Eclipse of the Heart

chapter 3

"Mistake?" Logan felt his eyebrows rise with his temper. "You don't know the duties expected of an escort?"

"Escort?" she whispered. "What are you talking about? Do you mean 'whore'?"

"That's an ugly word. It demeans both of us."

"It’s an ugly scenario."

"It's a business transaction." He stared her down, determined to make her face the truth. He hated playing games. He would never treat her with anything but courtesy and respect, but she had to know upfront that there would be no emotional component to their relationship.

"Wait a minute." Relief sparked in her eyes. "You told me five minutes ago that I wouldn’t have to sleep with you!"

"'Sleep' being the operative word!" He picked up his drink and tossed back the contents. "You weren’t under the impression I was paying you that generous salary merely to serve as arm candy?" He plunked the glass down on the table with a thump to punctuate his words. "I can get that for free."

"You can’t get sex for free?"

"Of course I can." Anger flared and he had to take a deep breath to rein it in. "If I don't mind the emotional ball and chain." He showed his teeth in a deliberately fake smile. "I have more cash than I do caring. You might as well know that right up front."

"You also have a lot more cash than sense if you think I care about your checkbook or your emotional state," she shot back.

He had to hide an unexpected smile. "Look. I don't know what your game is here. If you're trying to play a reluctant virgin role, drop it now. I like my women to be experienced and adventurous. Not dowdy and innocent."

"And I," she retorted, "like my employers to be intelligent and law-abiding."

"Law-abiding?" His anger turned to cold fear. Had he been a victim of a vice-sting?

She raised her eyebrows and tilted up her chin. "You've never heard of sexual harassment?"

Instinctively, he turned and strode away from her. His mind clicked furiously through this new puzzle. He was used to manipulative women, but this was a first—an accusation of harassment. His first thought was his lawyer. His second—the discreet agency he used. He needed facts. If she wasn't playing a role, why was she looking so shocked? Maybe he'd been crude to use the "f" word, but she'd annoyed him with her posturing.

He'd been wanting her since the moment she walked into his office in that drab outfit, the hot kiss had further inflamed him, and it was time to get down to business.

"Excuse me." He grabbed his phone from the bar, and scrolled down for the agency's number.

Cleo Shipley answered on the first ring. She knew everything there was to know about customer service, and she certainly knew he was one of her best clients. Not that he'd ever had her, but he didn't have any illusions about where she'd started either.

"Did you send me a job candidate yesterday?" he asked, dispensing with any courtesies.

"How are you, darling?" Cleo's sultry tone invited him to undress her. She never wasted an opportunity.

"The candidate," he repeated. "It's important, Cleo."

"Of course I did. She told me you had already filled the position."

"Shit." He couldn't stop the word from escaping.

"I was disappointed, Logan." She was smart enough to keep accusation out of her tone. "I thought we had an exclusive arrangement."

"Be grateful for small favors, Cleo. I've got a woman here and she's threatening legal action. You don't want to be caught up in that."

He clicked off, tossed the phone back on the bar and faced the woman he'd expected to be bedding by now. Had she set him up?

"Let's talk." He used the tone he saved for those tough business adversaries he'd mentioned just ten minutes ago.

Amanda raised her chin. "Who is Cleo?"

He looked down at her. "How did you end up in my office yesterday?"

Her lips tightened to a thin line. "I'm the one who's been accused of selling my body. You answer my questions."

"If you weren't in my office interviewing for a job with me, why were you there?"

"I was interviewing for a job!"

"Okay." He grabbed at his patience. This was not what he'd been fantasizing about for this evening. "What job?"

"Director of Entrepreneurial Services."

"Jesus." The anger drained out of him. "Damn fool of an assistant."

"You mean Twinkletoes?"

He almost smiled again. Rosie did have a tendency to acquire nicknames due to her outlandish outfits.

"She's filling in for my regular assistant who's having surgery this week."

"I was early for my appointment." Amanda paused, as if trying to remember. "When I left, there was another woman in the waiting area. A redhead." She eyed him. "With a skirt as short as her legs were long. She must have been your potential—how shall I put it?" She smiled with all venom and no humor. "Your floozy?"

"Jealous, are you?" The words slipped out and instantly, he wished them unsaid. The momentary triumph that had lit her eyes disappeared in a flash. Instead, she looked like a five-year-old who'd discovered she was left off a birthday party list.

But she recovered quickly. "Do I look like someone who wants to be mistaken for a bimbo?" She gestured to herself. "There is nothing provocative about me!"

"Now on that point, I must disagree." As smoothly as that, he'd become the hunter again. He felt the instinct to chase fire up his bloodstream. Not that he'd let her know it.

"Business suit," she said. "Sensible pumps. A boring hairstyle."

He looked at her hair. Of all the things to mention. Yeah, he’d rather see it hanging down, but a man didn’t reject a woman for her hairstyle. Instead, he imagined pulling out whatever pins were holding it in place, and shaking it down so it looked like he wanted it to look. And fell where he wanted it to fall. Like on his stomach, and points further south.

But he was smart enough to know she didn’t want to hear that. A mistake had been made, and he had offended her.

He tried for a soothing tone. "I see that you dressed in an appropriate manner for a business job interview."

"Then what were you thinking?"

He shrugged. "I thought you’d tried to be different. Since I found you quite enticing, I didn’t question your outfit."

"Don’t talk to me like that!"

He raised his eyebrows.

"You know what I mean!"

He grinned, unable to help himself. She was like a swan, hissing and fluttering her wings, none of which detracted from her underlying graciousness.

"I think," he said calmly, "that we need to find a way to move forward from this misunderstanding, without spending more time lingering on the past and pointing fingers."

"You don’t understand!" Her eyes darkened. "I needed that job. I was so happy when I thought I’d found a way to get Julie the treatment…" The flow of words halted abruptly, she swallowed, and he saw the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes.

He turned away. If she began crying, the discussion was over.

But it seemed she understood his refusal to deal with tears, or she was able to check her emotion.

"You’re right," she said. "This whole discussion is pointless. A mistake was made. Let’s leave it at that."

She grabbed her purse and headed for the bedroom. "I’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes."

"There's a storm out there," Logan said. "There won't be any flights leaving Chicago tonight."

"I can find another hotel."

He picked up the receiver of the hotel phone and dialed the front desk. "I need another room tonight," he said. "No, I'll keep this suite as well. Please send up a bellman."

He hung up. "That problem has been resolved. Now can we proceed?"

She eyed him warily and he almost smiled as he watched her wrestle with her conscience. She wanted to storm out. She needed the job. He knew what she'd decide in the end. But he didn't mind soothing her injured pride.

"Amanda. Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t leave here at this time of night."

"I’m ridiculous? Look at you, a grown man paying women for sex. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?"

"Why? It's a reasonable exchange. We each get what we want."

"Why don’t you want to be with women who enjoy you for your company?"

"The women I’m with give a fair imitation of enjoying my company, and I find that’s good enough for me."

"A pretense. Not even well-disguised."

"It’s nothing if not well-disguised. I use direct deposit."

"That’s not funny!" She turned back from her grand exit to glare at him. "It’s disgusting."

"I think that’s enough talk about my lack of morals." Damn, why was he tolerating any of this nonsense? Did he want her that badly? He watched her as she wrestled with indecision. She would be mortified if she knew how accurately he could read her. Her pride demanded that she storm out. But her practical nature knew that his job, if she could salvage it, was the best offer she'd get.

He gestured toward the table. "Why don’t we sit down and see if we can move forward."

"There is nowhere to go with this discussion."

"Sit." He pointed at a chair by the glass table and pulled out one for himself.

"Are you always this bossy?" she demanded.

"Are you always this stubborn?"

"I have no intention of serving as your whore." She remained standing, her shoulders stiff with defiance, her hands clenched on the back of the chair, as if afraid she’d pull it out and sit down.

"Believe it or not, my ego is sufficiently modest that I can accept that." He nodded at the chair. "So, if we table that idea, will you sit down?"

"Fine." She yanked out the chair and dropped into it.

"Now, the way I see it is this. You need a job and you need health insurance for your sister."

She gave a jerky nod.

"The job you came to interview for has not been filled. Would you care to start over with that interview?"

"Are you serious?"

"You were screened by the O'Brien Agency, correct?"

"Yes." She frowned at the table top. "Now I know why you didn't have any questions for me." More than a trace of bitterness still laced her tone.

"We're starting over," he repeated patiently. He leaned back, hoping to set her at ease. Not that he could relax, when her light perfume was enticing him, her brown eyes were flashing an invitation he knew she didn't recognize, and her cheeks were flushed as if she'd just finished a romp in bed. He gave a mental sigh. "Tell me about your qualifications," he said.

She stood. "Let me get my resume."

He waved her back to her seat. "I'll look at it later. Let's talk now." He wanted to ask her to take off her jacket and make herself comfortable, but he knew better. She was as skittish as a virgin in a bordello.

"Fine." She bit off the word. "I have an undergraduate degree in business, and I've worked for five years at a small, Web-based promotional company. In my spare time, I've started a business offering nutritional advice online."

"Why nutrition?"

"My sister has been sick for awhile. I became interested in the subject in hopes of helping her."

"Are the plans for your own business on hold?"

For the first time, she hesitated. "I'd hoped to continue running it on a part-time basis."

"You returned to the corporate world strictly for insurance benefits?"

"I needed the salary and the benefits." She bit her lip.

"I'm sure you know I'm looking for a financial person to analyze acquisitions." She definitely didn't have the profile he normally wanted for this position.

"I also have an MBA in Finance," she said.

So she was pushing thirty. An age he avoided. Though he sometimes craved a woman with more maturity than the usual brainless bimbo the agency sent over, he didn't want to get tangled up with anyone whose biological clock might be ticking. He'd specified mid-twenties as the age range with the agency. He didn't think it was too young, given that he was thirty-two.

Strike one for Amanda.

He didn't count the fact that she wasn't for sexual hire as the first strike. There were ways to get around that problem.

He nodded at her. "Where'd you get your degree?"

"Wharton."

"Harvard here." Though he'd been born and raised in Massachusetts, he'd never been back since the accident.

"I'll try not to hold that against you."

Her quip surprised him into a quick grin. "But you," he countered, "have to live down Trump as an alum."

For the first time, she smiled. "I have a good story about him," she said.

"Let's hear it."

"I was with one of my professors who was waiting to go into a Board of Trustees meeting. The Donald called."

Logan nodded. "With an outrageous demand, no doubt."

She laughed. "Oh, yes. He was in his helicopter and late for the Board meeting. He wanted to land on the football field."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "It's not like him to ask for permission."

"Exactly. When the permission was denied, he announced he was intending to land there, anyway."

"I hope football practice wasn't in session."

"Not at that point. But the Dean called the Athletic Director and said, 'Get everyone in the gym onto the field, immediately.'" She spread her hands. "There just wasn't any room for the helicopter to land."

Logan threw back his head and laughed. "It's not often someone thwarts The Donald."

She smiled. "It was a fun moment."

The suite doorbell rang. Perfect timing, Logan thought. He wouldn't find a better moment to exit on a positive note.

He stood. "That's the bellman."

"I could manage my own luggage."

"I'm moving." He strode past her, just one inch closer to her than he would have ventured if he didn't want to inhale a whiff of her scent. He'd noticed it first in the airplane. Even though they'd sat across the aisle from each other in the small jet, whenever she moved, a faint breath of her perfume would tease him. Honey and cinnamon. Just like her hair and her warm brown eyes.

She frowned as she stood. "That's silly. I don't need this whole suite."

"I want you to have it." He opened the door and ushered in the bellman. "If you send me your resume," he said casually, "I'll look it over tonight. We can talk in the morning."

Silently, she pulled a folder out of her briefcase and handed it to him.

"I'll be up early," she said.

"Thanks." He let his fingers brush hers as he took the folder. Her eyes flew to his face, but he made sure she wouldn't see anything there. He'd need a lot of subtlety to reel her in.