Tailored for Trouble: A Romantic Comedy (Happy Pants) (8 page)

Oh crap. Seriously? That’s just not right.
The man was perfect, right down to his navel. And the peek she’d gotten of his abs—well, she just knew that was only a prelude to the hard perfection hidden beneath his shirt.

“Ms. Reed?” Bennett said looking down at her with curiosity.

Oh no. I’m ogling him again.
Taylor slowly peeled her gaze away from his lower torso and shamefully laddered up his chest. When she met his eyes, he didn’t look annoyed. Instead, the man gave her a little wink.

A wink? What’s that mean? What’s a wink mean, Tay? I hope he doesn’t think I want him. Because I don’t. He’s a total jerk face. Wait. Oh, no. Does he think I want him? And that was him accepting? Oh no. He told everyone we slept together. So now he just wants to make good on that. Not gonna happen!

“We’re not having sex,” Taylor blurted out before she could process the real-life implications of saying something so ridiculous.

Bennett cocked his head, staring at her with an indiscernible expression. Then he burst out laughing with that deep masculine voice before turning toward the back of the plane where Candy had opened the rear door to disembark. Shaking his head the entire way, he disappeared out of sight.

Taylor covered her mouth, mortified.
I can’t believe I just said that. I’m an idiot.

“Ms. Reed?” Candy called out. “Mr. Wade wants to know if you’re coming or if he should, and I quote, ‘waste more of his valuable time on a woman who’s not going to give him any?’ ”

Taylor’s eyes went wide before she dropped her face into her hands.
Oh, the shame.
She stood, grabbed her laptop tote, and made her way toward the smirking stewardess.

Taylor flashed a sheepish smile when she passed. “It was a joke.”

“Uh-huh.” Candy nodded, stifling a laugh.

Taylor made her walk of shame down the portable staircase to the awaiting town car. She slid into the back where Bennett already sat, his head thrown back and his sunglasses on.

She glanced at him, feeling relieved that he’d apparently dropped it already. But as she closed the door she heard a small chuckle radiating from his direction.

She glanced over and saw those tiny little dimples puckering.

“Stop. It’s not funny.” She swatted him on the leg.

“Like hell it’s not.” He removed his sunglasses and stared with those mesmerizing blue eyes.

Taylor looked away. This was so damned humiliating.

“Oh, come now, Ms. Reed.” Bennett slipped his hand on her thigh. Whether or not he’d meant to comfort her didn’t matter. His touch made her feel painfully aware of how long it had been since any man had gotten that close to her womanly parts. “How do you expect me to respond? I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever had a woman shut me down like…
that
.”

“Like what?” she scowled.

“When I hadn’t even done anything—hell, the thought never even crossed my mind.”

“Oh.” Taylor looked away, adding “sexually shunned” to her list of embarrassments. “Well, for the record, I didn’t think you had done anything. I was merely trying to make it clear that our relationship is strictly professional. It just came out the wrong way.”

And seriously, given her track record of clients always hitting on her, who could blame her?

He chuckled again and scratched his rough, stubble-covered jaw. “You might want to rethink your little habit, then. That is, if you want to avoid giving men the wrong impression.”

She didn’t have to ask which “habit” he referred to. She already knew. The bulge-ogling.

Taylor turned her attention back to the safety of the window. The car had already hit the main road. She hadn’t even noticed they’d left the small airport.

“Not that I find it offensive, Ms. Reed. After all, I am Bennett Wade—I have my fair share of admirers.”

Wha-what a pompous
—she turned her head back to sneer at him, but he’d already put his glasses back on and had his head tilted back, that large Adam’s apple sticking out on his strong neck. For a very brief moment, she wanted to pet it. She found a man’s apple very sexy.

“
For the record
, however, you’re not my type,” he added.

Taylor huffed and shook her head.
What a jerk.
“Yeah. I’ve seen your type. I’m not impressed.” Actresses with fake boobs, models with fake smiles, his secretary—okay, Robin was nice, maybe Candy and the pilots, too. But the list went on and on.

He shrugged. “Last time I checked, my cock wasn’t looking for your approval.”

Taylor’s mouth fell open.
What a pig
.

She slipped out her laptop and opened the file. Time to start dishing out a little sweet revenge to Mr. “my cock doesn’t need your approval.”

Ten or so minutes after departing the airport, a phone call—some news that riled Bennett—had put him wide awake. After a few moments, Taylor realized he was speaking to Robin about something related to Mary Rutherford.

“What do you mean, she said ‘no’?” he growled into the phone, and then listened. “Yes, but was it a firm no or a soft no and what was her reason for not wanting to meet? I’m flying all the way to Paris just to talk about this deal—the Bali project is nothing without her.”

What was the Bali project?
Probably some deal to take his harem lifestyle to the next level—probably wants to make it into a themed resort. Bennett Booty Land.
And he needed Lady Mary to keep all his women supplied with expensive perfume.

Taylor listened carefully, thinking this was the perfect time to give him a little “helpful” advice, such as: “Tell her she’s not thinking things through” or “Tell her I know what I’m talking about.”

The idea of being a fly on the wall when Mary received such a condescending message thrilled her.
On the other hand, the more strategic move would be to build Bennett’s confidence in me
, making it easier to slide the bogus training right in a little later.

Taylor tapped Bennett on the shoulder and then held up her index finger.

He gave her an annoyed look. “One moment, Robin.” He pulled the phone from his ear. “Yes, Ms. Reed?”

“Have you ever dined with Mary?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

Perfect.
“Tell Mary you’re not just coming for a meeting—that you want to have dinner afterwards, too, and Chip is invited—you’re eager to see him.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

Because while Mary was ruthless and shrewd when it came to doing business, she was also very old school and believed it was “bad manners” to only talk business. To her it demonstrated a lack of refinement. This is why she also preferred to meet candidates over dinner. She had once said to Taylor, “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they use a fork.” So she probably wouldn’t be able to resist assessing Bennett’s table manners. As for Chip, despite his man-whoring ways, he was her pride and joy, which is why she allowed the incompetent fool to help her run her company. However, he barely spent any time with her. Chip’s favorite thing to do was complain about how Mary was always guilt-tripping him. And finally, Taylor suspected that Chip had a big love-hate man-crush on Bennett. He used to drop Bennett’s name all the time. It was clearly some weird, competitive hang-up.

Anyway, if Bennett was inviting, Chip would want to go. And if Chip went, Mary would want to go, and dinner fit right in with her way of doing things.

Taylor glanced at Bennett. “Just do it. I promise it will work,” she lied, because she only
hoped
it would work.

He looked skeptical, but told Robin to relay the message to Mary’s assistant and ended the call. “All right, Ms. Reed. Let’s see if you’re correct.”

Taylor smiled smugly, trying to hide her doubt. “You’ll see.”
I hope, I hope, I hope.
“In the meantime, since you’re now wide awake, why don’t we do a little work? I thought we could start out with this questionnaire. From that, I can tailor your training modules.”

“As you like, Ms. Reed,” he said coolly, his eyes still hidden underneath his shades.

“Okay. Before we begin, I’m going to warn you that some of the questions might seem a little strange, but I assure you they’re targeted to ferret out particular characteristics—strengths and weaknesses.”

“Proceed,” he said, seemingly uninterested.

“Great. First question. You are a farmer and need to supplement your income. You can either raise animals for meat or for their byproducts—milk, eggs, cheese, and such. Raising animals for food is more profitable, but then you have to slaughter them and hire the appropriately experienced staff whose skills are specialized. Raising animals for by-products is less profitable, but you have access to a larger labor pool, and it doesn’t involve killing. Which do you choose?”

It didn’t matter how Bennett answered; later in the evaluation phase, she’d turn it around to highlight how he should follow her new and “very effective” people management techniques that would have Mary Rutherford seriously questioning the idea of partnering with someone who annoyed the hell out of her.

He lowered his head. “I would choose neither and focus on diversifying my crops. There’s less risk and raising livestock requires much higher overhead—feed, veterinary care, and sterile processing conditions.”

“But that wasn’t a choice,” Taylor argued. “It’s A or B, not C—make up your own answer.”

He bobbed his head, thinking it over for a moment. “Can I outsource the meat processing? The risks and insurance costs to my farm would be lower if I didn’t have to do it in-house.”

Taylor shook her head.
This guy…
“Fine. You can outsource the meat processing.”

“I’ll go with that answer then—higher profit. But I’d only buy cows and chickens so I could convert the animals to egg and milk production at a later date if those markets shifted and became more profitable.”

Taylor shook her head and marked his answer in her computer. “Okay, Mr. CEO. Next question: You’re on a sinking ship with fifty people on board. There are only two life rafts, each with enough space to hold twenty. Everyone has agreed to put you in charge of figuring out who is saved. Your choices are: A. lottery. Or B. Women, children, and elderly first.”

“Why are there only two rafts?” he asked, sounding exaggeratedly irritated.

Jeez. It was just hypothetical.
It was good that he took this seriously, but still.

“I don’t know, there just are,” Taylor said.

“Because the first thing I’d do is kill the son of a bitch in charge of life rafts. Did the world learn nothing from the
Titanic
?”

“The
Titanic
?”

“Yes, the
Titanic.
You might have seen a movie about it. Sinking ship, tragic love story, a classic.”

He likes the movie
Titanic
? This guy?

“I’ve
seen
the movie,” she said crossly. “I just don’t know what it has to do with the questionnaire. You’re supposed to answer A or B.”

“But neither works,” he argued. “At the very least, I would try a little harder to save more people. For example, what’s the water temperature? If it is above sixty, I would probably select those with less body fat, plus the children, to go into the rafts. People with more body fat can last longer in cooler water. Anything below sixty would probably kill most people in a few hours regardless so there’s no point going that route.”

Taylor sighed with exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose and thankful they weren’t doing this for real. She could see that Bennett had a difficult time simply accepting options that were handed to him.

Probably why he’s so successful—the man doesn’t believe in settling.

“What?” Bennett shrugged. “Your questions are flawed—not my fault.”

“The point is to
choose.
I purposefully make the answers polarizing so I can—”

“So you can put me into a little box of stereotypes? Because that won’t work, Ms. Reed. I don’t fit into any molds.
That
I can promise you.”

She didn’t doubt
that
for a moment.

“No,” she argued. “It’s about your style, your tendencies, your instincts. And I’m not trying to put you in a little box, I’m simply trying to establish where you are so we can determine where you need to go. Think of this as our map.”

He turned his entire body in her direction. “Why don’t you try asking me some real questions, Taylor? Ask me who I hire or why. Ask me what I expect of my people, and how I reward them. Or why don’t you ask them what they think about me?” He seemed agitated, but she didn’t understand why.

“Did I say something wrong, Mr. Wade?” A little tick of guilt flicked at her stomach. Strange that upsetting him made her feel so bad when it should be the opposite.

His frown melted away with a deep breath. “No. My apologies. I have a headache, and it was a very rough night. Maybe we should resume once I’ve had some real sleep.”

“Sure. Whenever you like.”

“Looks like we’re here, anyway,” he said.

Taylor leaned forward to get a better view. They were in downtown St. Helena, the heart of wine country. She had been here a few times, wine tasting with Sarah and Holly. “Why are we here?”

“I need to pick something up. I’ll only be a moment.” He slipped from the car and disappeared through a flower-covered archway and down a little path that ran between a clothing boutique and small olive oil shop. A sign on the side of the building read “Happy Pants Café, Right This Way.” An arrow pointed in the direction Bennett had gone.

That’s weird.
She remembered seeing a Happy Pants something-rather sign at a café in Seattle, right when Bennett had first called. It was the type of thing you’d forget.

She pulled out her phone and Googled the café. Oddly, they didn’t seem to have a website or any contact information, but there were pages and pages of blog posts about it, and one article in the
San Francisco Tribune
.

Taylor opened it up and started reading. According to the reporter, a Harper Branton, the café started out as a simple bakery run by a widow from Mexico, Ms. Luci Leon-Parker. Over the years, the café gained notoriety for having a sort of love charm in their sugar cookies. “One bite. Seven days. And true love will be yours.”