Читать книгу Marriage Made on Paper - Maisey Yates - Страница 7

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 cup off of Gage’s desk and taking a sip.

In the beginning it had seemed strange, coming in early when no one else was in the building, sitting in Gage’s luxurious office, watching the sunrise, glinting off the bay, and the hundreds of boats moored in the San Diego harbor. It had almost seemed … intimate in some ways. Half the time he hadn’t shaved yet when she arrived, and he would go into his private bathroom that adjoined his office and take care of it before the other staff arrived, but he didn’t bother for her.

She’d never shared her mornings with a man before, so the insight into the masculine prep-for-the-day routine was an interesting one.

Then at eight his PA would arrive and Gage would brief him on the schedule for the day and Lily would go to her office. Her new office in Gage’s building. She and her small crew had relocated once she’d realized the constant crosstown commute wasn’t conducive to keeping tabs on her account with Forrestation, and they were essentially the only account she handled personally. Gage kept her too busy to do anything else.

“The build in Thailand is going well,” he commented.

“Good.”

“You’ve certainly managed to keep the public, and in turn, the shareholders, placated with that one.”

“You’re providing so many jobs for the area and the wages you pay are more than fair. It’s only going to be good for the economic growth of the region. And you’ve certainly taken great care to keep environmental impact at a minimum. And the fact that you bought several hundred acres and had it set aside as a wildlife preserve is helpful. If you would let me announce it.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders and his shirt pulled tight across his muscular chest, exposing the outline of his pectoral muscles. She looked away. “It doesn’t matter to me what the vocal minority thinks. No matter how many protesters show up at a construction site, the general public still patronizes my hotels and I can still sleep at night. Anything else is an incidental. It wouldn’t matter at all if weren’t for the shareholders. The curse of going public.”

“Why did you choose to go public then? You don’t strike me as the sort of man who likes to be accountable to anyone.”

He leaned back in his chair and pushed his dark hair off of his forehead. “You noticed.”

“Hard not to.”

“I went public because it’s a great way to increase visibility. And at the time I had debts to pay off from the start-up of the company. It helped increase my capital immensely, and enabled me to pay off the business loans I’d taken out.”

Gage was from a fairly affluent family, that was general knowledge. It surprised her that he’d had to take out loans to start up his company. She’d imagined him having full family support, both financially and emotionally. The fact that he started the same as she had, by herself, with nothing and no one standing by to bail her out, made her stomach tighten.

“But now you have to play the diplomacy game,” she said.

“I would anyway. I develop resort and hotel properties, the public has to have a favorable view of me.”

“That’s true.”

For the most part, the public did have a favorable view of him. He was charismatic and charming and dated the most eligible women in Hollywood, which put him on the front cover of a lot of magazines and made him very high-profile for a businessman.

He was also a slave-driving taskmaster, but only his employees knew that. And in fairness, he never expected anything from her that he didn’t expect from himself. In fact, he seemed to expect more from himself. Which was why, even when her phone rang at 3:00 a.m., she managed to resist hurling obscenities at him.

“Anything else on the agenda?” she asked.

“I need a date for an event tomorrow. Fundraiser. Art gala.”

“And you’ve misplaced your little black book?”

“No, it’s in a safe somewhere so that no one can ever get their hands on it and use it for evil.”

“You use it for evil,” she said.

“On occasion. But the real issue is that none of my black book entries are suitable.”

“Well that sounds like an issue of taste to me,” she said. It bothered her sometimes—okay, all the time—that a man with his drive to succeed dated women who were such bubbleheads. But then, she didn’t imagine he was interested in the contents of their minds.

“No, it’s an issue of venue. I want you to go with me.”

“What?”

“But you need something else to wear.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You’re intelligent. You know how to make conversation.”

“So do most women. You just tend to date women who can’t talk and walk at the same time without injuring themselves.”

“I didn’t know you had an opinion on my choice of companion.”

She gritted her teeth. “Doesn’t matter, what matters is that I shield the public from the full horror of it. And what’s wrong with the way I dress?”

She spent an obscene amount of money buying good quality clothing and having it tailored. She always, always, looked polished and ready for a press conference. Always. It was essential to her job and she took it very seriously.

“Nothing. If you have a business meeting. But you look more like a politician’s wife than a woman I would take to a fundraiser.”

“Politicians’ wives go to fundraisers.”

“But I’m not a politician.”

“And I’m not for hire.”

His dark brows locked together. “No. You’re not, because I already hired you. You work for me, and if I need you I expect you to make yourself available. You signed a contract agreeing to it.”

“To be your PR specialist at all hours, which is quite enough, thank you very much, not to hang on your arm at art galas.”

“This is PR. I could skip the fundraiser and look like a capitalist pig with no conscience, or I could go with Shan Carter. She gave me her number the other night.”

An image of the spoiled blonde heiress in her thigh-high boots and cling-wrap dress flashed before Lily’s eyes.

“You can’t do that,” she said, all of her PR training recoiling in horror at the thought.

“I know. I didn’t even need you to tell me.”

“Fine. I’ll go. But you’re not picking my dress.”

His icy gaze swept her up and down. “You’re not.”

“Why not? You’ve never seen me in date clothes. You don’t know what my date clothes look like.” She didn’t own date clothes, but he didn’t have to know that. She had confidence in her taste in clothes. She knew what she looked good in and she really didn’t need some wafer-thin personal shopper to try and tell her what she already knew.

“All right, but no tweed.”

“I don’t wear tweed. Well, I have a jacket that’s tweed, but it’s chic. Lycra isn’t the official fabric of fashion, you know. Though I know you couldn’t prove it by your dates.”

He shrugged in that casual manner of his, that shrug that seemed especially designed to provoke her. “I like to have fun. I work hard. My obligations are met. I see no issue with conducting my personal life in the way I see fit.”

He had a point, as much as she hated to admit it. Although she couldn’t imagine why any woman in her right mind would date him. Well, that was a lie, it was obvious visually why a woman would want to date him. He was tall, broad-shouldered and perfectly built. But on a personal level, while he was smart and fun to banter with, he was also totally uncompromising when it came down to it, and she knew she could never deal with a man like that. She’d seen the kind of toll a man like that could take on a woman’s life. And she’d vowed she wouldn’t become like that. She wasn’t letting anyone have control over her life.

Although, obviously Gage had some modicum of control over her life since he was her boss, but that was different. When a woman gave a man her body he owned a piece of her. She thought the whole thing was just entirely too unsettling. And no matter how gorgeous Gage was, it wasn’t enough to erase the memories that she carried with her. Warnings. Her mother’s mistakes had to count for something, otherwise they really would be a complete tragedy, and as contentious as her relationship with her mother was, she didn’t want that.

“If you expect me to buy new clothes you have to give me time to shop.”

“You can have the afternoon off.”

She shook her head, her tight bun staying firmly in place. “Morning and afternoon. I need sleep.”

“Morning to lunch hour,” he countered.

“Deal.”

“No black. No beige.”

“It’s an art gala, most of the women will be in black.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why I want you to wear something else.”

She frowned. “I’m not in the habit of allowing men to dictate what I wear. I can choose for myself.”

He stood from his desk, and she was distracted, as she always was when he surprised her like that, by the superb shape of his body. Narrow waist, broad chest. And she knew, though she was ashamed to admit it, that he also had the best butt she’d ever seen. Although she hadn’t taken notice of very many men in that way before, so she didn’t have much to compare to.

He raised an eyebrow. “So if your lover had a preference for lingerie you wouldn’t consider that, either?”

She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to will herself not to blush. She never let men rattle her. She’d been on the receiving end of pick-up lines from cheesy to crude since she began to develop at the age of thirteen, and then, after she’d moved and started her new life, men had naturally assumed she was ready to bed-hop her way to the top of the corporate ladder. As a result, she’d assumed she’d lost the ability to blush a long time ago. Apparently not. She felt her face get hot.

She’d never worried about her lack of sexual experience. It was a choice she’d made. In the environment she’d been raised in it had been a fight to hold on to any sort of innocence, physical or psychological, and she’d been determined that no one would take it from her. But in that moment she knew she would rather walk across broken glass than admit that no man had ever had cause to have an opinion about her lingerie.

“I have impeccable taste,” she said instead, lifting her chin, trying to keep her expression smooth. Cool. Not completely flustered. “No one has ever had reason to complain.” She picked her briefcase up from the floor and stood. “And neither will you.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the office, trying to ignore the thundering of her heart.