Falling For Her Fake Fiancé. Sarah M. Anderson
to this stunningly beautiful woman.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said in that delicate voice that he was completely convinced was a front. She kicked out of her shoes and lined one of the conference chairs up beneath a window. She held out her hand for him. “I’d like to get a better shot of the friezes over the windows.”
“Of course,” he said in his most diplomatic voice.
This woman—this stunning woman who’s fingertips were light and warm against his hand as he helped her balance onto the chair, leaving her ass directly at eye level—had already ripped him to shreds several times over.
She was gorgeous. She was clearly intelligent. And she was obviously out to undermine him. That’s what the donuts had been about. Announcing to the world in general and him in particular that this was still the Beaumont Brewery in every sense of the word.
“Thank you,” she murmured, placing her hand on his shoulder to balance herself as she stepped down.
She didn’t stick the landing, although he couldn’t say if that was accidental or on purpose.
Before he could stop himself, his arm went around her waist to steady her.
Which was a mistake because electricity arced between them. She looked up at him through those lashes—he’d lost count of how many times she’d done that so far—but this time it hit him differently.
After almost a month of dealing with passive-aggressive employees terrified of being downsized he suddenly felt like a very different man altogether.
“Thank you,” she said again, in a quiet whisper that somehow felt more honest, less calculated than almost every other word she’d uttered so far. Imperceptibly, she leaned into him. He could feel the heat of her breasts through his suit.
As soon as he was sure she wouldn’t fall over, he stepped well clear of her. He needed her—but he could not need her like that. Not now, not ever. Because she would destroy him. He had no doubt about that. None.
Still...an idea was taking shape in his mind.
Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong. Instead of trying to strip the Beaumont out of the Beaumont Brewery, maybe what he needed to do was bring in a Beaumont. The moment the idea occurred to him, he latched on to it with both hands.
Yes. What he really needed was to have a Beaumont on board with the management changes he was implementing. If the workers realized their old bosses were signing off on the reorganization, there wouldn’t be any more mass food poisonings or flu or whatever they’d planned for next week. Sure, there’d still be grumbling and personnel turnover, but if he had a Beaumont by his side...
“So!” Frances said brightly, just as she leaned over to adjust the strap on her shoe.
Ethan had to slam his eyes shut so he wouldn’t be caught staring at her barely contained cleavage. If he was going to pull this off, he had to keep his wits about him and his pants zipped.
“How would you like to proceed? Ethan?” It was only when she said his name that he figured it was safe to look.
As safe as it got, anyway. More than any other woman he’d seen in person, Frances looked as if she’d walked right off a movie screen and into his office. Her hair fell in soft waves over her shoulders and her eyes were a light blue that took on a greenish tone that matched her dress. She was the stuff of fantasies, all luscious curves and soft skin.
“I want to hire you.”
Direct was better. If he tried to dance around the subject, she’d spin him in circles.
It worked, too—at least for a second. Her eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly got herself back under control. She laughed lightly, like a chime tinkling in the wind. “Mr. Logan,” she said, beaming a high-wattage smile at him. “You already have hired me. The furniture?” she reminded him, looking around the room. “My family’s legacy?”
“That’s not what I mean,” he replied. “I want you to come work for me. Here. At the Brewery. As...” His mind spun for something that would be appropriate to a woman like her. “As executive vice president of human resources. In charge of employee relations.” There. That sounded fancy without actually meaning anything.
A hint of confusion wrinkled her forehead. “You want me to be a...manager?” She said the word as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Out of the question.” But she favored him with that smile he’d decided she wielded like other people might wield a knife in a street fight. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t possibly work for the Beaumont Brewery if it wasn’t owned by an actual Beaumont.” With crisp efficiency, she snatched up her cape and elegantly swirled it around her shoulders, hiding her body from his eyes.
Not that he was looking at it. He felt the corners of his mouth curve up in a smile. He had her off balance for possibly the first time since she’d walked onto the Brewery property.
“I’ll work up an appraisal sheet and a list of potential buyers for some of the more sentimental pieces,” she announced, not even bothering to look over her shoulder as she strode toward the door.
Before he realized what he was doing, he ran after her. “Wait,” he said, getting to the door just as she put her hand on the knob. He pushed the door shut.
And then realized he basically had her trapped between the door and his body.
She knew it, too. Moving with that dancer’s grace, she pivoted and leaned back, her breasts thrust toward him and her smile coy. “Did you need something else?”
“Won’t you at least consider it?”
“About the job offer?” She grinned. It was too victorious to be pretty. “I rather think not.”
What else would she be thinking about? His blood began to pound in his veins. He couldn’t admit defeat, couldn’t admit that a beautiful woman had spun him around until he hadn’t realized he’d lost until it was too late. He had to come up with something to at least make her keep her options open. He could not run this company without her.
“Have dinner with me, then.”
If this request surprised her, it didn’t show. Instead, she tilted her head to one side, sending waves of beautiful red hair cascading over her cloaked shoulders. Then she moved. A hand emerged from the folds of her cloak and she touched him. She touched the line of his jaw with the tips of her fingers and then slid them down to where his white shirt was visible beneath the V of his suit jacket.
Heat poured off her as she flattened her palm against him. He desperately wanted to close his eyes and focus on the way her touch made his body jump to full attention. He wanted to lower his head and taste her ruby-red lips. He wanted to pull her body into his and feel her skin against his.
He did none of those things.
Instead, he took it like a man. Or he tried to. But when she said, in that soft whisper of hers, “And why would I agree to that?” it nearly broke his resolve.
“I’d like the chance to change your mind. About the job offer.” Which was not strictly true, not any longer. Not when her palm moved in the smallest of circles over his heart.
“Is that all?” she breathed. He could feel the heat from her hand burning his skin. “There’s nothing else you want from me?”
“I just want what’s best for the company.” Damn it all; his voice had gotten deeper on him. But he couldn’t help it, not with the way she was looking up at him. “Don’t you?”
Something in her face changed. It wasn’t resignation, not really—and it wasn’t surrender.
It was engagement. It was a yes.
She lightly pushed on his chest. He straightened and dropped his arm away from the door. “Dinner. For the company,” she agreed. He couldn’t interpret that statement, not when his ears were ringing