Page 15 of Ms. Fortune

He physically slumps in relief and reaches across the table to take my hand. My first instinct is to pull away, but he grips tighter, trapping my hand in his. When I meet his eyes, something passes between us. I don’t know what it is, but it makes me squirm a little inside. When Brandon Carmichael really looks at you, you feel seen. I’m unsure what to do with that, so I do nothing.

“I understand.” He still hasn’t let go of me, and now his thumb runs across my knuckles. I’m surprised his hands are slightly rough, not soft as I assumed they would be. “I’m thinking three or four very public dates before the gala. My PR team can leak location details to the press, no problem. You can pick what and where those dates are if you want. And we can use your company’s cars with whatever branding you want to use to get the name out there for Mischief Motors, though once your name gets out, it will be attached to your company, obviously.”

Good God. The press. I can’t believe I’m actually considering this. This is insanity. But how complicated could it be to go on pretend dates with him and attend a gala? And then I can have absolutely nothing to do with him. And our business can finally be on track after Dad left it in such shambles. I glance down at our hands still joined on the table and consider the offer. It would probably be great for business to have Brandon’s name attached to it. It would lend us some credibility. And, my dad was friends with him, so perhaps he isn’t all bad.

He takes my silence for the hesitation it is and goes on. “Look, I know I have given you the absolute worst first impression a person can give the last few days. I don’t know what the hell is going on with me. Something about you makes me trip over myself and say stupid shit, and I don’t know why. Can we start over?” He lets go of my hand but holds his out again in greeting. “Hi, I’m Brandon Carmichael, CEO of LC Consolidated. Nice to meet you.”

The dimples are out again in full force, and now there’s a twinkle in his eyes sparkling with humor and something else. Something sexy that is so beguiling, I can’t help but smile back, but it feels like a con in my head. I shake his hand enthusiastically.

“Hello, Mr. Carmichael. I’m Normandy Blake, Co-owner of Mischief Motors. Don’t fuck with me or my business, or you’ll regret it.” I smile wide, almost baring my teeth like a cornered wolf. I drop his hand and pick up my wine glass. “If I agree to this, there need to be parameters. Two dates and the gala, no more. And no kissing or anything of the sort. Nothing more than hand-holding and maybe a hug here or there. And I do not speak to the press. That’s it. Those are my terms.”

The disappointment that washes over him is almost comical. He wasn’t expecting rules or boundaries to be put down. What did he expect? But then, he did offer me money; so his ideas were pretty screwed up to start with.

He swallows hard but nods, taking a swig of his own wine. “That’s a decent opening salvo.” The grin spreading on his face is so playful and devious that my stomach flips, wondering what the deviant part of it could be. He’s enjoying this game way too much. But I might be too.

“Opening salvo?” I arch a brow at him.

“Yes. We’re negotiating, aren’t we? That was a good start. Now it’s my turn.”

The way he says those words makes my skin vibrate with an electric current. I should not be reacting this way.

“Let’s hear it.”

“Three dates and the gala, hand holding is fine, but kisses allowed from the second date on. And lots of hugs. I’m a hugger.” The dimples flash again, damn it. He has to know what those are doing to me. “And, one informal press Q&A.”

I narrow my gaze at him. “Two dates plus the gala, hand holding is okay, a single kiss on the cheek in front of the press at the gala, zero Q&A, and maybe a few public hugs. Final offer.” I meet his eyes, both of us highly amused now by this so-called ‘negotiation.’

“And I reserve the right to amend these terms, with your agreement, of course, should the need arise.”

“Need?” I can’t help but laugh.

“Yes. I may need to kiss you before the gala. I reserve the right to make that happen.”

“For the record, if this is all fake for the press, why would we need to kiss?” Damn. The thought is becoming more and more intriguing, though.

“Don’t people kiss in public anymore? Is romance truly that dead? Whatever happened to good old PDA?”

I roll my eyes at him. “Fine. But only with my permission.”

“Oh, you’ll agree. You might even instigate it yourself.”

“We’ll see about that, Mr. Carmichael.” He’s so damned confident.

“We will indeed, Ms. Blake.” His eyes brighten with excitement from our interplay. “So, are we in agreement?”

I consider him before answering. What the hell am I getting myself into? Agreeing to date Brandon Carmichael? Sure, they will be fake dates, but it can still be dangerous. And with the press maelstrom around him right now, it could get crazy. Am I prepared for that? I think of my dad’s business and how hard he worked to make it a success. Maybe there’s a reason why we met at my dad’s funeral. Maybe he brought us together somehow from the other side. That is something he totally would do; he was such a hopeless romantic. And though this situation is definitely hopeless, the thought settles everything in my mind. I need to do whatever I can to keep his legacy going.

“We have an agreement.” My stomach tightens as I say the words, feeling like I’ve just signed my own death warrant. I hope I’m doing the right thing.

The smolder in his return gaze could melt me right here if I let it. Luckily, the owner comes out with our food just then, saving me from having to respond. Saving me from myself.

Chapter 11

LEMON TO A KNIFE FIGHT

BRANDON

I can’t believe I dug myself out of that hole. Actually, it was more than a hole, it was a fucking crater the size of Montana, and I somehow clawed my way out of it. I still don’t know how I did it, but I am not about to question it either.

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