Читать книгу Faking It to Making It - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake, Ally Blake - Страница 9

NATE RAN TWO hands over his face, trying to get some blood flowing to his brain. He was working more than ever; the number of emails bouncing into his inbox every minute proved it.

Ignoring them as best he could, he concentrated on the contract on his desk. Bamford Smythe, the “gaming guy” whose start-up company BamBam Games Gabe had discovered, had signed an exclusivity agreement with BonAventure, and now they were in the process of nutting out the finer details of the capital investment.

Smythe was pessimistic, pedantic and paranoid that everyone was trying to steal his ideas. Thankfully he was also brilliant. Nate just had to keep him on a short leash—which was turning out to be akin to lassoing a Tasmanian devil.

A knock at the door and a glance at the watch strapped to his wrist told Nate that it was three already. Dammit.

Rubbing a hand up the back of his neck, he called, “Come in.”

The door was opened tentatively, followed by a head poking around the door. “Hiya.”

“Saskia.”

After their date he’d emailed her with a half-dozen questions—basic stats about age, family, schooling. Then she’d called, suggesting they get together for a “get to know one another” in a “pretend we’ve had a half-dozen dates” kind of way. He’d told her to make an appointment, hoping she might waver. Alas, she wasn’t easily swayed.

Nate waved her in with one hand and finished annotating with the other. “Won’t be a sec,” he said, glancing up as she sauntered in. But his hands stopped midscrawl when he saw what she was wearing.

Her hair was tucked beneath the same fedora from her online profile picture, her legs were swimming in wide calf-skimming pants that looked like they’d been cut from a Hessian sack, sandals were tied up over her ankles, and she wore a brown cardigan she near got lost in, and a scarf long enough that a lesser woman would have stooped under its weight.

A thread of tension shot through him, landing with a twitch at the corner of his right eye as he considered what his family would be expecting. Certainly not this gamine creature who looked as if she might start sprouting poetry or drawing in chalk on his office floor.

What had he been thinking?

She shot him a quick smile as she took a curious tour about the room, her wide eyes shadowed beneath her hat, her lips soft and pink. The memory of how they’d felt beneath his own hit him and hit him hard—her gentle heat, her soft sighs, her sweet response that had licked at something deep inside him. Okay, so he’d been thinking of kissing her from nearly the moment he’d sat down.

She unhooked a satchel from her shoulder and dumped it unceremoniously on the sleek cream leather couch on one side of the room, bending over to rummage through it, giving him a nice view of a pretty fine backside. She might be slight, but he’d felt enough curves as she’d pressed into him to give any red-blooded man pause.

“Gotcha!” she said, standing upright, her profile lit with a happy little smile.

Contentment, he thought again, feeling something akin to envy at her easy pleasure. At how he’d barely swiped his mouth across hers before she’d started trembling.

He ran a hand up the back of his head several times to get his brain into gear. It was fine. Under other circumstances their unexpected chemistry might be a hindrance, but in this case it would help make them convincing.

And the deal was a good one. Saskia seemed cluey—the kind of person who just got on with things. She didn’t seem demanding, or clingy, or prone to tears and pouts. The antithesis of his sisters, in fact.

His tension eased. A little.

She caught his eye, then waved a couple of folders at him before throwing them onto the coffee table, where his assistant had earlier left an assortment of nibbles for their meeting, and moving his way.

“Your desk is so neat!” she said as she moved to perch on the edge of the black chair on the other side of his desk. The chair that had made Gabe look so big only a few days before made Saskia look like some kind of waif. “How do you know where anything is?”

“It’s where it’s meant to be.”

Her mouth twisted sideways. Then she shrugged. “What are you working on?” she asked, pitching forward. The whirls of lace beneath her cardigan scooped low, giving him a glimpse of the sweet rise of the flesh within.

“Contracts,” he said, endeavouring to keep his eyes on hers even as his body reacted viscerally, remembering how she’d felt in his arms—warm, soft, all woman. “New gaming company.”

“Which one?”

He hesitated, old habits dying hard.

“I’ll know them,” she promised, misunderstanding his silence. Then, pointing at her chest, said, “Maths degree, remember? Nerd girl.”

She looked so expectant, which only made him clam up more. It was a spontaneous reaction, brought on by years spent with women and their need to ask questions, to talk, to pry, to get to the heart of every damn matter. The more they wanted, the less he had to give.

He saw the moment she realised it. Her eyes widened and her lips pursed into a small O. “You’re not going to tell me, are you? Is it confidential? No? Okay. But what will I say if anyone asks me about your work? That you keep a tidy desk?”

He laughed before he’d even felt it coming.

If nothing else, he liked her. Honesty and decency shone through the quirkiness. And even beyond the signs of attraction that had led him to email her in the first place aside, their kiss had been natural, raw, effortless. And wanted. By both sides. This could work.

“BamBam Games,” he said.

Her eyes widened, her mouth twisting as she gave a long, low drawn-out, “Reeeeally?”

All that lovely cocky certainly was swept away. “Problem?”

“Not necessarily. Bamford Smythe is a genius. He’s going to change the world.” Under her breath she added, “Or destroy it from the inside of a cave somewhere.”

Nate cricked his neck. “You know the guy?”

“Of him. Lissy, my business partner, did some work for him once. The logos and icons on his website are her work.”

Nate clicked over to BamBam’s website for a quick reminder. It was slick, cool, with an aura of hipster that BamBam…Bamford had never given off in person. Now he knew why.

Then he realised Saskia was still talking.

“…and M&M’S. The guy is spookily addicted to M&M’S. So good luck!”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Finish your thought and then we can get started,” said Saskia, pressing herself to her feet, ridding herself of her long cardigan and tossing it towards the couch.

When she rounded his desk and headed to the wall of windows in only a lumpy lace tank, the beige pants and bondage sandals, Nate found himself watching her walk. Relaxed, easy, a neat little sway to her hips.

Not a mote of self-awareness about the woman—as if it didn’t occur to her he might be paying such close attention. That from his angle the afternoon sun sluiced through the window making the buildings glow gold and rendering her lightweight pants all but see-through.

Her silhouette showed off lean legs, gently curving hips and a round, high backside. He curled his hands into his palms till the nails bit deep. Despite the test kiss, she wasn’t his to touch. It hadn’t been part of the deal.

Her hands went to that waist and she stretched out her shoulders, as if opening to the sun. His blood rushed every which way but loose.

“Shall we do this?” Nate said, his voice gruff.

Saskia turned and he waved a hand to the couch.

Saskia picked out a strawberry before unwinding and kicking off her shoes, taking off her hat, ruffling her hands through her kinky dark hair. Then she sat in one corner, leaving the length to him, one foot under her backside, the other curling its toes into the thick white rug.

She made it look so…comfortable. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had anyone barefoot in his office before. He was pretty sure he liked it.

“So?” she said.

“You called this meeting, Miss Bloom,” said Nate as he took the other corner. “You have the floor.”

“Miss Bloom, is it? Well, then, we are all business.”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth, her lips closing around the red fruit. Then, with a soft sigh, she picked up the two neat leatherbound folders with leather ties from the coffee table and handed one to him.

“Flash,” said Nate, amazed that his tongue worked when it felt as if it was tied in knots.

“Stationery addiction.” She waved a hurry up hand, practically bouncing in her seat as she waited for him to pull out whatever was inside. “I know it’s a little more than we agreed to but I’m a sucker for a new project. There’s nothing like it—blank paper, freshly sharpened pencils. Anything’s possible.”

“Before real life gets in the way?”

She shrugged, as if she was still convinced one day things really could work out as she hoped they might. An optimist was Saskia. With Pollyanna tendencies. Nate made a note to remember that.

He opened his folder to find his emailed questions, only she’d expanded them to include a slew of small details, rich details—the kind of details and funny stories people tended to discover about one another on the first few dates. And his were all filled in.

“You researched me,” he said, eyes widening as he read on. School subjects, overseas trips, friends past and present, sports played, prizes won, legs broken and a full list of companies he’d invested in, complete with links to interviews he’d given to financial magazines and websites.

“Don’t get too excited. I do this for a living, remember. I just found what was out there.”

“I’m not sure excited is quite the right word.” He looked up to find her nibbling at her lower lip.

“I’ve overstepped the mark, haven’t I? Argh! Lissy calls it my Puppy Syndrome.”

She held up her paws and panted and Nate’s blood rushed south with such speed he had to grip the couch.

“But I just like being helpful. Here, give it back. We can start over. Pretend it never existed.”

Was she kidding? She’d just saved him hours. In Nate’s world that made her akin to the perfect woman.

He pulled his dossier out of reach and looked down at hers, gripped in her hot little hand. He found himself…not excited, exactly, but intrigued as to what was contained therein. “Swap.”

She blinked, her lashes jerking against her cheeks, then did as she was told.

Nate opened the first page, speed-reading past schooling—state run. Tertiary education—scholarships. Work—applied mathematics with government agencies, before she’d moved on to build her own business—research with a bent towards the statistical.

He slowed when he hit her favourite books, movies, TV shows, as a tumble of odd and wonderful nuances meshed together to form a picture of not just a set of sultry eyes and kissable lips but a woman. The Princess Bride nestled alongside Aliens and The Breakfast Club, Ray Bradbury butted up against Sophie Kinsella and John le Carré. And a litany of real-life adventures flew before his eyes.

Compared with him, she’d lived three lifetimes.

“You’ve really eaten live witchetty grubs? And—” he glanced down “—you were an extra on The Hobbit?”

A smile hooked the corner of her lips, soft pink and warm. “All of the above. They taste better warm. Like nuts. Witchetty grubs, I mean. Not Hobbits,” she corrected.

Laughing, Nate said, “Who knew statistics could be so much fun?”

That just lit her up—eyes bright, smile wide, cheeks pink, she glowed like a touch-lamp on level one. He wondered what it would take to light her up all the way.

Clearing his throat, he closed the folder.

Just in time for her to add, “My dad was a maths professor, so we lived in university housing, holidayed on campus. He never left his rooms if he could help it, while I’d sneak out and find people to talk to about things other than chaos theory. To ask about dinosaurs and rainbows and France. Being a university, there were always people happy to oblige. I found there’s always potential to learn something new. You only have to ask. So I never say no to possibility.”

“Never?”

That earned him a sassy grin. One he felt right deep down inside.

“What was your father like?” she asked. “Was he a lot like you?”

“A good deal.” Worked a lot, took responsibility seriously, blue eyes that laughed easily.

“How did he and your mother meet?” Her chin rested on her knee, her eyes the picture of innocence. But she’d forgotten, he had three sisters. Her nugget about her own father suddenly made perfect sense. She wanted to get inside his head. He almost felt sorry for her that she was going to waste her time trying.

Nate said, “If it’s not in the dossier let’s consider it extraneous to the project.”

Thwarted, she twisted her mouth.

“So,” he said. “Tell me something about me.”

“You’re testing me?” she said, sitting straighter.

“If you can’t pull it off what good are you to me?”

“Fine,” she said, crossing her legs on the couch, eyes burning into him, bright with challenge. “Bring it on.”

“Favourite colour?”

“Blue.” She looked around his white, silver and pale blue office and said, “But you’d have to be colour blind to miss that. Pick up your game, Mackenzie. You’re dealing with a pro.” She crossed her arms beneath her small breasts, pressing them up, creating swells above the neckline of her top.

“Pets?” he said, his eyes lifting to stick to hers.

She snorted out a laugh. “I’d bet my life savings that you’re not home enough to keep a cactus alive, much less a goldfish.”

Considering he’d wire-transferred those life savings into her bank account only a couple of days before, he knew that wasn’t much. But she was right. “You?”

“A dog.”

“Really?”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“I like them just fine. So long as someone else is in charge of feeding, washing, walking, cleaning up after them. What kind of dog? Please tell me it’s not the kind that fits in a handbag.”

“Ha! He’s an Airedale named Ernest. He belonged to an ex who thought he was going to be the next Hemingway. Turned out he was more opportunist than writer—he left Ernest behind as payment for the TV and stereo he took in his place.”

“Ever get them back?”

She shrugged as if it didn’t matter. But he was a master of body language, knowing when to attack a deal and when to take a breath, and by the hunch of Saskia’s small shoulders it mattered.

“Charming,” said Nate, his tone belying his sudden desire to find out the guy’s name and hang him from a balcony till he coughed up the goods.

“I came out with the better end of the deal.”

“Good dog?”

“Sheds like nobody’s business, has a wonky ear, will take a man down for an Oreo. But he’s never gonna steal my TV.”

Finding it hard to reconcile the woman before him being involved with the kind of man who could do that kind of thing, he moved on. “Family?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a middle child—older sister, younger twin sisters.”

“A psychologist’s dream.”

“I’m an only child, remember, so get in line.”

He laughed and settled back in his corner of the couch. She settled back in hers. Game on, her smile said as she spoke. “Your mother is still about. Your father died when you were fifteen. A day before your fifteenth birthday, in fact.”

Nate’s throat closed over at that last part—a small fact he usually left out, as if it was one intimacy too far. But he’d brought up the subject of family. He’d asked for it.

She opened her mouth as if to say more, but he quelled her with a look. Then she brought her knees to her chest and snuggled in against the cushions as if she belonged there.

“Women?” Nate asked, even while he wondered instead about this woman, about the kind of men she normally dated. No doubt men with goatees and sandals swarmed around her in droves. Unless she preferred her men clean-cut in suits.