The Personal Touch. Lori Borrill
Jerald had worked his way to the top. Of course, the rich relations he’d married into hadn’t hurt his career, but at his core, Jerry Hilton was part of the working class who took pride in the things he could create with his own hands, a superbly crafted meal being one of them.
“This is nice, cooking with you,” Jillian said as she whisked together a vinaigrette for the salads that sat chilling in the fridge. “It reminds me of the early days with your father.” Then she looked around his high-tech kitchen. “Although the accommodations are quite a bit better than the tiny apartment we had when we were first married.”
The tiny apartment she referred to was the two-thousand-square-foot penthouse three blocks off Wilshire Boulevard her parents had bought the young couple as a wedding present.
“You know, your father cooked a meal like this for me on our first date,” she added. “It’s how I knew he was serious about me.”
She threw him a glance that asked if the same significance applied to Margot.
“I like Margot,” he said. “As far as being serious about her, it’s a bit premature to say at this point.”
The look on her face said she knew he was lying, and that was okay. As long as she didn’t know why Margot was special, she could think what she wanted. In fact, it was probably best his mother presumed he had serious intentions. She might open up more freely if she thought she was conversing with a future daughter-in-law instead of another one of Clint’s casual flings.
And in reality, if it weren’t for what he’d heard from Carmen, that might have been true.
Clint had already been impressed with Margot after their meeting, and then the contract she’d drawn up etched another checkmark in her favor. She hadn’t missed a beat in the five-page document. Every point had been covered in a manner that was clear and firm, yet fair to both parties. And the fact that she’d whipped it up overnight underscored the fact that his intuitions had been on the mark.
Margot Roth was as sharp as she was sexy, a fact that both intrigued and dismayed him.
Because after returning from her office, he’d made a beeline to Carmen to find out everything he could about the beautiful matchmaker with the big brown eyes. And what he’d learned was that if he wanted more than her business, he’d come around a month late. Apparently, Margot had a boyfriend, and though the relationship was new, Carmen seemed to think it was already serious.
Clint couldn’t deny that the news irked him, not so much because she was taken, but because he’d only missed her single status by a few short weeks.
He hated being denied something he wanted, but even more than that, he couldn’t shake the inexplicable feeling that she should be his. He didn’t know where it came from. Hadn’t felt that way about a woman before. It was just this thing that had come over him and kept sticking like glue. An overwhelming feeling of possession.
It was like walking into a gallery and seeing a painting he knew he had to have. If pressed to articulate why, he’d have a hard time because it wasn’t simply the colors, or the style, or the frame or the subject matter. It was the way they all came together in a package that hit that special sequence of buttons.
Except this time, the artwork had a big Sold sign on it.
“Have I seen her in any films?” his mother asked.
“Margot isn’t an actress.”
“Oh, so she’s a model?”
He frowned. “I date women besides models and actresses, Mother.”
“Then what does she do?”
“I don’t know. Some kind of counselor.” He followed her onto the terrace, where she proceeded to set the table while he put out the steaks and readied the grill. “We only spoke briefly while we were ordering lunch. I intend to find out the details tonight.”
“Well, I’ll hand it to you. You don’t have trouble finding women, that’s for sure.”
The doorbell rang and he glanced at his watch to see that she was exactly fashionably seven minutes late. Hell, even her promptness was perfect. As he trekked to the front door, he reminded himself that Margot was here on business, and as much as he would have liked to throw in the pursuit of pleasure, it wasn’t worth harming his integrity. His father had always told him that in their business, honor and reputation meant everything, and one’s personal life could never be separated from the job. Few people could get away with being unscrupulous in private while still maintaining respect in the business world, and rather than test those waters, it was best to regard all aspects of his life as a piece of the whole. Do right by people, and for the most part, people will do right by you.
In this case, that meant not trying to steal a woman from another guy, no matter how much he might want her.
But as he opened the door and saw Margot standing there in a sexy yellow sundress, her dark coffee eyes bright and dewy and that smile wide and inviting, he couldn’t stop one phrase from taunting him.
All’s fair in love and war.
5
CLINT OPENED the door wearing flip-flops, tan cargo pants and a Hawaiian shirt, which on further inspection, had barely conspicuous UCLA emblems printed among the palm fronds. It was classic California weekend attire, but coupled with his good looks and perpetual aura of wealth, he looked less like a typical beach bum and more like a guy who’d just spent the weekend kicking back with Jimmy Buffett.
He scanned her over and flashed that million-dollar smile. “You look beautiful.”
It was a compliment he’d probably tossed to dozens of women at his door, but she still couldn’t help the giddy thrill. As if the cutest boy in class had finally turned his attention to the studious bookworm parked next to the teacher’s desk.
She shook it off and reminded herself that this was a business meeting. It would be bad enough having to fake her way through this night; she didn’t need to get carried away with the idea this was a real date.
Because when she stepped through the door and into the foyer, she realized how ridiculous that notion was.
She’d been surprised when pulling up to the address. From the front, the house looked like a simple mid-century modern with nice but modest landscaping. But when he opened the door and she crossed the threshold, she realized the facade was only a portal to a level of extravagance she’d never witnessed without having to pay for the tour.
Immediately upon entering, her eye was drawn through a vast great room to the floor-to-ceiling glass walls that showcased a spectacular view of the city. To her right, a soaring stone fireplace made the backdrop for a print that was unmistakably Warhol, and she didn’t even want to get a closer look at the Picassoish looking piece that centered the ebony wood dining table.
“I hope you like steak,” he said. “Carmen said you weren’t a vegetarian.”
“No,” she replied absently. “Steaks are fine.”
She counted three separate seating areas, each adorned with sleek modern furniture that would have made Alan drool. Heywood-Wakefield, Eames, Knoll, all the classics were here as well as the contemporaries responsible for reviving the minimalist, modern style of the 1950s and 1960s. The colors were bright, the layout meticulously arranged so as not to compete with the showcase of the room, which was the view of West Hollywood.
Margot had always had an interest in design and had even taken some courses in college. And though this particular style was far more Alan’s taste than her own, she couldn’t help but appreciate what she’d walked into—not to mention the amount of money in the room.
She tried not to gawk, knowing that to pass herself off as one of Clint’s real dates she’d have to eventually close her mouth and push her eyes back in their sockets. But it was hard. She’d known the man was rich, but even Alan’s friends—the bulk of whom came from big money—didn’t hold