Beauty and the Billionaire

“And they covered house painting in graduate school?”

“They covered macroeconomics and global capitalism.”

She fought a grin. “Oh sure, go ahead and get snooty on me.”

“Dip the brush and stroke it on the wall. Am I close?”

“I guess you might as well give it a try.”

“Give it a try?”

Her grin broadened at his insulted tone.

He bent over and pried open a paint can. “You might want to shift your attitude. I’m free labor, baby.”

“Am I getting what I paid for?”

“Sassy,” he said, and her heart tripped a beat.

“You need to shake it,” she told him, battling the sensual memory. He’d called her sassy in Manchester. In a way that said he wanted her bad.

“Shake it?” he interrupted her thoughts.

She swallowed. “You need to shake the paint before you open the can.”

He raised his brow as he crouched to tap the lid back down.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“You bet. Nothing like keeping the billionaire humble.”

“Don’t stereotype. I’m always humble.”

“Yeah. I noticed that right off, Mr. Macroeconomics and Global Capitalism.”

“Well, what did you take in college?”

She hesitated for a second then admitted it. “MBA. Yale.”

“So, you took macroeconomics and global capitalism?”

“Magna cum laude,” she said with a hoity toss of her head.

“Yet you can still paint. Imagine that.”

She glanced at him for a moment, trying to figure out why he hadn’t escalated the joke by teasing her about the designation. Then it hit her. “You got summa, at least, didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

“Geek,” she said.

He grinned as he shook the paint. Then he poured it into the tray.

She broke out the brushes, and he quickly caught on to using the long-handled roller. Sinclair cut in the corners, and together they worked their way down the longest wall.

“What do you think of the Crystal Spa chain?” he asked as his roller swished up and down in long strokes.

“I’ve never been there,” said Sinclair from the top of the step ladder. This close to the ceiling lights, she was starting to sweat. She finally gave in and peeled off her cap.

Wisps of strands had come loose from her braid. Probably she’d end up with cream-colored specks in her hair. Whatever. They were painting her walls, not dancing in a ballroom.

“You want to try it?”

She paused at the end of her stroke, glancing down at him. Was he talking about the Crystal Spa? “Try what?”

“I was thinking, we shouldn’t let the Millennium’s refusal stop us. We should consider other spas.”

Was he serious? More importantly, why hadn’t she thought of that?

She felt a shimmer of excitement. Maybe her spa idea wasn’t dead, after all. And the New York-based Crystal Spa chain would be an even better choice than the Millennium.

She’d learned from the Millennium experience. She’d make sure she was even better prepared for a pitch to the Crystal.

“Can I try out the Crystal on my expense account?” she asked with a teasing lilt.

“Of course.”

Scoffing her dismissal, she went back to painting. “Like Roger would ever go for that.”

Besides, she didn’t have to test out the Crystal Spa to know it was fantastic. Everyone always raved.

“Forget Roger, will you?” urged Hunter. “Here.”

She glanced back down.

With the roller hooked under one arm, he pulled out his wallet. Then he tossed a credit card onto her tarp-covered breakfast bar. “Consider this your expense account.” She nearly fell off the ladder. “You can’t—”

“I just did.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” He went back to the paint tray. “I know the spa idea’s great. You know the spa idea’s great. Let’s streamline the research and make it happen.”

“You can’t pay for my spa treatments.”

“Osland International can pay for them. It’s my corporate card, and I consider it a perfectly legitimate R & D expense.”

Sinclair didn’t know what to say to that. Trying out the spa would be great research, but still…

He rolled the next section. “It’s not like I can go in there and check out the wax room myself.”

She cringed, involuntarily flinching. “Wax room?”

He chuckled at her expression. “Buck up, Sinclair. Take one for the team.”

“You take one for the team.”

“I’ve done my part. It’s my credit card.”

“They’re my legs.”

“Who said anything about legs?”

She stared at him. He didn’t. He wouldn’t.

“We were this close!” She made a tiny space with her thumb and index finger. “This close to having a totally professional conversation.”

“I’m weak,” he admitted.

“You’re hopeless.”

“Yeah. Well. Irrespective of what you get waxed, and whether or not you show me, it’s still a good idea.”

It was a good idea. And her gaze strayed to his platinum card sitting on the canvas tarp. Even if he couldn’t keep his mind on business, this was not an opportunity she was about to give up. “I’m thinking a facial.”

“Whatever you want. I need to know if they can deliver the kind of opportunity we’re looking for.”

“What if they’re locked into a supplier contract like the Millennium?”

Hunter shrugged. “Every business is different. We’ll deal with that when and if it happens. Tomorrow good for you?”

She nodded.

With only twelve days until Valentine’s Day. There was no time to lose.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

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