Читать книгу Surrender to a Donovan - A.C. Arthur - Страница 13

Chapter 4

She was fussing for nothing. He wouldn’t come to her office twice in one week. That presumption was based on the fact that up until yesterday, he hadn’t been to her office in the three months she’d worked there.

It didn’t matter that she now thought her dress was too tight and too short. In the mirror behind her bedroom door it had looked perfectly fine. The black bolero jacket made the white-and-black printed dress look more professional. The wide yellow belt at her waist gave it a cheerful edge. On her feet were black sandals with three-and-a-half-inch heels and straps up to the ankle. They were office attire, just as her dress was, even though it only flirted against her kneecaps.

Her clothes weren’t a big deal, she told herself again. She wasn’t in the market for a man and most definitely not a Donovan. Not that she didn’t think she deserved a good man, but Tate was just tired of the game. Boy meets girl. They go out and both try to impress each other with lies and posturing. They get married, and they have a huge, beautiful ceremony that they will likely be paying off for years after the wedding. Then come the babies and the monotony. Inevitably one would get tired of the other and the infidelities would begin. It was like one big circle that adults continuously ran through. But not her, not again.

Sean Donovan had come to her office for something yesterday, although he had never really said what. That meant he was liable to come back. She sighed, sinking into her chair. Her computer was already on, but she hadn’t yet begun to work. The trip to the kitchenette where the coffee machines were had taken longer than she anticipated because her coworkers were very curious about her personal life as well as the personal life of every other employee in the office. It was damn tiring to stand there and listen to gossip she didn’t give two cents about. But if she walked away she’d be deemed antisocial, and the work environment she was just beginning to get used to would turn sour.

Now she was going through her emails as steam circled around the top of her coffee mug that read “No. 1 Mom.” She’d bought it for herself this past Mother’s Day. If nobody else was going to appreciate her, she would have to do it for herself. Hey, hadn’t she given that advice to a reader before? Probably, she thought with a smile.

Ten minutes into the emails, after she’d transferred a couple to the appropriate subfolders and deleted a few more, she came across one that made her catch her breath.

Need to speak with you about the column. Are you available today at 4:30?

No, was her immediate thought. Her mind screamed it over and over again. But her fingers—traitors that they were—had already begun typing her response.

Yes.

She hit Send and groaned. Evidently there was reason for her to worry about how the dress looked after all.

* * *

“If you sell me Infinity, I’ll keep the name and you can keep your job,” Sabine Ravenell said in her sultry voice.

Sean tried not to laugh at her and straightened his gray-and-latte Bulgari tie. He’d worn a suit the color of milk chocolate with shoes a darker shade of brown. At his wrists, gold cufflinks sparkled. Sean was a man of detail, whether in business or his personal appearance. He paid attention to everything and strived for the best, no matter what he did.

“I have no fear that my job’s in jeopardy,” he said simply. “Infinity is not for sale.”

Sabine crossed her legs. She wore a purple skirt, short, as usual. Her purple jacket fit her bodice tightly but not in a bad way. She was definitely an attractive woman. With her light complexion and curly black hair that hung past her shoulders, she looked extremely beautiful and intoxicatingly sexy.

Nevertheless, Sean still wasn’t interested. At all.

“Everything has a price,” she told him.

“I think you mean everyone has a price. In this case, that assumption would also be wrong.”

Her elbows were propped on the arms of the chair. She tilted her head and touched a finger to her chin. It was a practiced pose, probably designed to hit a man right in the gut with a serious punch of lust. Sean felt a mild tapping of desire but squashed it.

“Look, there’s no point in continuing with these discussions. The magazine is not for sale. And if it were, you’d be coming to the wrong man to make your deal.”

She waved her other hand, the one still stroking a finger over her chin. “Dion’s got his mind on other things,” she said dismissively.

Sean knew exactly what she was getting at. More than one tabloid had reported the downfall of Dion Donovan because he’d gotten married. But Sean knew better—his brother’s personality wasn’t tied to the playboy image the press had painted on him. So the only thing marrying Lyra had done was make him extremely happy.

“Dion’s mind is always here at Infinity. Don’t let the marriage fool you.”

Sabine threw her head back and laughed. Too hard and too loud, he thought.

“You Donovan boys are certainly a treat to do business with. Dion’s content to let you handle the business with me. Why are you complaining? Not ready to live up to the Donovan name? Can’t fill big brother’s shoes?”

That finger had traced a line from her chin, down her neck to the cleavage she boldly displayed. When she licked her lips and raised an eyebrow suggestively, Sean wanted to laugh again. She was certainly pulling out all the stops with this meeting. Which in itself was laughable, since this was the third time he’d met with her to decline her offer to buy Infinity. He wondered how many more times it would take before she finally got the hint.

“I can assure you, Ms. Ravenell, I’m very confident in my position.”

“And I’m very confident in mine,” was her reply. “We need to come to a meeting of the minds. This offer is too good to pass up.”

With that remark, she uncrossed her legs, leaving them open just enough so that—if he wanted to—he could see between her legs, but that was the last thing he wanted to get a glimpse of.

“The offer is too ludicrous to consider. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting.”

He was already standing to escort her out of his office. Enough was enough. Her come-on had long since passed the line of mildly flattering to borderline disgusting. He’d be embarrassed for her if he thought she in some way deserved even that much from him. But Sean knew Sabine’s game. He knew she played it well and with many. He wasn’t about to become her next victim, no matter how hard she tried.

“Think about it, Sean. Who knows, maybe I’ll even make you my partner. You’d have Dion’s job and more money and power than you know what to do with,” she told him as she stood, flipping her hair over her shoulder with another one of her practiced moves.

“I have a job. I have money. And power is overrated. The door’s that way,” he told her with a nod of his head.

He wasn’t even going to walk her out. She’d taken up enough of his time as it was with chatter that didn’t interest him one bit.

Besides, it was almost four-twenty-five. He’d asked Tate to meet him here at four-thirty. On his desk were her last three columns, two of which had received more than eighty thousand hits on the website. He didn’t have any more time to spare Sabine or her crazy offer.

When he was alone again he picked up a piece of paper and began to read. The title was “Stuck on Stupid.” He read the article, shaking his head at the man who took his girlfriend back even after she’d cheated on him with her ex-boyfriend…twice. She stole money from him, stole his credit cards and ran up the balances, and still, when she came knocking on his door again, crying that she loved him, he took her back.

Sean’s first impulse was to concede. “You are stuck on stupid, buddy.”

Tate’s answer was a little more diplomatic.

Dear SOS,

Being in love can sometimes be construed as being stupid, but that’s a misconception. I’m quoting the Bible here: “Love is patient. Love is kind.” Love is not selfish or hurtful or devious. Your girlfriend is all of the above. So my solution for you is that for just a few minutes out of your life, you’ll have to adopt some of those same traits. You’ll have to selfishly claim your feelings as being more important than hers. Then you’ll probably hurt her feelings when you tell her to leave. Devious is what she may call you when you file charges against her for stealing your credit cards. This may not come as easily to you as it obviously does to her, but it’s necessary.

He stopped reading when a knock sounded at his door. Leaving the papers on his desk, Sean stood. He straightened his tie and did a quick breath check before crossing the room to answer the door.

“Hello,” he said when she looked up at him.

“Hi,” she replied with a smile that totally took his breath away.

“Ah, come on in.” He cleared his throat after a few stalled seconds. “Have a seat.”

Closing the door, Sean watched her walk to the guest chair across from his desk. It was wrong, or at least it should have been, the way he watched the sway of her bottom in the fitted dress. Yesterday her dress had been more full and she’d been leaning over, so he couldn’t really get a good look at her body. Not that he had been trying to.

But today, this dress left no doubt in his mind that she was a very attractive woman. The heels she wore made her toned calves look almost succulent, while the bright belt at her waist gave her an hourglass shape. He needed to get behind his desk before making any further assessments or risk the possibility of a sexual harassment suit when she looked up and his thoughts were clearly betrayed through his growing erection.

She started talking the minute he sat down. “I’m not sure what this is about. I haven’t missed a deadline, have I?”

“No. Nothing like that,” he began, shaking his head as he gathered up the papers, stacking them neatly. “I’ve been reading some of your columns.”

She sat up straight and he noticed that he couldn’t see up her skirt, unlike with Sabine. Her hands were folded in her lap and she looked at him quizzically with those eyes. Deep brown eyes that made him want to ask how her day was, what she’d had for lunch, what she planned to have for dinner.

Sean cleared his throat once more and tried to reroute his thoughts. “You’re very insightful and tend to hit the mark with stunning accuracy without being too preachy. There’s a good tone to the column. I really like that,” he told her. “We really like that. And by ‘we,’ I mean upper management.”

She nodded as if following the conversation but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. Her hair hung just past her shoulders, straight as an arrow and black as night, with honey-brown highlights. Yesterday, he remembered, it had a little curl to it. He blinked to keep from staring.

“As you know, we’re an affiliate of Donovan Network Television.”

Her head moved in another nod. Her hands didn’t move, weren’t shaking nervously, just sat perfectly still. She was patient; she’d waited for things before and was used to it, he surmised. Then he figured he’d just blurt it out, since the thought of making this woman wait wasn’t very appealing to him.

“We’re thinking of possibly adding a slot to an entertainment program that’s still in development. The slot would consist of you giving your relationship advice on air.”

Tate wanted to gasp. She wanted to ask him if he was serious or if he was sure he had the right person. Instead she cleared her throat and sat up even straighter. “You want the ‘Ask Jenny’ column to go live?” she asked, as panic and excitement fought for a prominent position inside her stomach.

“We think it would go over well. How would you feel about that?”

“What would be the format?” she asked over the lump in her throat. This was definitely not what she’d expected when she came to his office. Not at all.

“I don’t know. We haven’t really gotten that far in the planning. I wanted to see how you’d feel about doing a television show. I mean, obviously that’s not the job you applied for.”

“Obviously,” she said, then she smiled because she didn’t want him to think she was being sarcastic. “I mean, I have a degree in journalism, so I don’t know much about television.”

“So you like writing the column?”

She nodded. “I do. I’ve always loved writing.”

He sat back, watching her closely. Too closely for Tate’s comfort. But she wouldn’t show how nervous she was. She couldn’t afford to. It was her firm belief that once a man knew your weakness he’d exploit it, and you. As for Tate, she’d been there and done that.

“Do you enjoy giving advice to the lovelorn?”

It was a simple question. She shouldn’t have felt like he was really asking her something deeper, more personal. Yet, the way his calm, assessing eyes held her gaze, she couldn’t help but feel a little exposed.

“I like giving new insight into situations. Sometimes when you’re the one involved, you can’t see the truth or realize other alternatives to help you react to the truth. That’s what my advice provides, an alternative to the relationship they’re currently involved in.”

“But you believe in love?” he asked, still sitting back in his chair, his fingers rubbing over his goatee. “I mean, you’ve been in love before, so you’ve had some experience in the area?”

“Yes,” Tate answered, a little less enthusiastically than she’d been speaking before. “I have been in love.” Then, because she knew this line of questioning might be just a bit out of context, judging by the way he was still looking at her, she asked him, “Have you ever been in love, Mr. Donovan?”