Playboy's Ruthless Payback: Playboy's Ruthless Payback. Laura Wright
a room upstairs, down the hall from the DeBolds.”
“And where will you be?”
“I sleep on the first floor.”
Out of patience, she stood from the table and shot him a hot look. “It’s not going to happen.”
He ignored her as if she’d never said a word, “I want you to be there with us from breakfast to evening.”
“Yes, I know. And I will.”
In his ever-present calm way, he studied her. “All right, we’ll discuss that particular detail at a later date. Now, on to something more important—this contract I’m about to sign, it guarantees confidentiality, is that right? You will not reveal anything about my business, and whom I do business with?”
“Of course.” She had loyalties to her father, but her loyalties to the business and her partners came first. “Do you have menus in mind or would you like me to plan something?”
“I’d like you to plan everything.”
After signing the contract and issuing a rather substantial check to NRR, Mac stood, towering over her like a statue. The soft scent of fading aftershave drifted into her nostrils and it annoyed her that just a small detail like his scent made her feel off balance. She found herself staring at his lips as he said, “I would like you to come by my house tomorrow, see what you have to work with and what you feel needs to be changed.”
She stepped away from him, trying to regain her cool composure. “How’s 10:00 a.m.?”
“You have my address?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him and grinned slightly. “And your number, as well.”
“Clever.” He held out his hand, and for just a moment Olivia felt this odd sensation to turn and run from him. But she knew how ridiculous and childish that thought was, and she confidently placed her hand in his.
There were no sparks or fireworks that erupted inside Olivia at that first touch. Instead something far more worrisome happened; she had an overwhelming urge to cry, as though she’d been on an island alone for ten years and had woken up to see a boat a few miles off shore—a boat she knew in her gut she wasn’t going to be able to flag down.
She broke the connection first.
“Until tomorrow then,” he said evenly.
She watched him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, the edges of his wool coat snapping with each stride. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d met a man who affected both her mind and her body, and it was pretty damn unlucky that he happened to be an enemy of her father’s.
Thankfully, she had become quite good at denying herself.
Four
Mac had hoped Olivia Winston would be moderately attractive. After all, it would make his goal a little easier and more pleasant to achieve if the woman he was going to seduce was decent-looking. Unfortunately this woman was miles past decent—circling somewhere around blistering hot. She was also intelligent and passionate and pushed sugar. And if he had any hope of seeing his plan through to the end, whenever he looked at her he was going to have to force himself to remember the he and her father were at war. And that her unhappiness and disappointment and permanent scarlet letter would be his justice.
He slowed his car to a comfortable seventy miles per hour as he exited the freeway. But seeing her as an enemy to be taken down wouldn’t be easy. Damn, the way she’d looked at him with those fiery coffee-colored doe eyes, as though she couldn’t decide if she was intrigued by him or wanted to follow her father’s advice and toss him right out on his ass. Mac turned onto Third Street, Minneapolis’s restaurant row. Eyeing the line of cars in front of Martini Two Olives, he backed into an open parking space with one effortless movement. Light snowflakes touched down on his windshield as he spotted a tall, cool blonde through the window of the packed restaurant.
She smiled warmly at him as he walked through the doorway. Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek, and above the din of celebratory restaurant patrons, he said, “Hello, Avery.”
“Well, Mac Valentine, it’s been way too long,” she practically purred.
They took a table at the bar and ordered drinks. When a scotch neat was set before him, Mac asked, “How’s Tim? You two still in love?”
Avery blushed and smiled simultaneously. “Blissfully. And planning on starting a family next year.”
Mack leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of scotch. “I’m a damn fine matchmaker. My best buddy and my firm’s geeky ex-lawyer.”
“Hey, watch it with the geek stuff. That was years ago. I’m a knockout now.”
He grinned. “Yeah. You’re all right.”
She laughed. When her laughter eased, she grew serious, her pale blue eyes heavy with sincerity. “You are a great friend, and you did a good thing. We owe you.”
“Yeah, well, I never thought I’d have to collect on that debt, but times are a little…unsure.”
“Tim mentioned something…”
“He always sucked at discretion.”
“What do you need? Anything at all.”
“Do you still represent the DeBolds?”
She nodded. “My favorite clients.”
“I’ve heard they’re shopping for a new financial firm, and I’d like to show them what I have to offer.”
Her fingernails clicked on her glass. “They might’ve heard the rumors, Mac…. And you know how they are about family, or lack of. They don’t want to deal with—”
“I know, I know. That’s why I’m planning to be everything they’re looking for and more.”
She looked unconvinced. “Five-star restaurants and over-the-top gestures won’t impress them. If you really want them to take the firm seriously, you’d need to do something—”
He put a hand up to stop her. “Let me tell you what I have in mind, then you can decide to set it up or not.”
“All right,” she said and lifted the glass of red wine to her lips.
Given the kind of man he was, Olivia had expected Mac Valentine to live in a sleek, modern type of home made of glass or stainless steel or something impervious to warmth. So it came as somewhat of a shock to find that the address he’d given her belonged to a stately, though charming, mansion on historic Lake of the Isles Parkway.
After parking in the snow-dusted driveway, Olivia darted up the stone steps and rang the bell, noting with a smile the lovely way winter’s ravaged vines and ivy grew up one side of the house in a charming zigzag pattern. The wintry November breeze off the lake shocked her with a sudden gust, and she was thankful when the door opened. A tall, thin man in his late sixties ushered Olivia inside. He explained that he was the handyman, then told her Mac would be down in a minute. Then the man disappeared down a long hallway.
Olivia stood in the spacious entryway of Mac’s home, staring at a beautiful, rustic banister and staircase, and wondering why it felt only slightly warmer inside the house than out.
“Good morning.”
Coming down the stairs like Rhett Butler in reverse was Mac Valentine. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Awareness stirred in her belly. She liked forearms, liked the way the cords of muscle bunched when a man gripped something, or someone.
“Find the place all right?” he asked when he reached her.
“Perfectly,” she said, noticing that not only did he look good, but he smelled good, too. As if he’d showered in a snowy, pine forest or something. Realizing her thoughts had taken an idiotic