He may have lost the Rawley account, but his competitive spirit hadn’t died. “Like I’d tell you.”
She laughed. “I had to try.”
Yes, she did. Sam had always been relentless in pursuing what she was after. Some men might have been put off by that. Michael had considered it an attractive quality since it mirrored his own determination. Indeed, the only time he’d found it tedious was when she’d applied it to gaining her father’s notice. In that case, he’d wished she would finally accept defeat and move on.
He brushed that counterproductive thought aside and asked, “What do you say I treat you to dinner to show you there are no hard feelings?”
“Dinner?”
“Yeah.” When she still said nothing, he added, “It’s the last meal of the day, generally eaten late in the afternoon or early in the evening.”
“Funny. You want to treat me? I thought it was my turn to buy,” she reminded him.
“Does that mean you’ll have dinner with me, then?”
“I probably shouldn’t, but I suppose now that you’ve clarified your definition of what constitutes fraternization it won’t hurt.”
Michael cleared his throat. “About that, Sam. I’m wondering if I should apologize.”
“For what?”
“For the kiss,” he replied.
“Gee, Michael, it wasn’t that bad.”
His laughter rumbled out even as his ego deflated. “Oh, I can do better. Much better. As you well know. So are we on for tonight?” Then, to clarify, he added, “For dinner, not the other.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m not free tonight.” She waited a beat. “For either, but especially not the other.”
“I see.” God help him, he did. In his mind Michael pictured Sam looking as lovely as ever and out on the town with someone else. Someone male. Someone male who had his hands on her hips and his lips cruising down her naked…
Thankfully the image popped when she said, “I’m going to see Sonya after work.”
He expelled a breath but didn’t think twice before asking, “Do you want some company?”
Sam was clearly surprised. “You’re offering to come with me? You want to see her again?”
“I am and I do.” Even though it hurt like hell to see Sonya the way she was, he did want to see her. Like Sam, he wanted to believe that in some way she knew Michael was there, sitting by her bedside, filling in both sides of the conversation and stroking her hand. What’s more, he didn’t want Sam to have to go alone. “I can drive. Or if you’d prefer, you can get behind the wheel.”
“Does that mean we’ll be eating at Casablanca again?” she asked.
“Only if that’s what you want.”
She made a sexy humming noise that had his mouth going dry. “Not tonight. Why don’t we grab a bite before we head out of the city? I’m in the mood for Thai food. Are you game?”
“Yeah, but what about visiting hours? Won’t we be cutting it close if we have dinner first?”
“That’s all right. The nurses are pretty flexible when it comes to family. As long as I leave by nine-thirty, they don’t care what time I get there.”
“Okay. So, Thai food it is. I know this great place,” he began at the same time Sam said, “I’ve been wanting to try…”
“Sorry. You were saying?” Michael asked.
“There’s a relatively new restaurant that I’ve wanted to try, but not many of my friends are fans of Thai food.” And she’d remembered that Michael was. “But we can go to the place you were mentioning. Where is it?”
“A couple blocks from the Guggenheim Museum on Fifth Avenue.”
Her laughter rippled. “That’s the one I’m talking about. Sounds like we’re on the same wavelength.”
That had happened a lot back when they were a couple, he recalled. They’d finished each other’s sentences. He’d sworn sometimes she’d been privy to his thoughts and he to hers, which made it all the more ironic and painful that a lack of communication had contributed to their breakup.
“What time should I pick you up and where? Your office? Or do you need to swing by your apartment first?” he asked.
“How about we meet at the restaurant at five-thirty? I’ll call and make reservations.”
“Afraid to let Randolph to see you…fraternizing?” Michael decided to let her decide in what way he meant the word this time.
Sam bypassed his innuendo completely. “Actually, I’m doing this for the benefit of the environment. You’ll be driving out of your way to come pick me up here.”
Michael didn’t buy her excuse, but he let it go. He was in no hurry to see the man who at one time was to become his father-in-law.
“See you at five-thirty.”
Sam had switched off her computer and was pulling on her jacket, happy to call it a day, when Randolph walked into her office.
Without so much as a greeting he said, “Catch me up on the status of the Herriman account.”
Sam glanced at her watch. She would be pushing it to make it to the restaurant on time, especially if she couldn’t get a taxi right away. “Can this wait until tomorrow, Dad? I’ve got someplace to be.”
“Are you going to see Sonya?”
“Yes,” she answered. Then, because she wasn’t one to lie, even by omission, Sam added, “And before that I’m having dinner. With Michael.”
“Michael Lewis.” Randolph spat out the name as if it were poison. “When did this happen?”
She tucked some files into her attaché case and feigned confusion. “When did what happen?”
“You know exactly what I’m referring to. Good God, Sam!” he exploded. “I can’t believe you’re seeing him again.”
“I’m not seeing Michael. Exactly. We’re just…” The kiss made it impossible to finish the sentence with friends. Friends didn’t kiss the way she and Michael had the other night. Nor did they respond to such kisses with feverish abandon.
“Can’t you see what he’s up to here? You’ve taken away one of his clients, nearly two when you think about the deal that fell through with the watchmaker. Mark my words. He’s after something.”
“Like what, my accounts?” She laughed. “Sure he is. There’s nothing unethical about competition.”
This didn’t sit well with Randolph. “Tell me you haven’t shared news about Herriman with him.”
“Please. I’m not stupid. Of course, neither is Michael. I wouldn’t doubt he’s heard the news. For that matter, I wouldn’t doubt that half a dozen other Manhattan ad executives are angling for it as we speak.” She sent her father a flinty stare. “But I have no intention of letting that account go to anyone but Bradford.”
Her father nodded, but he didn’t look reassured. “Heed my advice and watch your back, Sam. Don’t trust him.”
She exhaled in annoyance. She and Michael weren’t back together, but she still felt pitted between the two men. “You make it sound as if he’s out for revenge or something.”
“Maybe he is. You didn’t part on the best of terms.”
“That was seven years ago.” Yet it felt like yesterday. But for her father’s benefit Sam asked, “What’s he going to do to get revenge, Dad? Try to break my heart?”
Randolph folded his arms over his chest. “He did that once, as I recall.”
“Only because I let him.”
“Sam—”
He was winding up for a lecture, she could tell. Even if she’d had the time, Sam didn’t want to hear it. “We’re not back together.” That much was true. Whatever they were, she and Michael weren’t a couple. “He’s taking me out to dinner as a goodwill gesture, more or less. He wants to show me there are no hard feelings over the Rawley account.”
Randolph’s harsh laughter echoed in the room. “Sure he is. And you buy that? If so, maybe you’re not the right person to run Bradford when I retire after all.”
Sam blinked. She wanted to believe that her father had only said that to make a point. She needed to know with certainty that
after the seven years she’d all but slaved at his knee that he couldn’t possibly consider leaving her out in the cold. But a lifetime of falling short in his eyes made it impossible to muster the conviction required to chase away all doubt.
On the cab ride to the restaurant, she mulled over Randolph’s words. She arrived fifteen minutes late thanks to an accident that had further snarled rush-hour traffic.
As soon as she saw Michael, the conversation with her father was forgotten. Everything was forgotten except the lovely, albeit dangerous, effect the man had on her pulse.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as he rose to his feet to greet her.
“No problem.” Then he smiled and asked, “Mind if I satisfy my curiosity?”
The unexpected question threw her, but only for a moment. “I guess not, as long as it doesn’t involve lewd and lascivious conduct. I hear that the law frowns on that.”
“Spoilsports.” He reached out to tuck some hair behind her ear and frowned. “Hmm. Little silver hoops. I was picturing gemstones.”
She blinked at him. “You were? When?”
“When I talked to you on the telephone earlier.”
His response had heat zipping through her. Before Sam could think better of it she asked, “What else were you picturing?”
Michael shook his head. “I’d better not say. I think that might fall under the heading of lewd and lascivious.”
She laughed even as she fought the urge to fan herself. “You know, I always found your obsession with my earrings to be a little weird.”
“It wasn’t just your earrings. It was your ears, too. And, as I recall, you liked it when I did this.” He leaned over and expelled a soft breath that caused her to shiver.
Given her reaction, Sam figured there was no point in denying his claim. Instead, she said, “Why don’t we take our seats?”
Once again it was late when they returned to the city from visiting Sonya. Once again Michael insisted on walking Sam to the door of her apartment. And once again he kissed her until they were both breathless and feeling needy.
“This is quickly becoming a habit.” He shoved the hair back from his forehead.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Yeah?” One brow shot up. “Have you determined whether it’s a good habit or the kind that needs to be kicked and quick?”
“Not yet.”
“Me neither.” He exhaled sharply. “I’d better go.”
Sam wanted him to stay. In fact, an invitation hovered on her lips. They could uncork the bottle of wine that was chilling in her refrigerator and…talk. Clamping her mouth shut, she nodded in agreement with him.
Michael had been sure she’d been about to ask him to come in. He wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or disappointed that she decided against that. Nor was he sure why he told her, “I’ll be out of town for the next few days on a commercial shoot in Big Sur, but I’ll have my cell if you need to reach me.”
“Big Sur, hmm?” she said. He pictured her there, wearing a skimpy bikini and frolicking in the surf. The image popped like an overinflated balloon when she added, “Remind me to go after that account next.”
“Very funny.”
She grinned. “Have a safe trip. I’ll see you when you get back.”
Even though she offered the words casually, Michael’s heart gave a curious thump.
Michael was happy to return to New York even though the weather in California had been gorgeous and the trip productive in more ways than one. After wrapping up the photo shoot, he’d spent a night in the Beverley Hills Herriman. He’d toured some of the newly renovated rooms and then sat poolside with other guests, subtly gathering their thoughts on the services and amenities that were available either for an extra fee or gratis.
Afterward, ideas began bubbling, percolating intensely for a flashy multimedia campaign that he felt certain would deliver the numbers Herriman’s people were seeking. He’d spent the nonstop flight home working on it and then headed straight to his office to go over his ideas with the art department and run some more numbers. He didn’t arrive home until after eleven, too late to call Sam, even though with her equally crazy schedule, there was a good chance she was up. He just wanted to hear her voice.
Not sure how he felt about that, he decided against calling her the following day, too.
In the end it didn’t matter. They literally bumped into each other late that morning in the lobby of a midtown office building.
“Of all the lobbies in all the buildings in Manhattan, you had to walk into this one,” Michael said, borrowing and doctoring a line from Casablanca.
Sam couldn’t believe her eyes. She’d just been thinking about Michael and here he was. His hair was slightly windblown and, of course, all the sexier for it. He wore a charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly. The handkerchief peeking from the coat’s breast pocket caught her attention. She’d given it to him, surprised him with it actually when he’d gone for the job interview in Los Angeles. He’d kept it? She’d figured he would have burned every last reminder of their life together.
She dragged her gaze back to his face. A pair of blue eyes smiled along with his mouth. She nearly sighed. As much as he liked her earlobes, she loved his mouth. He had the best pair of lips she’d ever seen on a man. Wide and decidedly masculine despite being somewhat full. And she was staring at them, she realized.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I’m meeting with a client. What about you?”
“The same.”
His gaze narrowed. “That makes me nervous and I think you know why.”
“I could say the same thing. A little birdie at Aphrodite’s Boudoir mentioned that you were in to see Joanna Clarkson again. You’ve been busy since losing Rawley.”
“I was busy before then.” He winked, looking both smug and sexy. Sam wasn’t sure whether she wanted to sigh or slap him.
“What floor is your client on?”
“The fifteenth.”
“Ah. I’m heading up to the twenty-eighth. Care to share an elevator?” she asked.
“I’ll go one better. I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Picking up the tab again?”
“Yes.” His brows arched in challenge. “Are you going to argue about it again?”
She took a moment. “I guess not.” And then, because she couldn’t resist goading him, Sam added, “If your generosity keeps up I won’t feel the least bit guilty about spending such an outrageous sum on the designer heels I bought last week.”
“Women and shoes,” Michael muttered as they walked toward the bank of elevators with a crowd of other suit-clad professionals. While they waited to board a car, he asked, “How long do you think your appointment will last?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Not that long, forty minutes tops.”
“Mine shouldn’t take more than an hour. We’re just going over a couple of proposed changes.”
“I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” Sam told him. “It’s such a nice day out, maybe we can dine al fresco.”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I said al fresco,” Sam said. “And I don’t consider this to be a real meal.”
They were seated on a bench in Central Park. Michael was two bites away from finishing the hot dog he’d purchased from a vendor. Sam had yet to start hers. Despite her complaints, he was enjoying himself and he was pretty sure she was, too.
It was a gorgeous day despite the breeze, with a cloudless sky and temperatures approaching the seventies. It was far too nice to be cooped up inside a crowded restaurant when Michael would be spending the rest of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening holed up in his office fine-tuning the national print campaign for a client.
“You used to get a craving for a good dog at least once a week. Tony said you helped keep him in business,” Michael said of the street vendor they’d frequented.
Sam fussed with the straw sticking out of her can of diet soda.
“No one made a dog like Tony. His buns were always so soft.” She glanced sideways. “You know what I mean.”
“God, I hope so,” Michael replied on a chuckle.
She sipped her soda and went on. “I haven’t had a hot dog since I moved out of our apartment.”
Our. He chased away the nostalgia and regrets the word conjured up by asking, “Why’d you give them up?”
“I prefer to live a long and healthy life. Do you have any idea the kind of stuff they put in these things?”
“No and please don’t share it with me now. I’m eating.” He popped the last bite into his mouth and chewed contentedly.
“Here you go.” She handed over her hot dog, which was still wrapped in foil and warm to the touch. “Help yourself to mine.”
“Are you sure you don’t want it? A bag of pretzels isn’t much of a lunch.”
“No, it’s not,” she replied pointedly. “I plan to order something when I get back to my office. I’m thinking a nice grilled chicken breast on a bed of organic greens. Mmm.”
It hadn’t sounded all that appetizing until that noise vibrated from the back of her throat. Now, Michael swore his mouth was watering. He swallowed. Yep. Definitely watering.
“Let me guess. Low-fat dressing.”
“No dressing at all. A slight drizzle of lemon juice will do.”
“You’re living large these days, Sam. What will you have for dinner? Bean sprouts and tofu?”
She shook her head. “That’s not on the takeout menu.”
“When did you turn into such a health nut?”
“I’m not a health nut. I still like a big bowl of triple-fudge ice cream now and then and I’ll never give up red meat, even if I do try to eat it less often. I’ve just been trying to eat healthy, take care of myself.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” he conceded. “You’re not getting any younger.”
Her lip curled. “Gee, thanks for pointing that out.”
“No problem.” He grinned.
“As if I could forget with my mother’s constant reminders that my biological clock is ticking like a time bomb.” Sam’s cheeks grew pink after saying so. She popped a pretzel in her mouth and chewed.
Marrying the Manhattan Millionaire Page 8