t listen to his smooth, deep voice and smell his musky scent and not react.
She took a steadying breath. It didn’t work.
Cameron was watching her. Waiting. She couldn’t do this. She glanced over at him, but he was looking down at the printout of his email. And frowning.
Slowly, he met her gaze again. He didn’t reject the paper or call it out as a fake.
“Later,” he said softly. But his eyes said more. You know me.
Jackson swallowed hard. Did she?
But they were in a meeting. Her voice was going to shake if she spoke again. Which would only feed Harlan Blackmore’s attacks. Cameron was still waiting for her to begin. He thought she could do this. And she still couldn’t get her mind back into gear.
Finally, Cameron leaned back in his chair and looked out at the board. “Ms. McAllister spent the last two weeks boosting the Blackmore Inc. image, and the write-ups we’ve gotten are evidence of her success. So I’m ready to listen to her plan for our next steps.”
Right. Just talk about the plans. Don’t think about anything else.
So she pulled out her file, cleared her throat and started to speak.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CAMERON HADN’T MOVED a muscle for the last thirty minutes. Jackson’s presentation was full of angles he hadn’t even considered. She had dropped hints about her ideas during her stay in Sydney, but she hadn’t asked for his approval. She had managed a perfect balance between respecting his freedom when it came to running his business but answering first and foremost to the board. The woman was amazing.
But he already knew that. What he hadn’t count
ed on was her ability to take control of the meeting and steer it right back on her course. She had completely and unapologetically shut down the discussion of the front-page appearance of their less-than-professional dance. Even his father looked impressed. And that was saying something.
“That’s my proposal for future actions,” concluded Jackson. She turned off the projector and returned to her seat. “Any questions?”
Harlan Blackmore leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers together. “So you’re proposing that we hire a Sydney-based firm for ongoing strategy?”
Jackson shook her head. “No, Mr. Blackmore. I’m suggesting your son hires a Sydney-based firm. This is an ongoing project that Cameron needs to be a part of if we’re looking for success.” She turned to the rest of the board. “The virtual conferencing system I’m recommending is standard in most companies now, and it will allow for regular updates from the Sydney office.”
The room was silent. Jackson had just proposed a giant step toward getting him out from under his father’s thumb. And not just in the PR department. He’d rejected the idea of a virtual conferencing system before, thinking his father would abuse it. All this time he’d thought distancing the Sydney branch was the best way to keep the board from meddling. But from the way Jackson had presented it just now, this tool would give him his independence; it would ensure that decisions regarding the Sydney office weren’t made in his absence. And Jackson had carefully presented her recommendations in a way that sidestepped Harlan Blackmore.
“So, Ms. McAllister, you’re writing yourself out of this plan?” his father asked. “What will your firm say about that?”
Cameron clenched his fists. His father hadn’t missed any of the subtleties of Jackson’s plan. The board had assigned her the task of boosting the company’s image and getting his errant son under control, and she had come back with a plan that gave that same son more power. Which meant Harlan Blackmore had less. He was too savvy to outwardly dismiss Jackson’s plan, but he wasn’t above looking for ways to put her at a disadvantage.
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