Page 2 of Fairy Tale Lies
Someone had made a huge mistake. Jacob didn’t belong at her father’s conference table. He was a deliveryman. He worked for his uncle. It’s what he told her at her mother and stepfather’s home. So, why was he here, instead of out lifting heavy things and breaking promises?
Greta flipped through the file Rae had given her. Successful was an understatement. His client base was impressive, as were the big names in the dossier. Stapled to the back of the folder was a copy of Jacob’s license.
Foolish woman. Hadn’t her father always told her to come to a meeting prepared? Had she even glanced at the file, she’d have recognized Jacob in an instant. Weeks had passed, but that foolish, impulsive afternoon was far from forgotten.
As her father addressed the room, Greta focused on Jacob’s picture. She found it safer than facing the actual man.
They’d only spent a couple of hours together, but his wicked full mouth and penetrating gaze had been impossible to forget. Along with his magical ability to destroy all her restraints. Greta still couldn’t quite believe how easily her inhibitions had fled in the company of a perfect stranger.
She closed the folder and rubbed her sweaty palms on her pleated linen skirt. She stared at her father and tried to concentrate on his words, though he could’ve been speaking another language and she wouldn’t have noticed.
There was no way she could swallow her embarrassment and work with Jacob. Not even for a day, let alone a week or more.
Her pulse thudded in her ears. What if he bragged about his one-night-stand with the boss’s daughter? Father would kill her. Not literally, but professionally. He wouldn’t want the family name smeared with tawdry office gossip.
He’d promised, after she graduated with her Master’s in Web Development, she’d take over Swift’s websites and handle the clients needing web development help. Would the offer still stand if he learned of her history with Jacob?
So much for proving herself with a summer internship. Greta wanted to weep at the disappearance of her imagined stellar portfolio. Swift Financial would have been wonderful on her resume.
Focus. I need to focus and get control of the situation.
Leaning in, she whispered to Rae, “I need to go. Would you and Allen mind handling this account? I’ll owe you one.”
“What’s wrong?” Rae’s forehead furrowed in concern.
That question was too big to answer now. Later. “Will you do this for me?”
Rae bit her lip. “I’ll try, but you know your father wants you in charge of web designing.”
Yes, I know. Hopefully I’ll come up with a stellar excuse to wiggle out of the Rework contract.
She’d worry about it later and mouthed a thank you and gathered her papers. When there was a pause in the main conversation, she addressed the room. “I’m sorry. There’s been a mistake. Allen Carnaby will handle this account with Mrs. Caitlin.” She stood. “I’ll find him.”
Her father’s stern voice stopped her. “No, Ms. Meier, the account is yours and Mrs. Caitlin’s. I have another project in mind for Mr. Carnaby.” His tone brooked no argument.
Darn it.There went her quick and painless getaway.
She nodded. To argue was pointless and would only anger her father. Returning to her seat, she glanced covertly at Jacob. He’d lost most of his color and looked like he’d been poked with a cattle prod.
Replaying the exchange, she realized she’d been addressed by her last name. Jacob must have caught it, grasped its significance. He appeared rattled.
Good.
Maybe he didn’t want to share their secret any more than she did. Thank goodness. It would save her from her father’s wrath.
Next challenge—squashing her lingering thrill at seeing Jacob again.
Chapter Two
Her, of all people!
Jacob blinked. Nope, she hadn’t disappeared back into his fantasies. Her!
He tried not to stare but found it difficult to accept the rapid-fire shocks. The most nerve-racking item of the day was supposed to be signing his financial dream on the dotted line. Instead, he sat face to face with the woman who haunted an entirely different set of dreams.
He’d strived to banish the memory of their spring afternoon together. He wanted to forget the way her laughter had made him lighter, more alive. He’d tried to forget those soulful hazel eyes and sexy, full lips. Lips made for kissing.
He sure as hell hadn’t forgotten the way she’d barely given him time to dress before shoving him out the back door. Confused and insulted, he’d returned to the grand salon, or whatever rich people called those extra useless rooms, to help his uncle finish the job. She’d disappeared, obviously embarrassed by him and what they’d done.
