The Rogue's Fortune. Cat Schield
was thinking perhaps you could meet me at my apartment. Say in an hour?”
“Your apartment…” She trailed off, at a loss for words since she didn’t dare accuse him of hitting on her when she wasn’t completely sure what was going on.
“Don’t you visit a client’s apartment when you’re planning a party for them?”
“You want me to plan a party?” Her relief came through loud and clear.
“Of course.” He sounded amused. “What did you think I wanted?”
The arrogance of the man.
Elizabeth fumed for about five seconds and then reminded herself that this was business and she was a businesswoman. She’d worked with demanding clients before. Just because Roark Black was sinfully handsome and dangerously exciting was no reason to let her baser instincts get the better of her. He was a client. Nothing more.
“An hour and a half,” she countered, feeling ridiculous the second the words were out of her mouth. It was silly to try to play power games with this man when all he had to do was hit her with his crooked grin and every sensible thought fled her mind.
“I’ll text you my address.”
At one minute to ten, she stood outside Roark’s loft in Soho. She recognized her nerves had gotten the better of her when she’d gone home to change into a sweater dress in a silvery blue. She loved the color. It intensified the gold tones of her hair and drew out the flecks of cobalt in her eyes. But most important, the outfit gave her confidence.
Briefcase clutched before her, weight on the balls of her feet, she awaited the appearance of the first man in a year who’d imperiled her no-bad-boys edict. Pulse hammering, she dredged up every hurt and disappointment caused by the men she’d chosen over the years. Remembering past injuries took the edge off her unwelcome excitement at seeing Roark again.
And then, the door opened, revealing him in all his male splendor. He was dressed casually in worn denim and a long-sleeved gray shirt that intensified the smoky tones in his eyes.
“Elizabeth.” Her name sighed out of him like a lover’s exhalation. “You are even more beautiful than I remembered.”
Crap. Her heart fluttered like some idiotic debutant at her first cotillion.
“And you are more charming than ever.” Her voice snapped like a whip, snatching the compliment right out of the words.
He grinned at her, unfazed by her tartness. “Come in.”
The loft was as incredible as she’d expected. Sixteen-foot ceilings, enormous arched windows, exposed brick everywhere she looked. Wood floors gleamed beneath couches slip-covered in white. The living space was so huge he was able to have three separate sitting areas. One flanked the stone fireplace at the far end. One clustered in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves near an opening that she guessed led to the bedrooms. A third near the open kitchen with its dark granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances.
“This is nice,” Elizabeth murmured, reflecting on the shoebox she lived in. “Perfect for entertaining. How many people are you inviting?”
“I was thinking about a hundred or so.”
Elizabeth pulled out an electronic tablet and began jotting notes. “Did you have a date picked out?”
“I was thinking next Saturday.”
“That is short notice.”
Mentally running through her bookings, she keyed up her schedule, already knowing she had the Hendersons’ tenth wedding anniversary on that evening. The arrangements were all made. It was the sort of party Brenda could handle on her own.
“I’m happy to compensate you for any inconvenience it might cause.”
Elizabeth offered him a bright smile as she mentally calculated her commission. “What sort of party did you have in mind?”
“It’s an engagement party.”
“How nice.” And how surprising. She’d never pictured Roark Black hosting something like that. The man had commitment issues written all over him. “Who’s the lucky couple?”
“We are.”
Incomprehension fogged her indigo-blue eyes as she looked up at him. “We are what?”
“The happy engaged couple I’m throwing the party for.”
Her crisp professionalism wrinkled beneath the weight of her confusion. “We’re not engaged.”
“Not yet.”
The expression in her eyes went from shell-shocked to resolute. “Not ever.”
“I’m crushed.” He shouldn’t enjoy teasing her so much, but it seemed the only way to get past her guards and reach the woman behind the event planner.
“I doubt it.” She’d recovered her equilibrium and now regarded him with open skepticism. “Perhaps you should explain what’s going on.”
“Last night you jumped all over me about how I was going to be the downfall of Waverly’s.”
“I merely suggested you might be a contributing factor.”
“You weren’t the only one thinking that way.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Not surprising. But what does that have to do with why I’m here?”
“A certain member of the Waverly’s board mentioned that he’s been approached by Dalton Rothschild about selling his shares and has been asked to persuade others on the board to follow suit. He doesn’t want Rothschild to take over Waverly’s, but needs a good reason to continue to support the current leadership at Waverly’s.”
She nodded, but remained silent while her steady gaze encouraged him to proceed.
“He thinks that leadership needs to include me, but recent events have raised questions about my activities. He indicated if I could demonstrate that I’m leaving behind my proclivity for trouble, the board would feel more confident about the stability of Waverly’s.”
“And you think an engagement will make you more respectable.”
“It was suggested a stable personal life would inspire confidence in my upstanding behavior.”
“Why me?”
While his address book was bursting with women who would jump at the chance to play his fiancée, Elizabeth was unaffected by his money or his charm. She intrigued him.
“After last night’s passionate denouncement of me and your concern for the future of Waverly’s, I thought you would be the perfect choice for a pretend engagement.”
His last two words caused a profound reaction. Her muscles relaxed and she almost smiled. “Find someone else.”
“I’ve already decided on you.”
“Surely there are more suitable women in the circles you frequent that would be happy to perpetrate this ruse with you.”
“None more suitable than you.” And he meant it.
The concern she’d shown for Waverly’s had inspired him to make her his co-conspirator in his scheme to improve his image. And the active dislike she was struggling so hard to maintain intrigued him. Winning her over presented an enchanting challenge. And if he was going to be stuck in New York for the uncertain future, he would need something exciting to occupy himself. Elizabeth Minerva fit the bill.
“Does it strike you at all counterproductive that you’re trying to inspire confidence in your upstanding behavior by presenting a fake fiancée to your friends and family?”
“See,