The American Earl. Kathryn Jensen
She had promised, but the nervous little mouse had succumbed to cold feet. He should have offered her more money, Matthew thought as he paced the carpeted hallway and, on every pass, glared at the polished brass elevator doors. He had already welcomed two of his guests and their companions, and ushered them into the reception room.
The elevator dinged; doors slid open. He looked up out of his black mood, a tight smile ready for his remaining guests. Prepared to take a firm forward step to greet them, he faltered at the vision before him.
Abigail had worn no wrap, the night being warm. Her shoulders, lightly freckled with burgundy-wine specks, were bare and as creamy as fresh milk. The dress was strapless, clinging to her as if by sheer will-power. It molded her body, yet didn’t seem slinky or cheap. Its lines were too simple to be couturier; the garment might have been home-sewn. But the exquisite shade of turquoise complimented beautifully the waves of rusty-red hair that spilled over her shoulders and curved round her delicate chin. He liked everything he saw. And everything he imagined hidden by everything he saw.
She stepped off the elevator and looked up at him with a raised brow as if to say, Big deal, so I’m here.
“You’re late,” he said gruffly. “Four of my guests are already inside.”
“Then what are you doing out here?”
Waiting for you! he nearly snapped, but held back. He didn’t want her thinking he doubted she would show. Stepping around to her side, he lifted her hand and slipped it through the crook in his arm. She tensed.
“Relax,” he said, “this is for the sake of appearances.”
“Appearances?” She slanted him a look drenched with suspicion.
“It’s easier for me if my guests assume my hostess is also…” My lover. Why had those words popped into his head when others less suggestive would have done just as well? “That we’re—”
“A couple?” she supplied demurely.
“Exactly. I like to be free to talk business without feeling obligated to flirt.”
“This is a major problem for you?” She flashed him a wicked little grin. “Fending off smitten clients or their girlfriends?”
Coming from her and said in that way, it did sound ridiculous. But yes, occasionally, the overtly sensual way in which women reacted to him had put him in some tight spots. Business was business. Sex had its own time and place in his life but, so far as he was concerned, the two had never been meant to mix.
“If you’re going to be a smartass,” he growled, “I don’t want you here.”
She straightened up and dug in her heels, bringing them both to an instant halt. “You were the one who brought up the subject, Lord Smythe. I have to know something about you if I’m to pretend to be your girlfriend.” Her eyes flashed in challenge at him before softening again. “Did you mean it—about the five hundred dollars?”
“Of course.”
She nodded, satisfied.
It didn’t hurt his feelings that playing his girlfriend seemed so unpleasant a task to her it required substantial compensation. Never liked redheads anyway, he told himself. Although none he’d ever met had been as stunning as this one.
He shoved that thought immediately aside. Down to business…
“There are a few things you need to know before we go in there.” He took a breath and focused on her face, turned up solemnly to meet his. “The rather portly gentleman is Ronald Franklin of—”
“Of Franklin & James, the shops in every mall across this country?” she gasped.
“The same. He and his wife don’t like to be pushed. Not a word to him about products, purchases or marketing strategies. Just keep them company and let them choose what they want to eat and drink. They have a new grandchild, you might want to hit on that angle.”
She nodded and shot him a fleeting look that seemed slightly disapproving, but he couldn’t be sure what she might have found fault with. “And the other couple?”
“Ted Ramsey and his date.”
She didn’t need to say a word. He could tell by the way her eyes lit up that she already knew. She was good. Very good.
“The casino mogul,” Abby murmured after a moment.
“Mogul?” He tipped his head to one side, considering the title, which seemed rather exalted for a real-estate speculator who had started out as a Brooklyn landlord and now built flashy gambling palaces in Vegas and Atlantic City. In Matt’s view, the man had thrown a lot of money around and just been lucky. That kind of fast, sloppy luck didn’t often last. “Call him what you will, he’s considering introducing upscale import shops into his casinos, and the projected volume of sales is hefty. I’d like to be the one to supply him.”
“Understandably. How do I approach him?”
“You don’t, unless you can’t help it. Be polite, but no sexy little smiles or we could lose the sale. The woman with him is new. He’s crazy about her but, word has it, she’s the jealous type. Play up to her. Make her feel like a queen, and avoid eye contact with him.”
She let out a little puff of air and shook her head. “How do you find out all this stuff? Employ moonlighting CIA agents to spy for you?”
“Nothing so dramatic.” He didn’t intend to explain the way he worked to her. “Come on, let’s go.” He gave her arm a tug. “The Duprés should arrive soon; she owns a chain of gift shops throughout New England.”
This time, she let him guide her through the door. The two couples turned toward them, and Matt made the introductions. Abby smoothly peeled the grandparents away after a few minutes and guided them toward the buffet table. He noticed she helped herself to a generous plateful of food, then realized she probably hadn’t had time to eat before returning to the building. Normally he frowned on his employees chowing down in front of guests, but he noticed that the Franklins seemed to take her cue and also served themselves more than a token taste of each item on the table. Perhaps a good sign.
His attention returned to Ramsey and his companion. The man was a short, rude bully. Matt didn’t like his manner or the way he did business, but that was beside the point. He still wanted him as a client, and Ramsey must have sensed it. He started talking money right away while his blond princess stood wide-eyed at the figures being tossed back and forth.
Twenty minutes later, the Duprés arrived. Matt didn’t want to leave Ramsey since he sensed they were closing in on a deal, but he couldn’t ignore his new arrivals. At a signal from him, Abby gracefully excused herself from the Franklins and made her way across the room to greet the newcomers. Minutes later, she’d brought all four of her guests together around the bar and the two women were laughing at something Abby had said. The men were observing her with discreet admiration. Matt was impressed.
He wrapped up his discussion with Ramsey, who excused himself to leave for another appointment. The gleam in the man’s beady, black eyes as he sought out his voluptuous date left Matt with the impression that the setting for the upcoming meeting would more likely include a bed than a desk.
Matt came up behind Abby and rested his hand on her waist. To her credit, she didn’t jump. She turned with a ready smile and looked up at him. “I’m having such a lovely chat with our guests. Did you know Caroline does watercolors? She’s quite an accomplished artist.”
“Oh, no,” Mrs. Franklin objected, beaming nevertheless. “I’m a rank amateur.”
Matt smiled vaguely…then grunted in pain. Was that an elbow jabbing him in the ribs? “Love to see your work,” he blurted out, then glanced down at Abby to make sure he’d gotten the right message.
She looked pleased.
“Oh, I’d be so flattered,” the woman cooed. “Do you make it out to the West Coast very often?”