Читать книгу Breathless on the Beach - Wendy Etherington - Страница 8

VICTORIA PULLED HER HAND AWAY from Jared McKenna and resisted the urge to make a fist to dispel the tingling sensation she’d gotten from touching him. “You know my mother?”

“I took her and some teens from the foundation on a cowboy adventure weekend last year.”

Victoria remembered her grandmother mentioning the event, as Nana was determined to get her daughter out of the city and into a wide-open space. Something about fear of dust and a lack of vitamin D. Victoria had been thrilled she hadn’t been recruited.

Fear of dust was a documented condition that specifically targeted people with a mostly black wardrobe.

Victoria raised her eyebrows at the man before her. “My mother rode a horse?”

“No, but the kids and the staff did, and they loved it, so she was happy.”

How could he tell her mother was happy? Had she actually smiled? Complimented him? Joanne didn’t warm up to people, either.

Even big, hot outdoorsmen.

Especially big, hot outdoorsmen.

He had ridiculously broad shoulders, muscular arms, and a deep tan that could only come from spending endless hours in the sun. No lack of vitamin D there. With his wrinkled T-shirt and khaki shorts, bare feet, windblown dark hair and laughing brown eyes, he seemed the antithesis of any man she’d be interested in.

And yet he’d survived a weekend with her mother. If there was anything Victoria admired, it was resiliency.

This guy was the walking, breathing picture of rugged.

“Hi, Ruthanne,” Shelby said from beside Victoria. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“You, too. And call me Ruthie. Everybody does.” Her gaze flicked to Victoria. “Except Vicky, of course.”

Victoria clenched her jaw. Her name was not Vicky. She, in fact, hated to be called that—as Ruthanne well knew.

Before she could remind her friend of that detail, Shelby asked a question about her supplies for the weekend, and all the other women followed Mrs. K on her tour of the kitchen and pantry.

“The pantry requires a tour?” Victoria asked, though only Jared was around to hear her.

“They used to have a footman haul stuff the full ten feet from the pantry to the counter, but he wasn’t fast enough, so he was let go.”

Victoria resisted the urge to smile. The house was certainly like something out of the English countryside, and the perfect setting for formal servants. But clearly, Jared the Rugged wasn’t a history major.

“Footmen don’t work in the kitchen,” she said.

“You’d know.”

“How? I live in an apartment in Manhattan. I don’t have a footman.”

“A maid?”

“I use a cleaning service.”

“Every day?”

“Every week.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Is there a particular reason you’re interested in my domestic situation?”

That crafty grin appeared. “Long as we’re on the subject … do you have a live-in boyfriend?”

“No,” Victoria answered, before she thought to tell him her relationships were none of his business.

“Sleepover boyfriend?”

“I don’t see how this—”

“Pretty cranky response, so I’d say no. I bet you kick them out fifteen minutes after sex.”

“I do not.”

“After a one-for-the-road drink?”

“No.”

She gave her lover a bottle of water before he left. And they all left perfectly satisfied. What was he implying? That she was lousy in bed? That she was cold and methodical like her mother? Not that she knew about her mom in bed, anyway.

In fact, the whole idea of her in the throes of passion seemed wrong.

Maybe Victoria had been fertilized in a petri dish. And why, before now, hadn’t she ever thought to ask that question? It made perfect sense. Given her grandfather’s proclivity toward science and brilliant surgical techniques, why hadn’t she wondered—

Halting her runaway thoughts, it occurred that in less than a minute Jared had more information about her personal life than her assistant had in five years.

Victoria glared at him. “So I guess those muscles in your biceps don’t cloud your brain power, do they?”

His eyes softened to a shade of gold. He lifted his arm and flexed the muscle. “You noticed, huh?”

He had to be kidding with this come-on. “Look here, buddy,” she said, leaning forward, only to continue in an urgent whisper, “I don’t have time for your games. I’m not here to flirt or banter or have sex—which I’m great at, by the way. I’m here to get a promotion. Richard Rutherford’s account is going to secure my future. I don’t know who you think you’re playing—maybe the mealy daughter of the legendary Joanne Holmes—but I’m not her. I’ve got my own success and agenda, and that’s going to take me to the top.”

“Do you have any idea how hot you are right now?”

“I …” She stopped, humiliated to realize a heated flush was crawling up her neck. There was no way she was turned on. She was … surprised.

But nobody caught her off guard.

“You need to take a big step backward, cowboy,” she said, keeping her voice low and firm.

“Me? You’re the one who moved closer. You step back.”

“I will not.”

“So what do you suggest we do, since we’re already this close?”

“We’re not going to do anything.”

“No ideas? Fine.” He slid the pad of his thumb across her bottom lip. “I have a few.”

“Everybody getting settled in?”

At the sound of Richard Rutherford’s voice, Victoria leaped away from Jared.

Her heart pounded against her chest. What was she doing? How could she have forgotten even for a minute her reason for coming to the house party?

She approached Richard as he stood by the kitchen counter. Her professional smile was now in place and all distracting thoughts about Jared McKenna set aside. “Richard, it’s so good to see you. What a lovely spot for a weekend party.”

“Thank you, Victoria.” Wearing a browny-beige-and-yellow argyle sweater and khaki pants, he looked like the picture of Casual Rich Man on Weekend Golf Outing. “We’re pleased to have you as our guest.”

His formal speech struck her oddly. It was classic Richard, but it was wrong. That damn Jared. His easy, casual manner had spoiled normalcy.

“I know we’re all going to have a great time,” she said, “but I was hoping we could find a few minutes to talk about the new campaign.”

Richard smiled. “I’m sure we will. Business is pleasure, after all.”

“Exactly.” That was normal. How could she have gotten distracted by some barefoot cowboy wannabe? Correction, adventure tour guide. What kind of job was that, anyway?

For romantic liaisons, she had more sophisticated men in mind. For professional pursuits, she had a plan, and she was making it work.

It had to work.

The intercom buzzed again. “That’s probably our other guests, Mrs. Keegan,” Richard announced, as the housekeeper bustled back into the kitchen. “When they get to the house, bring them into the front parlor. We’ll have tea there and let everyone get acquainted.”

Jared started toward the back door. “I’ll make sure all the equipment is ready to go.”

“No, no.” Richard waved his hand. “Join us for tea. It’ll be easier to introduce everyone at the same time.”

Jared looked as if he’d rather handle a live rattlesnake.

Victoria had to agree with his foreboding. She couldn’t imagine that big body perched on one of Rose’s antique settees or holding a dainty china cup.

But the rough-and-tumble Mr. McKenna, thankfully, wasn’t Victoria’s problem. “Who else is coming?” she asked Richard. “Anybody I know?”

Maybe he’d invited some executives from his company. Wouldn’t it be convenient if she got to meet the vice president of operations? Or even marketing? She could impress all the decision makers in one fell swoop and have the contract ready by the time she got back to the office on Tuesday, the day Coleman Sr. announced his retirement. She could almost hear the champagne cork pop.

She was so caught up in her fantasy, she almost didn’t catch the name Richard said.

And when she did, she was sure she was hallucinating.

“Did you just say Peter Standish?” she managed to query around the lump in her throat.

He nodded. “And his wife, Emily. Charming couple. They really—”

“I’m sorry.” Victoria could hardly believe she was interrupting him, but it was vital she dispel her delusion before anyone noticed she was on the verge of panicking. “Not the same Peter Standish who works at Coleman?”

Richard smiled as if he’d given her a particularly clever gift. “The very same. All one, big, happy family.”

Victoria’s mouth went dry. “But …”

Calla darted to her side and slid her arm around her waist, obviously noticing that Victoria needed the support. “Richard, would you mind if I took some pictures of the property while I’m here this weekend? I’m hoping to do an article for Atlantic Magazine.”

“Snap away. In fact, after tea I’ll show you where Beach-side Homes shot their summer spread.”

“Oh, would you?” Beaming at him, Calla stepped forward and linked her arm with Richard’s. “I want all the details.”

Victoria stared, frozen, as they headed out of the room. She could hear Shelby and Mrs. Keegan preparing tea and trays of cookies, but their voices seemed to float to her from a long way off.

“Who’s Peter Standish?” Jared asked from close behind her. “One of the lovers you kicked out without so much as a one-for-the-road drink?”

She didn’t have the strength for a comeback, or even to move away. In fact, she considered turning around and laying her head against his wide, muscular chest—if only for a second. “My office rival,” she said woodenly.

“What do you do?”

She swiveled and wished she hadn’t, since their faces—specifically their lips—wound up mere inches apart. “My mother didn’t tell you?”

Confusion swam in his eyes. “Not that I remember.”

Why would she? She’s The Legend; I’m the trainee. “I’m a vice president at Coleman Public Relations.”

He straightened, and she was almost sorry for the loss of closeness. “Ah … the new safe.”

Victoria scowled. “What do you know about it? It’s supposed to be top secret.”

“Rose told me.”

Victoria found that an odd way for a temporary employee to refer to the venerable Rose Rutherford. But then her hostess had a fair amount of charm, which she was rumored to dispense heavily on cute, young guys.

“You really think you can convince people to spend several grand on a big metal box?” he asked.

My mother could. Dispelling all doubt, Victoria lifted her chin. “Given the right motivation, I can convince people to spend several grand on anything.”

“And what’s the right motivation this time?”

“The Rutherford Securities contract and a senior vice presidency.”

“One the unwelcome Mr. Standish is also up for?”

“Not if my boss has any sense.”

“Does he?”

“Most of the time.” She fisted her hand at her side. “What is he doing here? Why is he ruining my plans? Why in the world did Richard invite him?”

“Your boss?”

Victoria sighed. Jared had already proved he wasn’t dense. Being difficult, however, seemed to come just as naturally. “My rival.”

“Want my opinion?”

“You ride horses and consult on corporate politics?”

His eyes darkened for an instant, and she knew the insult had hit home. She was unprepared when his reaction made her feel guilty, though.

When had she gotten so mean?

Victoria had never been particularly gentle, but her obsession with ambition had changed her. Tact was rare outside of landing a deal. Vulnerability was reserved for only a few. Was her desire to live up to her mother’s legacy so important? Was it really impossible to be successful and yet different from her?

“I watch people,” he said, his anger restrained, yet apparent. “Mostly people like you. You run around in circles, chasing each other, or the next big deal or trophies and promotions. Seems to me like a giant waste of time.”

What else is there? she almost asked. “And what do you do that’s so much better?”

“I chase adventure,” he said, his voice quiet and deep. “Wanna join me?”

She dismissed the spark of desire she felt. She had bigger things at stake than sex. And abandoning a lifetime of climbing the corporate ladder wasn’t an option. Hell, ambition was coded into her DNA. “Can’t,” she said, forcing strength into her voice that usually came naturally. “I need this promotion.”

“You probably deserve it.”

“I do.”

“So you surely realize why Richard invited you and your rival to the same party.”

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Richard likes to be the center of attention.”

“Of course he does, but how do you know—” She stopped as his intention became clear. “Richard wants us to fight for the contract.”

Jared nodded.

Victoria wanted to scream over the injustice. If Peter got the Rutherford contract instead of her, he’d likely get the senior VP position, too. Her grand plan was crumbling around her, and all before the weekend had even started.

“If it matters,” Jared said lightly, “I’m rooting for you.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I like winners.”

“And you think I’ll win.”

“Call it a hunch.”