Читать книгу Memo: The Billionaire's Proposal - Melissa Mcclone - Страница 8

“DAMSEL in distress here.” Struggling to carry a heavy box full of what felt like bricks, Chaney eyed the row of antique armor on display in the great hall of Abbotsford Castle. “Hey, knights in shining armor. Can I get some help please?”

The polished suits stood at attention, weapons in hand as if ready for battle, but not one moved.

The story of her life. Chaney laughed.

Okay, she might not have the happily ever-after ending she once thought she’d have, but she couldn’t complain too much. Not many people got to fly to London and stay at a luxurious castle with all expenses paid while working as the associate producer on a highly rated cable channel show for three days.

This was the kind of handson production experience her boss, Justin, said she needed if she wanted to have a shot at the promotion she’d been eyeing. Okay, dreaming about since the job notice appeared and she’d started filling in the application. Knowing finance was one thing, but knowing how projects got made and being in the trenches on a set was another. That was why he let her use her vacation days to come to England this week.

And she had one person to thank for the opportunity.

Gemma.

Her friend and former roommate was counting on Chaney to make sure the taping of The Billionaire’s Playground, a travel show profiling the vacation spots of the uber-wealthy, went off without a hitch. Gemma’s job required her to look out for the cable channel’s interest, to put out fires and most importantly make sure the show stayed on budget and on schedule. Chaney wouldn’t let her friend down.

The container full of electrical gear slipped in Chaney’s sweaty hands. Her arm muscles strained against the weight. Her eyeglasses slid down her nose.

Dropping the hefty box on the gleaming wood floor would be an expensive no-no, one that could have historical implications given the medieval age of the castle. She tightened her grip, but it didn’t help.

“May I help you, my lady?” a male voice asked from behind her.

The Welsh accent reminded her of Drake Llewelyn, but Gemma had said another billionaire would probably host this episode because he had a previous engagement. Chaney had been relieved to know she wouldn’t have to see him again.

“Thank you.” She rested the container against her bended knee. “I should have borrowed a baggage cart or dolly.”

“Allow me.”

She glanced back at her rescuer. A man wearing chain mail, black leather and armor plates on his shoulders, chest and legs approached. And not just any man…

Drake Llewelyn.

Her breath caught in her throat. He looked like a knight from King Arthur’s Round Table, not a billionaire businessman whose latest pet project had him hosting a travel show for his cable channel.

She had to admit the look suited him. Awareness fluttered through her.

Too bad Drake Llewelyn wasn’t a noble knight. He didn’t follow any code of chivalry. His armor should be tarnished, not polished. She really shouldn’t care what he looked like.

He walked toward her with the grace and agility of an athlete. The armor didn’t slow him down one bit.

Uh-oh. She stiffened with apprehension. The costume must mean he was hosting this episode after all. That meant she would be working with him for the next three days.

“Hello, Chaney.”

The warm sound of his voice seeped through her. He took the box out of her arms as if it weighed no more than a container of laundry detergent.

She pushed her glasses back into the place. Her tired and dry eyes had made her take out her contact lenses three hours ago. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for coming at such short notice and filling in for Gem,” he said. “Are you up to speed on the show and this episode?”

Her heart thudded. “Yes.”

Though the show was the last thing on her mind at the moment.

Two familiar brown eyes, with gold flecks flickering like flames, stared into hers and sent Chaney’s temperature soaring. His mussed hair made him look as if he’d just returned to the castle after a crusade and was ready to bed the first female who caught his eye. And his beard…

She did a double take. He’d always been clean shaven before. “You grew a beard.”

“For the taping.” Drake ran his fingers over the hair on his chin. “Not as full as I’d hoped, but I thought a beard would look more knightly.”

“It does.” She normally didn’t like men with facial hair, but the mustache and beard, combined with the costume, made Drake look dark, dangerous and sexy. A black knight who, no doubt, had his pick of maidens, courtesans and queens.

Chaney swallowed around the crown-jewel-size lump in her throat.

“Where would you like the box?” he asked.

The deep rumble of his voice coupled with his accent made her stomach cartwheel and do a series of backflips like a gymnast during a floor exercise routine. The unexpected reaction put every one of her nerve endings on alert.

“By the lights.” Her voice sounded low, almost husky and totally unnatural. The same odd way it felt to be giving Drake Llewelyn orders or feeling the bolt of unwelcome attraction. She cleared her dry throat. “Please place the box next to the lights.”

As he carefully set the box where one of tonight’s scenes would be taped, chain mail clinked. The sound echoed through the cavernous hall until swallowed up by the tapestry-covered walls.

Drake stood, looking taller than she remembered. She hadn’t remembered his eyelashes being so thick and long, either. He seemed more handsome, if that were possible.

Maybe she was more tired than she realized. Exhaustion could easily explain her reaction to him.

His gaze raked over Chaney.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “If I’d known we were supposed to dress up, I would have brought my beer wench costume.”

Drake laughed. “It’s been too long, Chaney.”

Five years, one month and, she did a quick calculation, about five days. Not long enough in her opinion. “I’m only here as a favor for Gemma.”

“It’s still good to see you again.”

No way would she allow herself to be charmed by him. Being enticed by his knight get-up was bad enough. She straightened. “I doubt you missed me.”

“But I have.”

“Not according to the tabloids.”

He adjusted one of the chain mail sleeves, as if the leather pants, tunic and armor were his daily attire not a designer suit from Brioni. “You’ve been following me in the tabloids?”

“Not really. Just…when I’m in line at the grocery store.” And drawn to the stories of Drake dating women as if they were library books to be checked out and returned before their due date. A leopard didn’t change its spots, and so it seemed, neither did a dragon.

“Grocery shopping. For your family?”

Her chest tightened. “Myself.”

“Gemma told me you were engaged.” He glanced at her left hand, at her bare ring finger to be exact. “I thought you’d be married by now.”

Her, too. “Nope.”

“Let me guess, you found the long-term investment strategy lacking.”

Her cheeks burned when she remembered what she’d said to him five years ago. If she’d known then…Who was she kidding? She probably wouldn’t have done anything differently.

“No,” Chaney admitted. “He did.”

Drake reached his hand toward her, but she stepped away from him. “Chaney—”

“I’m not looking for sympathy,” she interrupted. “I got enough of that when Tyler, my fiancé, broke up with me.”

“I wasn’t going to say I’m sorry, because I’m not. The man is obviously an idiot.”

She bit back a smile. She’d forgotten how Drake could put things into perspective with only a few words. “He married my sister.”

“Then your brother-in-law is an idiot,” Drake said.

Chaney laughed. “You’re right about that.”

“You’re too young to settle down.”

“Well, I don’t plan on settling down anytime soon.”

“We have something in common.”

“That makes two things,” she said.

Drake gave her a puzzled look.

“Gemma.” Chaney picked up her clipboard from the top of the box. “We have her in common.”

His eyes darkened. “Yes, we do.”

“I don’t see her much, but thank goodness for the Internet. I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“Me, neither.”

The emotion in the two words, as well as the concern in his eyes, caught her off guard. “You know, Gemma’s going to be fine. Her baby, too. I spoke with her this morning after I arrived. She is sure the bed rest is temporary, and with the way Oliver is spoiling her, she’ll be good to go for the rest of this season’s tapings.”

“Let’s hope so, but until then…” A smile touched Drake’s lips. “I have you.”

The approval in his eyes let Chaney know he liked what he saw. She wouldn’t let herself care.

“Only on the set,” she said crisply.

“Of course.” His eyes laughed at her.

Flustered, she clutched her clipboard. “I’ll make sure things stay on schedule so you can catch your flight out of Heathrow. Gemma said that was important.”

“Still the same industrious, competent Chaney. This arrangement should work out well.”

She raised her chin. “I think so.”

His lips curved into a full smile, showing two rows of straight, white teeth. He did have a nice smile. “I always knew you’d go far, but I thought you were going to work with your father, not take your financial skills and go into show business.”

“Well, my parents did name me after Lon Chaney,” she admitted.

“Lon Chaney, that old actor?”

“They were die-hard horror fans, but preferred the older black-and-white flicks to the newer slasher movies.” She remembered how Drake had kept their conversations focused on business when she was an intern. Well, except for her goingaway party. “I once called my mom ‘mummy’ and she gave me a cookie.”

“That’s—”

“Weird, I know, but Chaney’s better than Karloff or Lorre. Though Bela might not have been too bad,” she admitted. “But in spite of my name, I actually got my first taste of television during my internship when you acquired the Dragon Network. That experience led me to the job at the studio where I work.”

“It’s amazing how an internship can change a career path.”

He had no idea. She nodded.

“And now you’re back in England working on the show we brainstormed.”

Her mouth gaped. She closed it. “You remember?”

“Your name is in the credits.”

“That was a nice gesture, but it’s not the same show we’d talked about.”

“Maybe not, but The Billionaire’s Playground wouldn’t exist if not for that meeting you attended.”

His words meant a lot to her and echoed what Gemma had said. “Thank you.”

“So how does it feel?” Drake asked.

“Pretty cool.” Chaney wiggled her toes. “I remember watching the premiere episode and thinking, wow, this is what all those ideas we were tossing back and forth turned into. Though I never thought you’d host the show.”

“Me, neither,” he admitted. “But I had a free weekend when they were set to shoot the pilot. We hadn’t found the right talent to host, and Gem said I should do it. I had fun, so I decided to make it a regular gig. Though we’ve started using guest hosts.”

“Gemma told me.”

“Do you have a favorite episode?” he asked.

“I’d have to say it’s the one with kite surfing on the coast of Greenland.”

“That was an exciting episode to tape,” he said. “The Google guys took a vacation there and gave us the idea.”

“Whose idea was it to use a medieval castle this weekend?”

“Gem after she nixed my idea of base-jumping in Norway.”

“Good call,” Chaney said. “Previews of you in your knight costume will bring in viewers and increase ratings a lot more than you doing a crazy stunt.”

He raised a brow. “You sound confident.”

“It’s my job to understand viewers and translate ratings into advertising revenue,” she explained. “All you have to do is take a look at yourself in any one of the gilded mirrors around here. The knight look will be huge with female viewers. You may span a whole new following with Sir Dragon Knight.”

He laughed. “And I thought women were only after my bank account.”

“I’m sure there are those, too, but all women are susceptible to the archetype of a knight. Even if they’d never admit it.”

“Do you admit it?” he asked.

“Well, I definitely had a thing for knights when I was younger. Galahad was my favorite, but the whole fairy-tale thing seems a bit…outdated. I don’t need anyone to rescue me. I can do it myself.”

Even if she still might dream of a happily ever after of her own someday.

“Very modern. Very practical.”

“I am practical.” She’d had to be. “Anything wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.” The devilish look in his brown eyes matched the grin on his face. “I’m curious how your practicality has affected your current investment strategy philosophy. Do you prefer short-term, long-term or day trading?”

“None of the above.” She raised her chin and met his inquisitive gaze. “I’m currently on hiatus from…investing.”

Talk about a marathon session tonight. Drake had almost been grateful when the clock struck midnight and the chimes interrupted the taping.

Of course he was the executive producer as well as the host, or talent as the crew called it. He could have shut down production at any time except he had a helicopter to catch on Sunday afternoon so he could make a flight at Heathrow. He didn’t want to cause any delays.

Hot lights shone on him. Sweat dripped down his armor-clad body. Even though he was wearing a costume, the armor was metal not plastic. Drake was going to need a shower, and maybe a massage, when they were finished. He knew exactly who he wanted to help him with both.

Drake couldn’t see Chaney Sullivan. He surveyed the drawing room looking for a peek of her caramel-colored hair, but couldn’t see her with the two cameras in front of him and the crew milling about behind them. Maybe she was hidden in the back.

The antique one-of-a-kind clock continued to chime. Ten, eleven, twelve…

Quiet. Finally.

“Okay, people.” Milt, the director and producer, clapped his hands. “Let’s get this final scene wrapped up so we can call it a night.”

Drake was all for that.

“One sec.” The hair-and-makeup stylist, a woman named Liz who preferred soda to wine and pretzels to caviar, ran up to him. She fluffed, finger curled and sprayed his hair, making him feel like a fancy show dog. She smiled, satisfaction filling her eyes. “That’s better.”

For her maybe. At least the wardrobe stylist, a guy named Russell, wasn’t trying to spit shine the armor. Just buff it with a soft, white cloth.

“We only need the last line,” Milt said.

Drake stretched his neck. “No problem.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Milt’s eyes narrowed. “I only want you to do one thing differently this time. When you smile at the camera, make it really count. Make the female viewers wet between the legs.”

“I’m a businessman, not an actor.”

“You’re neither of those things tonight.” As Milt patted Drake’s shoulder, his ring clanged against the armor. “You’re Lancelot, knight and lover extraordinaire. Guinevere, your queen, is alone in the castle, naked in her bed, and watching you. Make her wish you were there with her.”

Drake fought the urge to roll his eyes. And laugh.

This part of show business was something he would never understand. Still, doing the show was good publicity and PR for the channel and his company. He trusted his gut, and his instinct said do what Milt wanted. That was what Drake had done for the past two seasons and saw no need to change now. “You’re in charge, but let’s hope Guin’s covered herself with a blanket. Castles can be drafty this time of year.”

The crew laughed. Even Milt cracked a smile.

Liz came after Drake with the eyelash curler. “I forgot something.”

“Is that really necessary again?” he asked.

She winked. “Absolutely, Sir Lashalot.”

Drake grimaced, allowed the deed to be done and readied himself for the scene.

Holding a gold goblet precariously with his gauntlet-covered hand, he stood in front of an elaborately carved fireplace complete with an ornate coat of arms being held by two lion-faced cherubim.

“Ready, Sir Lancelot?” Milt asked.

Drake nodded once.

Milt looked at Tony, one of the two cameramen on the crew. “Let me know when you have speed.”

“Are the mikes working?” Tony asked the audio person, who gave him the thumbs-up. “Speed.”

A few seconds later, Drake saw his cue.

Show time.

Once he nailed this line, he’d be free to do whatever he wanted. And he knew what—make that who—he wanted.

Forget Guinevere.

The adulterous queen had nothing on his new associate producer. An image of Chaney wearing her sexy, smart-girl glasses flashed in his mind.

He raised the goblet and smiled at the camera. “And that’s why Abbotsford Castle is one of this billionaire’s favorite playgrounds.”

Luxurious and romantic, this castle would be the perfect place to play with Chaney. Five years hadn’t changed the smart, pretty American’s appeal.

Drake still wanted to taste those full, pink lips of hers that had tempted him during her internship. He wanted to see if the adorable dimple on her left cheek went as deep as it looked. He wanted to lend a hand as she wiggled out of those well-fitted jeans, cupping her bottom like a glove, so he could see if she wore a thong, boy short or other type of panty underneath.

Most of all, he hadn’t forgotten the way she’d turned him down.

Sorry Mr. Llewelyn. You’re targeting the wrong girl.

He’d been sorry all right especially since he’d stopped dating a woman, a supermodel if he remembered correctly, to pursue Chaney. But she hadn’t wanted him.

Drake had thought about that, about her, over the years. Now that he’d seen her again, and found out she wasn’t married as he’d believed, he wanted another chance.

Before the weekend was over, Drake wanted to hear the word “yes” fall from Chaney’s lips. A “please take me now” wouldn’t be so bad, either. He wanted to prove to himself and her that he hadn’t targeted the wrong girl. Far from it. Given the antics and partying that accompanied the production crew during their two and a half months on the road, he had high hopes.

His smile widened.

Milt counted down with his fingers. Five-four-three-two-one.

“Cut! That’s a wrap people.” Milt adjusted his LA Dodgers baseball cap. “Perfect, Drake. Keep smiling like that, and you’ll be a lock making this year’s Sexiest Man Alive list.”

Drake handed the goblet to Jesse, an intern working on the show, and took a bottle of water from her. “Thanks, but I’d rather top the Richest Man Alive list.”

As he downed the water, the crew, including a few locals hired to help due to the size of the castle and amount of work involved in this particular episode, moved gear in preparation for tomorrow’s shoot. The show had exclusive use of the castle for the next two days so they didn’t have to worry about anyone getting in the way. The castle staff had experience with film crews so would be no trouble.

He handed his empty bottle to Jesse, who scurried away to who knew where. Funny, but Drake couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to find a garbage can himself. Years ago, he’d dug through trash cans out of necessity for him and his dad. How times had changed.

As he made his way past the lights and cameras, he searched for Chaney. He found her standing in the doorway with her clipboard in hand and talking to the production coordinator. As he crossed the drawing room in her direction, desire rocketed through him.

He’d appreciated Chaney’s athletic all-American girl figure before, but now her clothes accentuated fuller curves. Her long hair worn in braids or a ponytail had always looked charming on the college co-ed, but the new sophisticated shoulder-length cut suited her face better. The biggest and most intriguing change, though, was to her eyes. Not the glasses, but the maturity he saw in the hazel-green depths.

Chaney Sullivan was no longer a girl. She’d become a woman. A woman who was hardworking, confident and, most important, smart. Her intelligence had always been the draw for him, Drake realized, even if he liked the package it came in, too.

He slowed his approach until the production coordinator walked away. By then most of the crew had left. “Hello, there.”

“Hi.” Chaney held her clipboard in front of her like a barrier between them. A barrier he had every intention of breaking down. “Great job tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She stifled a yawn.

Chaney should be in bed. His bed, if Drake had his choice. “Join me for a drink?”

“I thought you didn’t date employees.”

“I don’t.”

“Uh-huh.”

She was considered an independent contractor, and her paycheck would be coming from the cable channel as Gemma’s did, not the corporate office. So Chaney was, in effect, fair game. “You don’t work for me.”

“Not officially, but I’m—”

“Tired?”

“Exhausted.”

“I’ll have to let you go, then. But could you do a little something for me first, please?”

She readied her pen over her clipboard. “Sure, what do you need?”

Staring into her eyes, he smiled. “I need your help getting out of this costume.”