Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (5 page)

“You’re a hypocrite,” he said bluntly.

No. I am open-minded and self-aware.
“Then why in the world do you want to hire me?”

He looked down at his palms for a moment before meeting her gaze. “Because you and I are the same—we see the world in terms of ideals. Black and white. Right and wrong. Success and failures. Never any grays.”

“So you’re saying we’re both hyper-judgmental and rigid.”

He held up his index finger. “We’re good at sizing up people and situations. Of course, what we do with our insights is where we differ.”

Now this she had to hear. “Oh please, do go on.” She crossed her arms.

“I don’t believe in settling for less. But you—”

“I don’t settle,” she protested. “I just didn’t know what I wanted—there’s a difference. But now I do know.”

“Do you?” His gaze slowly moved to her lips and stayed there for a long moment before returning to her eyes.

“Ye-ye-yesss?” She cleared her throat.
Oh God, did you just answer him like a weak little girl?
If her brothers had been in the room, they would’ve been shaking their heads in disgust or chucking basketballs at her head. “Yes,” she said firmly.

“I’m not so sure I believe you. You seem like the sort of woman who’s still searching. Or, perhaps the type who has needs she’s not willing to admit to herself.”

Presumptuous jerk.
Like he knew anything about how she felt or what she needed.

“But all right,” he went on. “Let’s say for argument’s sake you’re right. It doesn’t change the answer to your question.”

She’d completely forgotten the question. They’d gone down an entirely different path, and now her insides felt all flustered.

“Then what’s the answer?”
Maybe I’ll remember the question by the time you say it.

“I want to hire you because the world is changing quickly and I have to evolve with it. I need someone who can teach me to speak your language—a strong, opinionated woman’s language. And because you have no apprehension about sharing your views regardless of the consequences or the feelings of others—your shrewd candor rivals my own.”

Hmph!
It did not. She wasn’t mean and hurtful! “I think your tight pants are getting to your big thick head.” Taylor, for absolutely no apparent reason, found her gaze sinking south to the man’s substantial bulge again.

Tay!

“My…head?” Bennett frowned, his eyes darting down to his groin.

“Oh! I didn’t mean it like that. I meant…”
I am now shriveling into a tiny ball of mortification. Hey, a window! I wonder if I can get it open so I can jump.

“Yes?” He waited, a grin slanting across his lips.

Taylor took a moment to compose herself and then rebounded with a confident gaze. “Look, Bennett, I want to work with you, but I’m just not sure you’ll take the training seriously.”

“If you’re going to work
for
me, you really should call me
Mr. Wade
. And yes, why the hell would I be sitting here if I didn’t plan on taking it seriously?”

Okay, he had a point. “With. Work
with
you; I’m a free agent. And let me remind you that you were demoted from deity to regular guy, so I’ll stick with Bennett.”

He laughed, shaking his head from side to side. “All right. Suit yourself.”

“Suited and ready for duty.” She made a little salute with her index finger. “When would you like to start?”

“Tonight. Over dinner.”

Taylor heard the unpleasant sound of a needle scratching its way across the vinyl. “Whoa there. You and I are not—”

He stood. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ms. Reed, I’m interested in your training program only. My schedule simply happens to be extremely tight over the next two weeks—a special project of mine—and that means my office hours are from twelve to twelve. Now so are yours.”

“Noon to midnight?” It was a little unorthodox, but okay. For fifty thousand, she had to be flexible.

“No. Midnight to midnight. And since I’ll be traveling extensively, you’ll be coming along. Where I go, you go.” He turned away and headed for the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a meeting to attend.”

She raised her index finger and stood. “But—”

“See you tonight at eight. Robin will give you the details.”

Taylor knew she’d just lost this round of mind-fuck-chess with the billionaire, and frankly, she needed to retreat. Because, dammit—point for Bennett—he’d managed to fluster her in a big way. A big, huge, unprofessional, sad, needy woman sort of way that not only undermined her sense of pride but her feminine power, too.
That man is trouble.

He stopped and dipped his head. “And Ms. Reed?”

“Ye-ye,” she cleared the tickle from her throat. “Yes?”

“You’re keeping that phone.” He glanced at the manila envelope on the table.

Obviously, he’d figured out there was more than a letter inside.

“May I ask why?”

He shot her a stern look that made her stomach duck, cover, and roll. “Are you saying no?”

“No.” She shook her head slowly from side to side. She’d hit a nerve. “I’m merely asking why.”

“I think you already know the answer.”

She did? Because the only explanation she could come up with was that he secretly enjoyed stalking her just as much as she enjoying him doing it.
Our dirty little secret.

But that couldn’t be right. Bennett’s motives had to be something else. Simply put, he wasn’t the sort of man to play around. He wanted something, he went after it. That included women. Oh, yes. After the plane crash, she’d started reading all the gossip columns—
I’m a stalker. I need help
—and Bennett collected women like he collected expensive cars. Movie stars, heiresses, models—he dated them all. Of course, he was never seen with any woman more than once.
Womanizing cretin.
In any case, she wasn’t his type, and he wasn’t hers.

I just get a little flustered around him. After all, the man is…he’s…he’s got a
thing
going.
And by “thing” she meant a severe male hotness he knew how to own, work, rent out, club you over the head with, whatever.

Taylor watched Bennett’s imposing, masculine frame walk out his office door, toward the men waiting in his private lobby. They shook hands, then slipped into a fishbowl conference room near the elevator bank. His confident stride indicated he definitely knew she was watching him every step of the way, and he definitely knew he’d gotten to her.

Gah!
She plopped down on his sofa and covered her face, letting out a perturbed little groan. She felt like she’d been shaken, not stirred, and then poured into a martini glass where she’d been simultaneously sipped on while having her olives chewed.

And she goddamned liked it.

She couldn’t remember the last time a man had made her feel all wobbly and scatterbrained like that. They were always too sweet, too into themselves, too sedate, or too…simply not her match. But this man was like biting into a goddamned jalapeño. The first few seconds were a piece of cake; but the more you chewed, the hotter it got.

She rubbed the goose bumps on her arm, thinking. The intrigue and challenge of seeing if she could reshape Bennett Wade into someone more human had grabbed hold and pulled her right in. However—and this was the absurd part—she understood the futility. In all likelihood, Bennett Wade was too arrogant to ever change.

Perhaps changing him shouldn’t be the goal.
She’d had a few glimpses of something inside him—how reassuring he had been before and after the crash, not to mention his relationship with his mother—that led her to believe he cared about other people, even if just a little.
Think. If you could get him to open that part up, he’s the sort of man who could really do some good.
Over a hundred thousand people worked for the guy, and he had influence far beyond that.

The question is, can I handle him?
More precisely put, could she handle the next two weeks with him?

She vigorously shook her head from side to side, trying to chuck all the nonsense from her brain.
Of course I can.
Besides, she really needed this to work. He was the key to her company’s survival. But had he meant anything he’d said about truly wanting her help, or was he after something else?

Don’t be ridiculous. Bennett’s not interested in you.
Once again, she reminded herself of the types of women he’d had, could have, and wanted. They were tens. She was…well, normal. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height and body.

But on the other hand, making her keep the phone definitely meant…well, something. Right?

Come on. Maybe the man really wants to change. Maybe he genuinely respects me. And maybe he wants me to have the phone because he’s demanding and wants to be able to contact me whenever he likes.

Taylor sighed at the phone and letter still on the table and then placed them in her purse.

“Ms. Reed?” Robin stood in the doorway. “Here is your check for fifty thousand dollars, the invitation for the ball, and the limo confirmation.”

Taylor lifted a brow. “Sorry?”

“Oh, is there a mistake? Mr. Wade said your fee was fifty thousand. If that’s incorrect I’ll just call him and—”

“Uh. No. The amount is fine. Thank you.”
He knew I’d cave! That check was waiting, just like he was waiting for me to come today. Ugh.
The man was good. A damned gifted genius at reading people. “Wait. Did you say ball?”

Robin held out a red envelope. “The annual Wade charity ball. Here’s your ticket, and the limo will be at your brother’s house at eight o’clock. My card’s inside if you need anything else.”

A charity ball?
And he knew where she lived? Of course he did.
Stalker.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Taylor said. “Bennett told me we’d be working tonight.”

“No mistake. Mr. Wade said you’d have time to work right after his speech.”

Weird, but okay, fine. He had mentioned they’d be squeezing the training into his busy schedule.

“I don’t have anything fancy to wear,” Taylor said. “Is a plain suit okay?”

Robin smiled knowingly and urged her to take the envelope. “You’ll have nothing to worry about; Mr. Wade thinks of everything—he’s a very thoughtful man.”

The comment threw her off. Robin seemed like a kind and genuine person. Why would someone like her think so highly of a man like Bennett?

He’s probably sleeping with her.
The thought mildly irritated her, and yes, she understood how ridiculous her irritation was.

“Thank you.” Taylor snagged the envelope and hurried out of the office. There was just too much Bennett Wade testosterone in the air. She couldn’t breathe.

On the elevator ride down, she looked inside the envelope and found a handwritten letter.

Ms. Reed,

I look forward to receiving your personalized leadership training. I am confident by week’s end, you’ll have me connecting with my inner-Taylor and leading my people in a more effective, fulfilling manner.

As mentioned, I am in the midst of working on a very strategic and time-consuming deal—something that will change many lives along with my own. Therefore, I’d like to thank you in advance for your flexibility and patience. As my first session with you will need to occur between cocktails and dinner, and I cannot expect you to come up with the appropriate attire on such short notice, I’ve arranged for my good friend Calvin to fit you for a dress this afternoon. He’ll be waiting in the Penthouse Suite at the Fairmont with several dress options.

I look forward to our time together. See you tonight.

BW

Taylor stared at the letter, feeling the heat of that red hot jalapeño singeing her fingertips through the paper.
Ball, dress, limo?

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Her mind was suddenly filled with images that twirled precariously close to the date zone—dancing, laughing, sipping champagne, dry humping each other.

No. You need to establish clear boundaries. Especially if you’re going to be spending so much time with him.
Not that she wanted anything from him romantically. It was simply a question of maintaining the control he seemed to delight in undermining.

As soon as she stepped outside the building, she slid her cell-phone from her pocket and called the number on Robin’s business card. “Hi, Robin. It’s Taylor. Would you let Bennett know that I appreciate the generous offer, but I’ll be finding my own dress and driving myself to our first session tonight?”

“Uh…of course, Ms. Reed,” she said worriedly. “I’ll let Mr. Wade know.”

Taylor interpreted Robin’s response to mean: “Oh boy. Mr. Wade isn’t going to be happy.”

She thanked Robin and ended the call. Now all she had to do was set the boundaries with Bennett tonight.
Lesson number one: Know your own limitations.

“So was it just me, or was my family acting strangely civilized and human last night?” Taylor said over the noise of the crowded deli to Sarah. Sarah had been one of her best friends since elementary school, so they’d spent a lot of time with each other’s families growing up.

Sitting across from Taylor, chewing on a big bite of her turkey sandwich, Sarah shrugged and then washed her food down with a sip of iced tea. “If you’re referring to the fact that your dad didn’t yell at anyone, your brothers didn’t take turns giving you noogies for dessert, and that I caught Jack in the kitchen getting all teary eyed, then…I’d say it was a classic case of Body Snatchers last night. Where did you put the real Reed men?”

“In my spaceship, of course.” Taylor grinned and then leaned closer so no one inside the noisy sandwich shop would overhear what she was about to say. The almost-death incident still felt a little raw. “I think that almost getting killed must’ve really scared them.” Maybe it brought back memories of her mom’s death, although her mother had died giving birth.

Sarah sighed longingly. “I wish Bennett Wade would kidnap me on his plane for a little life-changing drama. Although I would prefer sitting on his face—that would be even better.” She cracked a lopsided smile.

“What?” Taylor laughed and reached across the table to slap Sarah’s arm. “Bite your tongue, woman. He’s a complete barbarian.” A hot one, sure. But still a barbarian. Which was the reason she kind of felt embarrassed to tell Sarah about her and Bennett’s little deal. Actually, no one in her life knew they’d had any contact whatsoever after the crash.

Yeah, save that complicated conversation for another day.
After all, he’d basically gotten her fired and then she’d almost died on his plane. They’d all think she was nuts for taking him on as a client.

“Well, if I’m not mistaken,” Sarah said, “his company’s headquarters is here in San Francisco. If it will make you happy, I can have him arrested. Seems like the only thing I’m good for these days, since men don’t want to interact with me any other way.”

Poor Sarah
. Like Taylor, her dry spell was going on two years, only Taylor’s excuse was never meeting the right kind of men. Men like…

Uh-uh. You’re not even going there. You will not think of Ben—dammit! I just thought of him.

Anyway, lucky Sarah met men all the time. Her looks—wavy brown hair, blue eyes, and curvy frame—drew them right in. But her looks were never the problem. Men simply felt intimidated by her job. Even Taylor’s brothers were afraid to mess with Sarah now, which was such a disappointment because it used to be hysterical when it was her turn for after dinner noogies.

“Have you ever considered just not telling guys you’re a judge?” Taylor asked.

Sarah nibbled on her sandwich, mulling it over. “I tried that with the last one. It was great until I had to come clean.” She shook her head at the sandwich. “I’ve never seen a man get dressed so fast. I should’ve waited until after we had sex. Ten or twenty times.”

Taylor laughed. “Well, I’d set you up, but all of the men I know are rich assholes.”

“Ah, but are they good in bed?”

Taylor dropped her mouth. “How would I know?”

“What? Don’t tell me you never at least thought about sleeping with one of your clients?”

An image of Bennett Wade flashed into her head. Him. Naked. On top of her and hammering away with his hard cock.
Dammit! No!
She reached for the collar of her blouse, trying to let in a little air. “I…uhh…I would never sleep with a client. It’s unprofessional.”

Sarah lifted a dark brow. “Maybe you just haven’t met one who’s tempting enough.”

“There isn’t a man alive who could convince me to cross that line.” But as she said those words, she already doubted them. “How about you? Ever think of dating one of those hot lawyers or someone else from work?”

Sarah shot her a look. “All of the male judges are my dad’s age, lawyers are too uptight, and that leaves the criminals.”

“Oh, come on now,” Taylor joked, “don’t be so judgy. There’s got to be a few hot bad boy bikers coming into your court, in need of a little spanking.”

Sarah couldn’t stand bad boys. She’d sworn them off after college for a very good reason: They were nothing but trouble. In fact, just looking at pair of leather pants made Sarah break out in hives.

“I’d rather become a nun,” Sarah said, coughing out her words, trying not to laugh. “Maybe you’re the one who needs a bad boy—you look like you could use a little hot man trouble in your life.”

And, of course, another stupid image of Bennett Wade just had to pop into her stupid head. She sighed. “I think I already found one.”

Sarah’s smile dropped off. “Really? Who is he?”

Taylor was shocked that the thought had entered her head, let alone leaked out of her lips. “Oh. Would you look at the time? You’re late for your next session.” She pointed to the clock on the wall above the door.

Sarah’s big blue eyes widened. “Oh crap. I am late.” She grabbed her pursed and headed for the door. “You and I are not done with the conversation, Taylor!”

Taylor shook her head at herself
. Yes, we are so done with this topic.
Bennett Wade was trouble and she knew it. And there was no way in hell she’d ever get involved with a man like that.

After that really great lunch with Sarah, Taylor was starting to feel very optimistic about the way things had panned out. It was wonderful to be able to spend time with her friends and family, something she’d not gotten a lot of these past few years while living in Phoenix and constantly traveling. Being home, where the weather didn’t cook you alive, was also heaven.

All right, maybe her emotional lift wasn’t completely attributable to the weather or being back on her old stomping grounds. Accepting Bennett’s offer had renewed her hope that HumanitE might have a chance. She simply needed to put Mr. Grinch in touch with his “inner-Taylor” as he’d called it—so cute.

That evening, she turned the dial on her car radio to NPR as she hit the metering lights on the Bay Bridge to go back into the city for the ball.

She wasn’t really listening to the program, but was thinking more about the exact words she would use to start the conversation with Bennett before they commenced his leadership-style evaluation.
Bennett, I know you’re used to doing things your way, but we need to establish some ground rules….

“And big news today from the industrial sector,” said the announcer on the radio, his words filtering into the background of her thoughts. “Anonymous sources at Lady Mary Fragrances, the largest global manufacturer of perfumes and specialty personal care products, confirmed they are in discussions with Wade Enterprises for a possible merger. A spokesperson for Lady Mary refused to comment as did Bennett Wade, CEO of Wade Enterprises, but industry experts speculate the joining of the two large companies is a move by Wade Enterprises to diversify its holdings. And next up, we’ll be discussing socks. Is wool making a comeback…”

Taylor turned off the radio and stared ahead at the road.
Merger? With Lady Mary?
What the hell?
Lady Mary was an ex-client of hers. Actually, Taylor had dealt with Mary Rutherford’s son, Chip—Mr. “I’ll be heading your way, so why don’t we have our meeting in Vegas. Over dinner. My treat.” He had propositioned Taylor more times than she could remember. But Chip didn’t run the company; dear old mom did. And Mary Rutherford was a well-known, outspoken supporter of women’s rights.

So why in the world would she be talking to the world’s biggest chauvinistic bully and producer of manufacturing automation about a merger?
Bennett Wade and Mary Rutherford are like oil and water.
As were their companies. Those two didn’t even speak the same language.

Wait. Oh my God. Bennett lied to me. He lied to me!
He’d said he wanted to evolve, implying that he wanted to be a better boss. But this merger was why he wanted Taylor’s help. He couldn’t care less about treating his people better or learning anything from her. This was all about trying to win over Mary Rutherford.
And speaking “her language.”

Taylor tightened her grip on the steering wheel, wishing it were Bennett’s neck. He’d completely pulled the wool over her eyes. And he’d obviously lied because he knew she would refuse taking him on as a client for such a materialistic reason.

The air pissed out of her happy little balloon. There was no way she could work with him now. He didn’t believe in her, in her company, or in anything but making money.

Motherfucking, rat bastard, turd face!

Taylor mentally censured herself.
Check the swearing, Tay. You will not swear. You will remove his testicles like a lady: with your bare hands and a smile on your face.

Ten minutes later, Taylor pulled up to the Fairmont, one of San Francisco’s most famous historic hotels on Nob Hill. “Keep it close,” she said to the valet, handing over the keys to her red Audi. “I’m not staying.”

All around her, guests in tuxedos and sequin ball gowns poured inside, stopping to pose for pictures with a photographer in the opulent lobby with its gleaming brown marble floors and ornate crown moldings.

Once past the bottleneck, she made her way to the 1920s-style ballroom where a shimmering crystal chandelier hung from the gold-trimmed ceiling, and an enormous golden “W” stood as a backdrop to the speech platform at the far end of the floor. Off in the corner, opposite the bar, a swing band played to an empty dance floor. Everyone in the crowded room seemed too absorbed in mingling to even hear the music.

Her eyes scanned the crowd.
Where are you, you sonofabitch?
And to think, she’d started growing soft on him, believing there might actually be a heart somewhere underneath the expensive suits and tight, gym-sculpted muscles that she knew a man like him would surely have because he demanded perfection even from his own ass and abs.

It’s your own damned fault, Taylor. You were too busy ooh-ing and ah-ing over him when maybe you should’ve been paying attention.

Her eyes darted around the room and zeroed in on Bennett, who stood out from the silver-haired crowd with his height and thick head of brown hair.

She wove her way through the mass of people, and as she approached Bennett she couldn’t help noticing how perfect he looked in a tux, all handsome and smiles, like he’d just walked out of a wedding magazine.
Don’t get distracted, Tay. Remember what he did—who he really is. A snake.

He spotted her approaching, and his beautiful smile immediately dissolved.

Taylor felt a little satisfaction from that. Bastard didn’t deserve to feel happy.

“Bennett, may I speak to you for a minute?”

The people surrounding Bennett made little noises as if they were shocked or amused by something.

His eyes moved up and down her body, surveying her business attire. “Of course.” He excused himself from his guests, and they walked to the side of the room.

“Was there an issue finding a dress?” he said in a quiet, abrasive tone.

Yeah, there was. She’d needed to keep her mind clean out of the date-zone fantasies. A suit would keep her in check. Wearing an evening gown would not.

Taylor scoffed. “No. I wore a suit because I’m here to work. At least I was.” She suddenly noticed the people Bennett had just been speaking to were looking over at them and laughing. “What’s their problem?” And did he have to stand so close? He smelled really nice—fresh clean man mixed with something citrusy. It was distracting. Not to mention the way he towered over her five-seven frame, forcing her to look straight up at him, hurt her neck.

“I warned you to call me Mr. Wade,” he replied.

“So?”
Wait. Stay on task, Taylor.
“Never mind. I’m here to tell you that I’m returning the check.”

“Why?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Because you don’t give a crap about anybody—you never have and you never will. That’s why.”

“That’s a bit extreme. I merely happen to be very selective about whom I give my time and energy to, and I make no secret of that. What’s brought about this temper tantrum, Ms. Reed?”

Temp—temper tantrum? Going to hurt him. Going to hurt him.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” she snapped, clenching her fists to keep them at her side. “And stop the holier-than-thou routine. It’s offensive. But maybe you can’t help it because that’s just what you are: offensive.”

His blue eyes twitched with irritation. “I’m truly at a loss as to what’s brought on your dramatic eruption. Are you offended because I’d planned to send a car for you so you wouldn’t have to worry about having a little champagne tonight? Was it because I know you lost your job and didn’t think it fair to have you run out and spend a thousand dollars on a ball gown or—” His cellphone must’ve vibrated in his pocket because he reached inside and held up his index finger. “One moment,” he said to Taylor.

The nerve of this guy!
How dare he answer his phone when she was about to tear him a new one!

“Yes?” He listened for a moment. “This is a bad time, Mom. Can’t we speak when you get here?” He listened again. “Why are you obsessing over these damned cookies?” He shook his head slightly. “Yes, that’s interesting, but I have to go. Taylor and I are in the middle of something.” He paused. “I’ll let her know.” He ended the call and returned his cell to the inside pocket of his tux. “Sorry about that, but my mother’s been a little off lately so I thought I should take it. She sends her regards by the way. Now. Where were we?”

“
We
were nowhere,” she replied. “Because I don’t appreciate being used and manipulated merely so you can buy Lady Mary Fragrances. And tell your mother I said ‘hi’ back.” That was nice of him to take her call.

“I will let her know.” A wicked little twinkle sparked in his eyes. “So is Lady Mary what’s got your self-righteous feathers ruffled?” He placed his hand on her upper arm. It was a gesture far too friendly for her taste. And she liked it.

She jerked back her shoulder, and he released his grip. “You’re denying that you hired me to be some sort of…of…feminist tutor? Because I know there’s no way a woman like Mary Rutherford would ever go into business with a man like you.”