Page 9 of To the Highest Bidder

Her nod was jerky. “I need to think it through. And I’m expecting someone any minute. Can you just… let me… I need to think.”

He looked at her with an assessing stare. “No. I get the impression you’ll use space from me to talk yourself out of what you really want.” He put an arm against the back of the chair, so that his fingers could dangle teasingly on her shoulder. “So, as I suspect it will help you make up your mind, let’s talk figures.”

“It’s not about money,” she muttered, embarrassment flooding her.

“Of course it is. If I don’t offer you money, God knows what you’ll end up doing. And I want you to be doing me, if I’m honest. So stop thinking about job hunting and start thinking about how good it’s going to feel to be in my bed each night.”

Her heart turned over. “You must see it puts us on an uneven footing.” She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Any relationship between us would be very lopsided.”

“That you think so shows how greatly you misunderstand the power you hold over me.” His expression was filled with a deep yearning. “I have a skill with money. I seem to be able to take a sum and triplicate it without much effort. I know a good investment when I see one. You are an investment I’m happy to risk.”

Her eyes flashed. It was a strange compliment, but it pressed into her soul with pleasure. “What would my ‘salary’ be?”

He named a figure that was treble what she’d cleared in her biggest week working for the agency. It made her hands clammy, and her mind fogged. He mistook her hesitation for playing hardball and sighed heavily.

“That’s per week. On top of that, you’d have a credit card, a driver and car at your disposal, and a line of credit at a top boutique.” Still, she was silent. “And I’ll get you your job back when our… arrangement comes to an end.”

Her eyes lifted in surprise. “How do you propose to do that?”

He ran a hand across her cheek on the pretence of wiping a hair from her face. “I’ll tell the agency that I came on to you. That my father misunderstood. I can be very persuasive.”

She gnawed on her lower lip until he groaned. “Fine. Double the money. Come on, Jane. Why are you fighting this?”

“I’m not. And I don’t need that.” She shook her head. “I don’t want anything like that.” She halved his initial offer. It was still a great amount, and it would allow her to save on top of their living expenses.

“As a businesswoman, you make a great escort.”

She bristled. “My other condition is that you don’t speak to me like that. You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know why I did what I did, and I won’t be treated like some kind of … slut… because you lack that insight. You’ve approached me. In fact, you’re pestering me. So if I go along with this, I’ll expect you to be respectful and civil.”

He was not used to being surprised. In business, he went into a meeting knowing what to expect, and was rarely mistaken. But now, he felt an odd sense that he was lurching uncomfortably as his expectations shifted.

“I didn’t mean to offend you. It is what you are.”

She nodded. “It’s what I did. What I’ll probably do again. But it’s not who I am.”

Grudgingly, he had to admit, he was impressed. He was essentially negotiating her into his bed, and she was holding him to a morality clause in their agreement. “I promise.”

Jane sipped her champagne then replaced it on the table, running her finger around the condensation on the outside of the glass.

“What else do you need, Jane?”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. I’m an hour late.” Jenna arrived in a cloud of Chanel No. 5, shaking droplets of summer rain from her pale blonde hair. She slid into the seat opposite them, her dress tight, her hair loose, her smile wide. “Who’s this?” She tilted her head towards Carter, at the same time that she lifted Jane’s half-sipped champagne and drank the entire remainder in one gulp.

“I’m Carter,” he pre-empted, reaching out and gripping Jenna’s hand in a firm handshake.

“How do you know the birthday girl?”

His eyes clung to Jane’s face, a note of accusation glinting in his eyes. “We met a few weeks ago. And she’s finally agreed to go on a with date me.”

“Jane!” Jenna’s m

outh dropped. “You never said a thing. Good for you.” She looked at the bottle of champagne and summed it up as half empty. “Champagne is for wimps. I’m going to get some cocktails.”

Carter stood. “That’s my cue. Allow me, ladies.”

“Oh, no.” Jenna shook her head. “It’s my apology for missing the start of the party.”

His smile was loaded with suggestion. “You’re wrong. I owe you a debt of gratitude for missing the start of the party. Let me organise some cocktails by way of thanks. After all, if you’d been here, I might never have convinced Jane to trust me.”

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