He nodded slowly. He could see it for himself, though he still found her ties to Randolph troubling. After all, Sam may have changed, but he doubted her father had. The bigger worry for Michael, though, was that he found this new Sam to be just as interesting and, if possible, even more appealing than the old one. How did that fit into his present plans? How was he supposed to move on with his life and purge all remnants of her from his consciousness if he started falling under her spell once again?
As much for her benefit as for his, he said, “We’re both different, Sam.”
“I suppose so. Experience and maturity have a way of changing people.”
Her words offered a way to lighten the mood, and Michael decided to take it. “Is that a polite way of saying that you think I was immature before?”
“I don’t think I should answer that question while we’re in the midst of an otherwise pleasant evening.”
“It has been a pleasant evening,” he said.
“Surprisingly so,” she replied, sounding amazed.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “There’s no need to pull out the sledgehammer. The point has been made.”
Sam laughed, as she was sure was his intention. He’d always been able to take a potentially volatile situation and add just enough humor to keep it from exploding. She opted to follow his lead.
“In advertising jargon, I guess we’re what they call new and improved.”
He chuckled. “Yeah.”
Though they’d shied away from discussing work, she figured this was a safe topic, and so she added, “I’ve always wondered who coined that phrase and how it managed to catch on. I mean, how can something that’s new also be improved? It’s either one or the other. It can’t be both.”
“I don’t know,” he surprised her by saying. “I like to think of myself as both.”
She sipped her tea to keep from asking the obvious questions his rejoinder raised. Of course, that didn’t stop her from thinking them. How was Michael new? How had he improved? As Sam began considering possibilities to the latter question, a sound vibrated from the back of her throat.
All hope that Michael hadn’t heard it evaporated when his brows rose. Even in the dim light of the restaurant, she saw speculation and something a little more potent infuse his gaze. “Is that a good hmm?” he asked.
“A sigh is just a sigh, as the song goes and sometimes a hmm is just a hmm,” she told him.
“Ah.” He nodded. “That’s a clever reply given where we’re eating.”
“I thought so.”
Their waiter arrived then. “Can I get either of you anything else?”
Michael glanced at Sam, who shook her head, and so he told the young man, “No, we’re all set. You can bring the check any time.”
After the waiter withdrew, Sam reached for her handbag. “Let me pick up the bill. It’s the least I can do to thank you for the ride back to the city.”
“Not this time, Sam. Besides, technically, it’s my turn to buy.” When she frowned, he added. “You paid in Atlanta. Remember?”
She nodded. She remembered. Indeed, her memory was in overdrive at the moment. She was recalling all sorts of things. “You were a pretty cheap date on that occasion.”
He sent her a cocky grin. “I won’t be the next time.”
The next time?
I should correct him, Sam thought. They may have reached a fragile truce and settled a painful misunderstanding from their past, but they wouldn’t be sitting down to dine or drink together again anytime soon. She was a different person than she’d been seven years ago. Despite that, she couldn’t risk her heart again. She also had her career to think about, and at the moment it put her and Michael squarely at odds.
She opened her mouth to tell him this evening would be the end of it. There would be no next time. But the words that came out were, “Fair enough.”
As they walked through the parking lot, Michael surprised Sam by handing her the keys.
“What are you doing?”
“Letting you drive.” His smile was slow and knowing and all the sexier for it. “You know you want to.”
She merely shrugged. But, oh, how she did. It had been years since she’d been behind the wheel of a car with an automatic transmission, let alone a finely honed sports coupe with a stick, but that didn’t stop her from being eager to put the Porsche through its paces.
Sam gave him high marks for patience and restraint as gears ground and the clutch popped during her first few attempts to go from first to second.
Glancing sideways, she offered, “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’re doing well,” he told her. “You’re almost a pro.”
“Right.” She snorted out a laugh. Now she knew for sure he was just being polite. “I’ll understand if you want to rescind the offer to let me drive.”
“No. Keep going. I’ll help.” He laid his hand over hers on the stick, applying subtle pressure when it was time to shift. Even after she’d merged the Porsche onto the highway and shifting was no longer necessary, Sam left her hand on the stick and Michael’s fingers remained loosely threaded through hers.
They were back in Manhattan before she was ready to be. Once there Sam turned the driving back over to Michael. Though the hour was late, the traffic remained far too heavy for her comfort, and the lights required too much shifting.
Her apartment was on the Upper West Side. It wasn’t large, but it did have an outdoor space, something rare in its price range. At one time the apartment had belonged to her paternal grandparents, who’d bequeathed it to Randolph. He’d deeded it to Sonya upon her graduation from college. When Sam matriculated from New York University a couple of years later, she’d received an all-expenses-paid trip to Hawaii. As gifts went, it was generous, but it paled in comparison to what her father had given his eldest daughter. Everyone knew it. Sonya, hoping to keep the peace at the time, had asked Sam to come live with her in the apartment rent free. Pride had forced Sam to decline. She’d swallowed that same pride, she realized now, when two years later she’d moved into it alone.
As Michael circled the block for the fourth time, looking for a parking space that was within reasonable distance of her building, Sam said, “You don’t need to walk me to my door, you know.”
“Right. I’ll just drop you at the curb, or better yet, slow down and have you jump out.” He made a scoffing sound. “Please. My mom would have my hide.”
At the mention of his mother, Sam smiled. If there was one thing Sam envied Michael, it was the relationship he had with both of his parents. Drew and Carolyn Lewis were kind, generous to a fault and loving. She and Michael had spent lots of time in their company, not out of a sense of duty as she’d often felt when visiting with her father, but because they’d genuinely enjoyed being with them.
“How is Carolyn?” she asked.
“As active and outspoken as ever.” He snorted out a laugh. “I think my dad’s a little worried that a few of the women in her Friends of the Arts committee are going to pool their money and put out a hit on her.”
Sam chuckled. Carolyn, much like her son, preferred things done a certain way. Her way. It helped to smooth most ruffled feathers that her way often made the most sense.
“She must be happy to have you back in New York.”
“Yeah.” Even in profile his smile was easy to read. “She is. Dad, too. He and I try to meet at his club once a week for a game of squash.”
“Is he still beating you?”
“Only every single time,” Michael admitted with a wry chuckle. “The guy may be in his late sixties and retired but he hasn’t slowed down at all.”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s slowing down,” she teased. “All those caterers’ spreads at photo and commercial shoots. They start to take their toll.”
He grunted. “Please. I’m the same weight I was when I graduated college. Dad only beats me because he has more free time to polish his game.”
“What a spin, Lewis.
Maybe you should forget advertising and go into politics,” she said.
“Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
He sent her a wink that shouldn’t have had her pulse revving, but it did. Sam concentrated on the purr of the Porsche’s engine instead. On the fifth time around the block he finally spied an open space. Michael sped up to beat a more humble subcompact to the spot, wedging the sports coupe into place with a minimum of jockeying.
After coming around to open Sam’s door, he warned, “No lecture on how impractical it is to drive an automobile in the city.”
“You may not believe this, but I wasn’t planning to offer one.” She patted the dashboard before rising. “After getting behind the wheel of this bad boy, I understand perfectly your decision to keep a car.”
He acted startled. “My God. That guy I passed in Times Square last week was right. It is the end times.”
“Very funny. Let’s just say I’m a little more forgiving of your participation in the destruction of the Earth’s ozone layer. This car’s like an addiction. You can’t help yourself.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” he murmured.
Sam swore he leaned closer as he said it, his gaze turning molten before dipping to her mouth. But then he pressed a button on the key fob, causing the car to chirp. It was secured. She felt vulnerable as he placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged her in the direction of her building.
Sam didn’t say a word until they arrived. After nodding a greeting to her doorman as they crossed to the elevator, she told Michael, “Thank you again for tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” The elevator arrived and they got inside. As the doors closed, he added, “I can honestly say I didn’t think I would be buying you dinner after learning about the Rawley Fitness Centers account this morning.”
“We agreed that wasn’t personal, just a hazard of our business.” Sam knew it was more than that, though. For the first time, she had regrets, not about her attempt to win over one of his accounts, but about her motives for doing so.
“Business. Right.” He waited for her to press her floor number. As the elevator began its ascent, he said, “It looks like we’re going to keep getting in each other’s way, Sam.”
“I don’t think so. Manhattan’s a large enough city.”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” He stepped closer and in a seductive whisper said, “We’re both after the same thing.”
“The Rawley Fitness Centers account?” she inquired.
He waved a hand in dismissal. “That’s a symptom, not the actual condition.”
“What are you saying? That we’re sick?” She wanted to laugh, but it came out sounding more like a moan. She was feeling a bit peaked right now.
“Yeah. And it’s incurable,” he confirmed. “We both want to be the best.”
The elevator reached her floor and the doors parted, which was a good thing since the space inside the car had gotten much too confining for her comfort. Her apartment was the third door down. Needing to have something to do with her hands, she pulled out the key as they walked.
“Well, thank you, Dr. Lewis, for that eye-opening diagnosis. I didn’t realize being competitive was a disease.”
“It is. A contagious one, too.”
“I’m sorry,” she said in her most sincere voice.
He appeared baffled. “For what?”
“For giving this disease to you. We both know it wasn’t the other way around.”
She figured he’d argue. In fact, she almost hoped that he would. But he merely shrugged. “Who gave it to whom doesn’t matter now. We’ve both got it.” He leaned close enough for his breath to tickle her ear when he whispered, “Bad.”
“W-well, here we are,” Sam stammered. “This is my door.” Having said so, she still checked the number to be sure. Then she slipped the key into the lock and turned it. Conjuring up a polite smile, she told Michael, “I guess this is where I say good-night.”
“I guess it is.”
“Good night.”
“Good night, Sam.” But he didn’t turn to leave. He leaned against the wall just outside her apartment, looking entirely too sexy. And that was before he inquired, “So, what happens in the morning?”
“What do you mean?”
“Will you resume targeting my accounts?”
Oh. That. She hadn’t decided.
“I can’t very well back away from the ones I’ve already contacted,” she admitted in all honesty. Although she would have to closely examine her motives. So she told him, “If I think I can offer any of your clients a superior campaign, I’ll go after them.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded. “You can expect the same from me.”
“All right.” When he continued to regard her in that intense way of his, she opened the door and stepped inside her apartment. Facing him, she said, “Maybe it isn’t such a good idea for you to fraternize with the enemy.”
Far more than the threshold was between them and they both knew it. Yet, despite the day’s revelations, an invitation hovered on Sam’s lips. Though the hour was late, she didn’t want the evening to end, which was why she decided to close the door.
Michael knocked almost immediately, a fact that had her grinning. So, she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t eager to part. Excitement bubbled, a good portion of it sexual. She reminded herself to play it cool. Pasting a bored expression on her face, she pulled open the door. Blinking at him, she said, “Yes?”
“I take issue with that fraternizing comment.”
“What?” She cleared her throat. The bubbles of a moment ago popped unceremoniously, forcing her to quickly realign her thoughts. “It’s just a figure of speech, for heaven’s sake.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s inaccurate, Sam. And I want to be sure you’re clear on this. Nothing that has occurred up until this point can be considered fraternizing with the enemy.”
Well, that was blunt, not to mention humbling. It was her ego that popped this time. And to think she hadn’t wanted the night to end. Now she couldn’t wait to close the door and have it be over.
“Look, Michael, I—”
The rest of her reply never made it past her lips. He cut it off when he framed her face with his hands and leaned in to cover her mouth with his. Michael didn’t step into her apartment, but he’d breached a boundary just the same. And Sam allowed it. Allowed it? Hell, she contributed to it, kissing him back every bit as enthusiastically. The encounter was infused with all of the passion and promise she remembered so vividly, though she’d done everything in her power during the past seven years to forget it. And it ended far too quickly for her liking. Even so, they were both breathing hard and heavily when he pulled away. They stared at each other in stunned silence.
“Wow.” Sam murmured the only word that sprang to mind and, in truth, she felt lucky to be able to verbalize anything intelligible.
“Exactly.” Though Michael appeared to be just as dazed as she was, he also looked pleased.
He touched her lips with the tip of one finger and then backed away. Just before turning to leave, he said, “Now that’s what’s called fraternizing with the enemy.”
CHAPTER SIX
IN THE days that followed, Michael considered calling Sam. For that matter, immediately after the kiss he’d wanted to finish what he’d started. Sam hadn’t appeared eager for it to end, either. But he’d nixed that idea, and for the better part of a week, he’d managed to resist the urge to dial her office number.
What would he say to her? “Hey, Sam. I was wondering if you’d like to fraternize again.”
That wasn’t a good idea, for too many reasons to count. One of those reasons, however, ultimately prompted him to call her. She picked up after the first ring.
“This is Samantha Bradford,” she offered in a no-nonsense tone that still somehow managed to turn him on.
He pictured her wearing something professional as she sat behind that ugly industrial-looki
ng desk and tucked a handful of dark hair behind one of her ears. In the image that his mind conjured up, a flirty little gemstone winked at him from the exposed lobe. It was all he could do not to groan.
“Hi, Sam. It’s Michael. I’m calling to offer my congratulations.”
There was a pause, then, “Are you referring to the Rawley Fitness Centers account?”
“You haven’t gotten any of my other clients to sign on the dotted line, have you?”
Her laughter trilled. “Not yet. These things take time, Michael. So, you spoke with John Wells?”
“A few minutes ago, yes. He said that while the work Grafton Surry has done for Rawley Fitness Centers has been top-notch—and that’s a direct quote, by the way—they’ve decided to go in a different creative direction and won’t be renewing their contract with us.”
“For some reason I almost want to apologize,” she surprised him by saying.
Where a week ago Michael had been angry enough to punch out a wall over the Rawley account, today he was feeling more philosophical.
“Don’t. It’s the nature of the business. Besides, it frees up some of my time to go after a new client or two, hopefully with even deeper pockets.”
That was his plan. Just the day before, his father had shared some promising news with Michael—right after annihilating him in their weekly squash game.
After Michael had mopped the perspiration from his face and demanded a rematch, Drew had said, “Sorry. I don’t have time to beat you again. Your mother and I are meeting friends for dinner. But I heard something that might make losing to me for the fourth straight week less painful. Our gardener has a cousin who works as concierge in the Manhattan Herriman. Apparently vacancies are up at Herriman hotels in several key American markets, including New York. Management is looking to change that, starting with an improved multimedia advertising campaign. Whatever agency they have now is out.”
Michael wanted to ensure that Grafton Surry was in.
On the other end of the phone line, Sam said, “Clients with deeper pockets. Do these clients have names?”
Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire Page 7