Eclipse of the Heart (4 page)

"It’s an ugly scenario."

"It's a business transaction." He stared her down,
determined to make her face the truth. He hated playing games. He would never
treat her with anything but courtesy and respect, but she had to know upfront
that there would be no emotional component to their relationship.

"Wait a minute." Relief sparked in her eyes.
"You told me five minutes ago that I wouldn’t have to sleep with
you!"

"'Sleep
' being the operative
word!" He picked up his drink and tossed back the contents. "You
weren’t under the impression I was paying you that generous salary merely to
serve as arm candy?" He plunked the glass down on the table with a thump
to punctuate his words. "I can get that for free."

"You can’t get sex for free?"

"Of course I can." Anger flared and he had to take
a deep breath to rein it in. "If I don't mind the emotional ball and
chain." He showed his teeth in a deliberately fake smile. "I have
more cash than I do caring. You might as well know that right up front."

"You also have a lot more cash than sense if you think I
care about your checkbook or your emotional state," she shot back.

He had to hide an unexpected smile. "Look. I don't know
what your game is here. If you're trying to play a reluctant virgin role, drop
it now. I like my women to be experienced and adventurous. Not dowdy and
innocent."

"And I," she retorted,
"like my employers to be intelligent and law-abiding."

"Law-abiding?"
His anger
turned to cold fear. Had he been a victim of a vice-sting?

She raised her eyebrows and tilted up her chin. "You've
never heard of sexual harassment?"

Instinctively, he turned and strode away from her. His mind
clicked furiously through this new puzzle. He was used to manipulative women,
but this was a first—an accusation of harassment. His first thought was his
lawyer. His second—the discreet agency he used. He needed facts. If she wasn't
playing a role, why was she looking so shocked? Maybe he'd been crude to use
the "f" word, but she'd annoyed him with her posturing.

He'd been wanting her since the moment she walked into his
office in that drab outfit, the hot kiss had further inflamed him, and it was
time to get down to business.

"Excuse me." He grabbed his phone from the bar,
and scrolled down for the agency's number.

Cleo Shipley answered on the first ring. She knew everything
there was to know about customer service, and she certainly knew he was one of
her best clients. Not that he'd ever had her, but he didn't have any illusions
about where she'd started either.

"Did you send me a job candidate yesterday?" he asked,
dispensing with any courtesies.

"How are you, darling?" Cleo's sultry tone invited
him to undress her. She never wasted an opportunity.

"The candidate," he repeated. "It's
important, Cleo."

"Of course I did. She told me you had already filled
the position."

"Shit." He couldn't stop the word from escaping.

"I was disappointed, Logan." She was smart enough
to keep accusation out of her tone. "I thought we had an exclusive
arrangement."

"Be grateful for small favors, Cleo. I've got a woman
here and she's threatening legal action. You don't want to be caught up in
that."

He clicked off, tossed the phone back on the bar and faced
the woman he'd expected to be bedding by now. Had she set him up?

"Let's talk." He used the tone he saved for those
tough business adversaries he'd mentioned just ten minutes ago.

Amanda raised her chin. "Who is Cleo?"

He looked down at her. "How did you end up in my office
yesterday?"

Her lips tightened to a thin line. "I'm the one who's
been accused of selling my body. You answer my questions."

"If you weren't in my office interviewing for a job
with me, why were you there?"

"I
was
interviewing for a
job!"

"Okay." He grabbed at his patience. This was not
what he'd been fantasizing about for this evening. "What job?"

"Director of Entrepreneurial
Services."

"Jesus." The anger drained out of him. "Damn
fool of an assistant."

"You mean
Twinkletoes
?"

He almost smiled again. Rosie did have a tendency to acquire
nicknames due to her outlandish outfits.

"She's filling in for my regular assistant who's having
surgery this week."

"I was early for my appointment." Amanda paused,
as if trying to remember. "When I left, there was another woman in the
waiting area.
A redhead."
She eyed him.
"With a skirt as short as her legs were long. She must have been your
potential—how shall I put it?" She smiled with all venom and no humor.
"Your floozy?"

"Jealous, are you?" The words slipped out and
instantly, he wished them unsaid. The momentary triumph that had lit her eyes
disappeared in a flash. Instead, she looked like a five-year-old who'd
discovered she was left off a birthday party list.

But she recovered quickly. "Do I look like someone who
wants to be mistaken for a bimbo?" She gestured to herself. "There is
nothing provocative about me!"

"Now on that point, I must disagree." As smoothly
as that, he'd become the hunter again. He felt the instinct to chase fire up
his bloodstream. Not that he'd let her know it.

"Business suit," she said. "Sensible pumps.
A boring hairstyle."

He looked at her hair.
Of all the things
to mention.
Yeah, he’d rather see it hanging down, but a man didn’t
reject a woman for her hairstyle. Instead, he imagined pulling out whatever
pins were holding it in place, and shaking it down so it looked like he wanted
it to look. And fell where he wanted it to fall. Like on his stomach, and
points further south.

But he was smart enough to know she didn’t want to hear
that. A mistake had been made, and he had offended her.

He tried for a soothing tone. "I see that you dressed
in an appropriate manner for a business job interview."

"Then what were you thinking?"

He shrugged. "I thought you’d tried to be different.
Since I found you quite enticing, I didn’t question your outfit."

"Don’t talk to me like that!"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean!"

He grinned, unable to help himself. She was like a swan,
hissing and fluttering her wings, none of which detracted from her underlying
graciousness.

"I think,"
he
said
calmly, "that we need to find a way to move forward from this misunderstanding,
without spending more time lingering on the past and pointing fingers."

"You don’t understand!" Her eyes darkened. "I
needed that job. I was so happy when I thought I’d found a way to get Julie the
treatment…" The flow of words halted abruptly, she swallowed, and he saw
the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes.

He turned away. If she began crying, the discussion was
over.

But it seemed she understood his refusal to deal with tears,
or she was able to check her emotion.

"You’re right," she said. "This whole
discussion is pointless. A mistake was made. Let’s leave it at that."

She grabbed her purse and headed for the bedroom. "I’ll
be out of here in fifteen minutes."

"There's a storm out there," Logan said.
"There won't be any flights leaving Chicago tonight."

"I can find another hotel."

He picked up the receiver of the hotel phone and dialed the
front desk. "I need another room tonight," he said. "No, I'll
keep this suite as well. Please send up a bellman."

He hung up. "That problem has been resolved. Now can we
proceed?"

She eyed him warily and he almost smiled as he watched her
wrestle with her conscience. She wanted to storm out. She needed the job. He
knew what she'd decide in the end. But he didn't mind soothing her injured
pride.

"Amanda. Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t leave here at
this time of night."

"
I’m
ridiculous? Look at
you
,
a grown man paying women for sex.
Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?"

"Why? It's a reasonable exchange. We each get what we
want."

"Why don’t you want to be with women who enjoy you for
your company?"

"The women I’m with give a fair imitation of enjoying
my company, and I find that’s good enough for me."

"A pretense.
Not even
well-disguised."

"It’s nothing if not well-disguised. I use direct
deposit."

"That’s not funny!" She turned back from her grand
exit to glare at him. "It’s disgusting."

"I think that’s enough talk about my lack of
morals." Damn, why was he tolerating any of this nonsense? Did he want her
that badly? He watched her as she wrestled with indecision. She would be
mortified if she knew how accurately he could read her. Her pride demanded that
she storm out. But her practical nature knew that his job, if she could salvage
it, was the best offer she'd get.

He gestured toward the table. "Why don’t we sit down
and see if we can move forward."

"There is nowhere to go with this discussion."

"Sit." He pointed at a chair by the glass table
and pulled out one for himself.

"Are you always this bossy?" she demanded.

"Are you always this stubborn?"

"I have no intention of serving as your whore."
She remained standing, her shoulders stiff with defiance, her hands clenched on
the back of the
chair,
as if afraid she’d pull it out
and sit down.

"Believe it or not, my ego is sufficiently modest that
I can accept that." He nodded at the chair. "So, if we table that
idea, will you sit down?"

"Fine."
She yanked out
the chair and dropped into it.

"Now, the way I see it is this. You need a job and you
need health insurance for your sister."

She gave a jerky nod.

"The job you came to interview for has not been filled.
Would you care to start over with that interview?"

"Are you serious?"

"You were screened by the O'Brien Agency,
correct?"

"Yes." She frowned at the table top. "Now I
know why you didn't have any questions for me." More than a trace of
bitterness still laced her tone.

"We're starting over," he repeated patiently. He
leaned back, hoping to set her at ease. Not that he could relax, when her light
perfume was enticing him, her brown eyes were flashing an invitation he knew
she didn't recognize, and her cheeks were flushed as if she'd just finished a
romp in bed. He gave a mental sigh. "Tell me about your
qualifications," he said.

She stood. "Let me get my resume."

He waved her back to her seat. "I'll look at it later.
Let's talk now." He wanted to ask her to take off her jacket and make
herself comfortable, but he knew better. She was as skittish as a virgin in a
bordello.

"Fine."
She bit off the
word. "I have an undergraduate degree in business, and I've worked for
five years at a small, Web-based promotional company. In my spare time, I've
started a business offering nutritional advice online."

"Why nutrition?"

"My sister has been sick for awhile. I became
interested in the subject in hopes of helping her."

"Are the plans for your own business on hold?"

For the first time, she hesitated. "I'd hoped to
continue running it on a part-time basis."

"You returned to the corporate world strictly for
insurance benefits?"

"I needed the salary and the benefits." She bit
her lip.

"I'm sure you know I'm looking for a financial person
to analyze acquisitions." She definitely didn't have the profile he
normally wanted for this position.

"I also have an MBA in Finance," she said.

So she was pushing thirty. An age he avoided. Though he
sometimes craved a woman with more maturity than the usual brainless bimbo the
agency sent over, he didn't want to get tangled up with anyone whose biological
clock might be ticking. He'd specified mid-twenties as the age range with the
agency. He didn't think it was too young, given that he was thirty-two.

Strike one for Amanda.

He didn't count the fact that she wasn't for sexual hire as
the first strike. There were ways to get around that problem.

He nodded at her. "Where'd you get your degree?"

"Wharton."

"Harvard here."
Though
he'd been born and raised in Massachusetts, he'd never been back since the
accident.

"I'll try not to hold that against you."

Her quip surprised him into a quick grin. "But
you," he countered, "have to live down Trump as
an
alum
."

For the first time, she smiled. "I have a good story
about him," she said.

"Let's hear it."

"I was with one of my professors who
was
waiting to go into a Board of Trustees meeting. The Donald called."

Logan nodded.
"With an outrageous
demand, no doubt."

She laughed. "Oh, yes. He was in his helicopter and
late for the Board meeting. He wanted to land on the football field."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "It's not like him to ask
for permission."

"Exactly.
When the permission
was denied, he announced he was intending to land there, anyway."

"I hope football practice wasn't in session."

"Not at that point. But the Dean called the Athletic
Director and said, 'Get everyone in the gym onto the field, immediately.'"
She spread her hands. "There just wasn't any room for the helicopter to
land."

Logan threw back his head and laughed. "It's not often
someone thwarts The Donald."

She smiled. "It was a fun moment."

The suite doorbell rang. Perfect timing, Logan thought. He
wouldn't find a better moment to exit on a positive note.