Page 18 of Sweet Surrender

Why did he have to be so damn sexy?

More importantly, why did I have to notice?

It didn’t help that we’d spent more time alone since the article was published than we had in the past ten years combined. Until now, I’d been able to avoid him. The force of his magnetism had no chance to affect me. But there was a flip side to that. I had no means of resisting him. I hadn’t been able to build up a tolerance to the potent combination of looks, body, and confidence that was damn near enough to rock me back on my heels, and that was while he insisted on acting like a spoiled little bitch. Maybe it was better for him to keep whining, or else I might’ve had no choice but to jump him to get it out of my system.

“Remember, this is what I do.” It was safer for me to switch into professional mode, babying my client like I’d babied so many others. “This is all about making things as easy for you as possible. I’ve already gotten some positive feedback after your appearance at the fundraiser.”

“Give me a fucking break,” he growled out, running a hand through his dark hair and sighing like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Your people planted all that positive shit online.”

“Of course, that’s how it’s done,” I sighed. “But there have been positive comments made from people outside my company. The social media team for the foundation reposted photos of you and couldn’t have kissed your ass any harder. This is positive progress.”

His head dropped back so he could bark a bitter laugh at the ceiling high above our heads. “They kissed my ass because I gave them a lot of money.”

“I never took you as naïve.” Something about the way I said it cut off his snide laughter. “What, you don’t think that’s the way it works? Money erases a lot of sins.”

He checked his watch again, frowning even though we had a few minutes before our scheduled time. “Well, hell, I could’ve done this on my own if that was all it took.”

“You know, you are more than free to get rid of me if that’s what you really want.” I met his hard stare without blinking, without so much as flinching, while he tried to stare holes through me. “By all means. See how far you can get on your own. I really wish you would try.”

It would mean going back to normal—avoiding him, pretending he was a bug under my shoe and not a ridiculously hot man with a dangerous effect on my lady parts all of a sudden.

“And deprive you of the pleasure of making a horse’s ass out of me?” He arched an eyebrow, a smirk beginning to stir.

“Oh, Noah. You’re doing an excellent job of that on your own.” I had the pleasure of hearing the growl he couldn’t hold back before the intercom buzzed. That sound felt oddly familiar, like an echo from the past. He crossed the room in a handful of long strides and pressed his finger to the speaker button. “Yes?” he barked out, making me cringe. It probably was not the best idea to get into an argument with a reporter on the way, but he had a way of making me forget what I knew to be true.

One of us had to be the bigger person, and it would have to be me.

“You have a Gretchen Harris down here to see you, sir,” the front desk manager reported.

“Send her up.” With his back to me, his shoulders rose and fell. “This had better not turn into a disaster,” he muttered.

“That’s up to you,” I reminded him, more gently this time. He needed to cool off before Gretchen arrived, and the elevator was awfully fast. “I’ve given you everything you need to make this a success. Trust me, okay? I do know what I’m talking about.”

“So long as it’s over fast. I still have a company to run.” He shook his hands and rolled his head from side to side. “And you say you’re friends with this girl?”

“We’ve worked together before.” I looked him over, admitting to myself, if not to him, that he looked damn good in his perfectly tailored navy suit. “Don’t worry about that. You are Noah-fucking-Goldsmith. You’ve got this. It’s time to have your side of the story heard.”

His brows drew together when he looked my way. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you meant that.”

“I do.” I didn’t. I had spoken those words to more people than I could possibly remember. Countless clients who had ended up appreciating my expertise. I could rattle them off the way I rattled off my own name. “Gretchen will do right by you. I trust her.”

As if on cue, she knocked on the door. I made it a point to answer, greeting her with a hug and kiss on her cheek. Before releasing her, I whispered, “Go easy on him. He’s got an ego the size of his penthouse.” She laughed softly, nodding in understanding when she pulled back.

I wasn’t more than three strides from the door when I realized this was a mistake. It wasn’t that I lacked faith in Gretchen. Not even close. She was the best, a pro at wording a story so it came off well-balanced and fair, even if it was nothing but a carefully orchestrated fluff piece, the way it would be today.

The petite, adorable Gretchen wasn’t the problem. On the other hand, the six-foot-three tower of hormones was currently sizing her up? My heart sank when I caught the whiff of desire in the air, but I forced my way through it rather than slapping him upside the head. I couldn’t have reached it if I tried not unless I jumped. “Noah Goldsmith, meet Gretchen Harris.”

“Gretchen. Such a pleasure.” Oh, this pitiful jackass. A sour taste flooded my mouth as he engulfed her outstretched hand with both of his, his voice deeper and warmer than anything I’d heard so far. “I’m sure you must be busy. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to sit down with me today.”

Would it come off the wrong way if I burst out laughing? I decided not to take the chance, ushering Gretchen to the leather sofa positioned opposite a flatscreen television that was more like a movie screen. “Would you like anything to drink?” I asked her, eyeing Noah warily as he sank to the other end of the sofa, his body angled toward hers.

Please, do not screw this up. I made it a point to seek his gaze and hold it as I perched on a chair, glaring at him while Gretchen was getting settled in. His lips stirred in the beginnings of an arrogant grin, and something told me I was fucked.

She tucked a strand of strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear, clearing her throat before tapping her phone and setting it between them. “Okay, Mr. Goldsmith, I’m going to record this if you don’t mind, so I can go back and review things. It’s a lot easier to be accurate if I have a recording to go from.”

“By all means.” He stretched one long arm across the back of the sofa, the picture of casual grace as if he hadn’t finished pacing around like a nervous child only moments before she arrived, complaining about his precious time being wasted. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing.”

She might not have heard the meaning behind his words, but I sure as hell did. He didn’t bother hiding it. Either she wasn’t picking up on it, or she was too much of a professional to let it show. The girl was no idiot, that much was for sure, and I doubted she was a stranger to being hit on by random men. Why did men always think they were the first to invent flirting?

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