Marriage Made on Paper. Maisey Yates
straightened and turned, her jaw set, her expression one of satisfied determination. She extended her hand and he took it. She shook it firmly, her dark eyes shining with triumph.
“I look forward to doing business with you, Mr. Forrester.”
He laughed. “You say that now, Ms. Ford, but you haven’t started the job yet.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE fact that the very first thing she felt when Gage’s deep, masculine voice pulled her out of the deep sleep she’d been in was a shiver of excitement, and not a pang of annoyance, was disturbing on a lot of levels, all of which she was too tired to analyze in that moment.
“It’s one in the morning, Gage.” Lily blinked against the blinding light radiating from the screen of her smart-phone. After four months in his employ, she should know better than to be surprised by a midnight phone call.
“It’s nine a.m. in England.”
“And we have a crisis on our hands?” She rolled over and brushed her hair out of her face, the cool sheets from the side of the bed that had been unoccupied chilling her slightly.
“The sky isn’t falling, if that’s what you mean, but we have protesters lining the streets at our newest building site and I need a press release that will help cool things down.”
“Now?”
“Preferably before the mob tears down the foundation of our new hotel,” he bit out.
Lily sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing the button for speakerphone and bringing up the specs of the project up on the screen. “What’s the issue?”
“Environmental impact.”
She studied the report. “It’s a green build. Recycled materials are being used for as much of the hotel as possible, anything that isn’t is being purchased locally and it’s helping to stimulate local economy.”
“Good. Put all of that in a press release and get it sent.”
“Just a second. I was in bed. Asleep. Like a normal person,” she said, sleep depravation making her grumpy.
She stood and made her way to her desk, which she had moved a mere foot away from her bed just for such occasions. Her laptop was still fired up, so she sat down, dashed off all of the necessary info and emailed it to Gage. “How’s that?”
“Good,” he responded a few moments later. “What do you suggest? Written or verbal?”
“Both. Call down there and see if you can speak to someone on the phone. I’ll contact the local news station. Then we’ll work on getting it into online editions of the papers today and print for tomorrow. That ought to defuse things, as much as possible anyway. They still might not be happy about the build in general, but if you show that you’re conscientious it should go a long way in smoothing things over, at least with the general public, which is really the best you can hope for.”
“You really are good,” he said, that voice sending a little frisson of … something … through her again. She’d thought she would get used to him in the months since he’d walked into her office and hired her. In a lot of ways she had, but he still had the ability to throw her off balance if she wasn’t prepared for him.
“I’m the best, Gage,” she said sharply, “don’t forget it.”
“How can I? You never let me.”
“I hope you mean in deed rather than word,” she said archly.
“Take your pick.”
“All right. I’m going to call some televisions stations and then I’m going back to bed.”
“Fine, but I need you in the office by five.”
She bit back a groan. “Of course.” It was likely he was already at the office. Between work and dalliances with supermodels she wasn’t sure if Gage Forrester ever slept.
She hung up the phone and proceeded to make her phone calls before falling back into bed. She could get two good hours before she had to be in the office.
And why did Gage’s voice seem to be echoing in her mind while she tried to drift off?
She walked into Gage’s office at 4:59 a.m. with two industrial-sized cups of coffee. “Thought you might need a hit,” she said, setting the cup down in front of him.
He looked up from his computer screen. Annoyingly, despite the five-o’clock shadow he was sporting he looked fresh and well-rested, while she knew she had puffy eyes that were just barely made to look normal by gobs of under-eye cream.
“I definitely need a hit,” he said, picking up the cup and bringing it to his lips. She couldn’t help but watch him, the way his lips moved to cover the opening of the lid, the slight view of his tongue. His mouth fascinated her. Like the effect his voice seemed to have on her, she was certain she didn’t want to know why his mouth fascinated her.
Well, she knew why. It was the same reason an endless stream of beautiful women were constantly on his arm. The same reason she did as much talking to the press about his personal life as she did about his professional life. Gage Forrester was one sexy man. Even she could admit that.
In theory, she liked sexy men, at least from a distance. When said sexy man was her boss, it made life a bit more complicated. It didn’t really matter, though. Business was business and she had no intention of crossing any lines with him. She wasn’t his type anyway. He liked party girls. The shallower, and the shorter the skirt, the better. And he definitely wasn’t her type. Of course, she wasn’t entirely certain what her type was as far as practical application went. Judging by her recent string of failed dates she didn’t really have a type.
“How many shots?” he asked, lowering the cup.
“Quad,” she answered, trying to bring her mind back into the present and away, far, far away, from his lips.
“Good. It’s going to be a long day.”
She sat down in the chair by his desk, pulled her notebook out of her briefcase and sat poised with a pen in her hand.
“Why do you do that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Take physical notes on paper. You have a million little gadgets for that kind of thing. I know because most of them were purchased with your expense account.”
“This helps me commit it to memory. I always log it electronically later.”
A small smile curved his lips, lips she was staring at again. She looked down at her notebook.
“The England site, how do you feel about the damage control that’s been done there?”
“Great,” she said. “You have a satellite interview scheduled with one of the news outlets very late tonight. Also, the written release is set to run in major newspapers tomorrow, and you spoke to the organizer of the protests personally, right?”
“Yes. Nice woman. Didn’t like me very much. I think she called me a … capitalist pig.”
She looked up and her heart jumped a bit. She looked back down at the lined paper of her notebook. “You kind of are.”
“A rich one.”
“Touché.”
“I was able to explain to her the process by which we’re building the hotel. I also explained, very nicely, how it would help the economy, and that, in addition to the construction workers who have work now, it would provide at least a hundred permanent positions. And the fact that it’s being built on the site of what was essentially a crumbling wreck of an old manor, and not on any farmland, went over well.”
“All very good,” Lily said, scribbling on her notebook before reaching over to grab her coffee