Playing Mr. Right

Clearly she had a plan and intended for Xavier to follow it. The elbow to the ribs indicated that if he wanted to have a conversation about her tactics, she’d indulge him later.

“You know everything about this place, Adelaide. Tell Mr. LeBlanc,” Laurel instructed with a nauseating amount of cheer. “You gave me such a thorough tour of the place that I thought it would never end. There’s not a nook or cranny at LBC that you don’t have some sort of insight into. Is there?”

Obediently, Adelaide shook her head. “No, ma’am. I’ve been here seven years and started in the kitchen as a volunteer. I love every last board and nail in this place.”

“I could tell.” Laurel jerked her head at Xavier. “Mr. LeBlanc was just bemoaning the fact that he didn’t have anyone to help organize a fundraiser that LBC so desperately needs.”

Oh, dear God. That was not what he’d said. At all. But before he could correct the grievous misrepresentation that gave everyone the impression he was being a big baby about the tasks laid out for him, Laurel rushed on.

“I figured, this is Addy’s opportunity to really make a difference. Step up and show us all what she’s made of. You just do what Marjorie did and that’ll leave me free to help Mr. LeBlanc get some money flowing in. Are you good with that?”

When Adelaide smiled and clapped her hands like she’d just been given the biggest Christmas present, Xavier’s mouth fell open. Hastily, he closed it before anyone figured out that Laurel Dixon had just shocked the hell out of him. He didn’t shock easily, and it was even harder to remember the last time he’d been unable to control his expression.

The two women went back and forth on the logistics for a furious couple of minutes until Xavier couldn’t take it any longer.

“So, that’s it?” he interrupted. “Adelaide, you can do what Marjorie did and everyone’s good with that?”

Both women swiveled to stare at him. Laurel raised a brow. “Sorry, did we lose you again? Yes. Adelaide is in charge. She’ll do a fantastic job.”

Xavier should have asked more questions back in his office, like whether partner meant something different where Laurel had come from. When she’d thrown out the idea that they’d be working closely together, he’d reassessed his idea of how their interaction might go. And he’d come to the conclusion that perhaps she could come to him for approval on the budget, or maybe to get his help vetting new volunteers. That sort of thing.

He had not once suggested that she sign herself up to take over his inheritance test. That was his. He needed to prove to his father—and himself—that he could and would handle anything the old man threw at him. Ten million dollars was a cheap price to pay in order to get back on even ground, regain his confidence and lose the edge of vulnerability he’d been carrying since the reading of the will.

No one was allowed to get in the way of that.

“Excuse us, please,” he said to Adelaide through gritted teeth.

Pulling Laurel back into his office, he shut the door and leaned on it, half afraid she’d find a way to open it again despite the hundred and seventy-five pounds of man holding it shut.

Instantly, he realized his mistake.

Laurel’s presence filled the room, blanketing him with that otherworldly, mystical nonsense that he couldn’t think through.

“What the hell was all that about?” he demanded and couldn’t find a shred of remorse at how rough it came out. “You shuffled off all your duties to Adelaide—without asking, by the way. What, exactly, are you going to be doing?”

“Helping you, of course.” She patted his arm and the contact sang through his flesh clear to the bone. “We have a fundraiser to organize. Which I’m pretty sure is what I just said.”

The trap had been laid so neatly that he still hadn’t quite registered whether the teeth had closed around his ankle or not. “You don’t have enough experience fundraising.”

She shrugged. “I do have some. What’s your hang-up about experience? Adelaide doesn’t have any experience.” She accompanied that statement with air quotes. “But she’s been learning on the job for years by following Marjorie around. She’ll do great.”

“Running a charity takes an iron fist,” he shot back instantly. “Not an owl face and a lot of head nodding.”

Laurel just laughed. “Owl face? Better not let her hear that. Women who wear glasses don’t take kindly to name-calling.”

“I didn’t mean—” The headache brewing behind his eyes spread to his temples. “I called her an owl because she just stands there and looks wise. Instead of telling people what to do. I—Never mind.”

Laurel Dixon had officially driven him around the bend. And now Adelaide had just been given a promotion that she seemed super pleased with. He couldn’t take it away, though likely he’d have to spend a lot of time following her around to make sure she didn’t drive operations into the ground. Hiring Laurel had been one thing, because at least he could blame that on Val if it didn’t work out, but this was a whole other mess.

One he had no graceful way of undoing without upsetting the admin. Or Laurel, who might do God knew what as her next trick.

“Okay. Fine,” he ground out. “Adelaide is Marjorie. She’s going to be great. You’re going to help with fundraising. Are you going to be great, too?”

“Of course.”

She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder again, and he couldn’t help but wonder why she wore it down when her hands were constantly fiddling with it. She should wear it up. Then he wouldn’t be tempted to put his own hands through it just to see if it felt as satiny and lush as it looked.

He crossed his arms. No point in tempting fate. “Fantastic. What’s the plan, General?”

“Nicknames already?” Her long eyelashes swept her cheeks as she treated him to a very long, pointed once-over that lingered in inappropriate places. “I thought that wouldn’t happen until much later in our association. Under...different circumstances.”

In bed, she meant. The implication was clear. And he definitely shouldn’t be feeling the spark of her suggestion in those inappropriate places. “It fit. Can’t help it.”

“Don’t worry. I like it.” The atmosphere in the office got a whole lot heavier as she stared at him. “And I like that you’ve already clued in that I don’t sit around and wait for things to happen to me.”

“I knew that a half second after Adelaide told me you were here for an interview that I hadn’t arranged,” he told her bluntly. “You’re an easy read.”

Something flitted through her gaze. A shadow. He couldn’t put his finger on what she had going on beneath the surface, but that gut-deep feeling told him again she had something to hide.

How many secrets might she spill if he did take her into his bed?

Once that thought formed, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wasn’t like that, not normally. But Laurel had barreled right through what he’d call his normal and redefined everything. Maybe he needed to return the favor.

“I’m pretty transparent,” she agreed readily, but another layer dropped into place over her expression.

She was a terrible liar. Or perhaps he was just incredibly tuned in to her, which didn’t seem to have a downside. Other than the one where he’d just been boxed into a corner and had no graceful way to avoid spending a lot of time in her company.

“I probably see more than you’d like,” he told her, and she blinked. This was a fun game. “For example, I’m pretty sure that you just maneuvered yourself into a position as my fundraising assistant because you can’t stay away from me.”

He didn’t believe that for a second, but he definitely wanted to hear what she’d say to counter it.

Her eyebrows inched up toward her hairline and she relaxed an iota. “Well, that’s a provocative statement. What if I said it’s true?”

Then she’d be lying again. She had a whole other agenda, one he hadn’t figured out yet, but if she wanted to work it like the attraction between them got top billing, he could play along. “I’d say we have a problem, then. We can’t get involved. It would be too...sticky.”

Her lips curved at his choice of words, as intended. “That’s a shame. I’m a fan of sticky.”

“Stickiness is for candy.” All at once, a very distinct image sprang into his head of her on his desk naked with a caramel melting on her tongue. His whole body went stiff. “I like it best when things are uncomplicated.”

At that, she snorted, moving in to lay a hand on his arm in the exact opposite of what this back-off conversation had been intended to convey. He’d wanted to catch her off guard but so far she’d held her own.

Reluctant admiration for this woman warred with bone-deep desire and flat-out irritation.

“Please,” she muttered with a sarcastic grin as she squeezed his forearm. “You’re the least uncomplicated man I’ve ever met. At least do me the courtesy of being honest about the fact that you’re not attracted to me, if that’s what’s going on.”

Oh, nicely played. She’d put the ball firmly in his court. He could take the out and claim he didn’t feel the heavy arousal that she could almost assuredly see for herself, giving her the opportunity to call him out as a liar. Or he could admit that she made him hotter than asphalt in a heat wave and call a truce.

He went with option three: ensuring she fully understood he didn’t dance to her tune.

“I don’t think honesty is on the table here. Do you?”

The atmosphere splintered as she stiffened, but to her credit, she kept a smile on her face. “Touché. We’ll go back to ignoring the chemistry, then.”

“That’s best.” And not at all what he’d been talking about, but he also hadn’t expected her to voluntarily blurt out her secrets. All in good time. “Now, about this fundraiser...”

“Oh, right.” Her hand dropped away from his arm—finally—and she got a contemplative look as if she really had given away her job with the intent of diving into his hell with gusto. “We should attend someone else’s fundraiser and take notes.”

“That’s—” he blinked “—a really good idea.”

One he should have thought of. That’s what he’d do in the diamond trenches. If another jewelry outlet had a strategy he liked, he’d study it. Why not apply the same to charity?

Laurel smiled, putting some sparkle in her silver-gray eyes. “I’ll start researching some possibilities and then we’ll take a field trip.”

Fantastic. If he couldn’t stay away from Laurel, then he’d settle for spending as much time in her company as he could until he figured out her agenda. If it was merely to indulge in their impossible-to-ignore chemistry, then he might find a way to be on board with that, as long as he could protect what was his at the same time.

Jury was still out on just how difficult she’d make it.

Four

By Friday, Adelaide had Xavier’s vote of confidence. She really had been studying at Marjorie’s side for quite some time, showing off a deep knowledge of all things LBC, and she made sound decisions without a lot of deliberation. The staff responded to her as if she’d always been in charge, and he liked her style.

Not that he’d tell her that. She managed to convey a fair amount of dislike for him with pretty much every word out of her mouth and sometimes without saying anything at all. It was impressive.

But it felt like LBC was running smoothly for the first time in forever. Since Marjorie had dropped her set of keys on his desk with a clank and turned on her heel. Maybe even before that. So he gave Adelaide a pass on the disdain. She didn’t have to like him as long as she did her job so he could do his. Or, at least, pretend to do his until he figured out how to turn the tide in his favor.

Laurel poked her head through his partially opened office door, sable hair swinging. “Why am I not surprised to find you behind your desk?”

“Because this is where I work?” he offered blithely.

In the week since he and Laurel had become “partners,” he’d learned that he had almost no shot at responding to a question like that to her satisfaction. He’d given up trying and went with the most obvious answer.

She made a noise with her tongue that could easily be mistaken for a ticking clock. “Because you’re hiding now that Addy has it all under control, more likely.”

He lifted a shoulder. “Must not be hiding well enough. You found me.”

“I was looking for you.” The rest of her body followed her head as she slid through the cracked door uninvited. “Probably I’m the only one who is, though.”

“For a reason, one would hope,” he shot back pointedly before she launched into yet another discussion about how he could do more to interact with the staff. Laurel’s job had somehow morphed from Services Manager to Fundraising Assistant to Xavier’s Keeper. He hadn’t figured out yet how to veer her back into something a little less invasive. “I am actually doing paperwork.”

If staring at paperwork counted, then it wasn’t so much of a lie. Otherwise, he’d stopped doing paperwork an hour ago and instead had been stewing about the latest fundraising numbers.

He was short. A lot. He had less than three months to raise north of seven million dollars and the near impossibility of the task writhed in his stomach like a greasy eel. As a result, he’d spent a lot of time sorting through fundraising ideas on his own, which was something he’d outsource to Laurel over his dead body.

The trick was engaging her enough so that she thought she’d snowed him into this partnership, when in reality, he only let her have enough rope to bind them very closely together—strictly so he didn’t miss whatever she had up her sleeve. Sharing the actual work with Laurel wasn’t happening.

Thus far, she hadn’t seemed to clue in. She barged into his office at her leisure to discuss what had become her pet project. He’d bet a hundred K that she’d spotted a notice in the society pages about the Art for Autism Association fundraiser tonight and she’d come by to announce she was dragging him along to it, pretending it wasn’t a date when, in reality, it was a great excuse to spend the evening together without admitting she wanted to.

He’d put up some empty protests and eventually let her think she’d talked him into it. Getting out from underneath the eyes at LBC sounded like an opportune way to dig a little deeper into Laurel Dixon and whatever it was about her that niggled at his suspicions.

She curled her lip at the printed pages under his fingers, eyeing the black type as if she could actually read it from that distance. “Good thing for you I have something much more exciting to put on your agenda. You’re taking me on a hot date tonight.”

Oh, God, yes. The scene spilled through his mind without an ounce of prompting. Laurel in a little black dress—backless, of course, designed to make a man’s mouth water—and sky-high heels that did amazing things to her legs. Her voice would be lowered enough to keep their conversation private. Hair down and brushed to a high gleam. She’d take his breath away the moment he opened the door and he’d never quite get his equilibrium back until maybe the next day...

What was he thinking?

Xavier sat back in his chair and crossed his arms with feigned nonchalance in case his initial—and so very inappropriate—response got too big to stay under his skin and started leaking out of his pores.

And this even though he’d known it was coming. It was just...she’d called it a date, after all, and in the process, uncovered his previously undiscovered craving to do it for real. What was he supposed to do with her?

Laurel was so much more dangerous than he’d credited.

“We’re not dating.” A token protest. It was only a matter of time before he figured out how to keep his wits about him as he seduced the truth out of her. Meanwhile, he had to play it like he still planned to keep her at arm’s length. All the balls they had in the air should be exhausting. “We’ve covered this.”

Instead, it was invigorating.

She waved it off. “Yeah, yeah. This isn’t a real date. You’re taking me on a field trip. I found a great foundation doing a unique fundraiser. Tonight.”

Pretending it was not a real date he could do. In fact, it got a righteous hallelujah. Silently, of course, but still. His arms relaxed and dropped into his lap. “Fantastic. Where?”

“Art gallery.” She glanced at her watch, her attention already galloping away from this conversation into whatever else was going on in her brain. “I called as your representative and they were more than happy to take your money. The lady even sent a courier over with the tickets. I have to leave now so I can pick up a dress and get my hair done. I have reservations at LaGrange at eight. Meet me there.”

Like hell. He did things the right way when it came to taking a woman to dinner. Especially one he wanted to keep close for more reasons than one. “We’ll need time to strategize. I’ll be at your house at seven thirty to pick you up.”

Her eyebrows lifted and he couldn’t help the smug sense of satisfaction that crept through him. Laurel wasn’t so easy to surprise. He’d have to repeat that a whole bunch more, simply because he liked the idea of knocking her off balance before she did it to him.

“Well, then, I have to say yes to strategizing.”

Innuendo dripped from her voice and the suggestion pinged around inside him, doing interesting things down below. He let the charged moment drag out because it suited him and then smiled. “Wear black.”

“Duh. You, too,” she suggested with a once-over that clearly said she found his jeans and T-shirt lacking in some way.

“I’ve been to my share of society events. I think I’m good.” Finally, he’d have a chance to slip back into his old self, the one that wore three-thousand-dollar suits to the office as a matter of course. He could even pull his Yacht-Master out of the box in his closet. “See you at seven thirty.”

She lifted her chin in amused acknowledgment that he’d won that round and took off to do whatever female rituals she’d lined up to get herself ready for tonight.

Xavier was dressed in his favorite tux by seven, but forced himself to cool his heels. Laurel did not need any ammunition, and showing up early would clue her in as to how much he’d been anticipating this not-a-date—and not just because he had an agenda of his own for the evening. He wanted to see her.

Labels were simply a mechanism to drive them both toward what they wanted using acceptable parameters. They’d be spending the evening together in formal wear, eating dinner and attending an art show, all of which could lead to something very good. Sure, it was pitched as an opportunity to scout out how another charity did fundraising, but they were both adults who shared a sizzling attraction.

There was no reason he couldn’t enjoy the results of seducing her, even if his motives weren’t entirely pure. Women who hid things didn’t get to be self-righteous about how their secrets came to light.

Besides, if she hadn’t wanted to play with fire, she’d have picked a fundraising field trip with a lot fewer matches. Like the 5k run through Highland Park that the Chicago Children’s Advocacy Center had on tap for tomorrow. No chance to get the slightest bit cozy in the middle of the day while sweating your butt off. Probably that’s what they should have signed up for.

But he had to be honest and admit that he liked a good fire, himself. As long as he was the one controlling the flame.

The moment he rang Laurel’s doorbell at 7:31, she swung it open as if she’d been standing there waiting. Clearly she had no qualms about letting him know she’d been eagerly anticipating his arrival. And then his brain registered the woman. Whatever illusion he’d cooked up that had given him the idea he might have the slightest iota of control vanished like smoke in a hurricane.

Holy hell. “Laurel...”

His brain couldn’t form coherent sentences after that. She was so far past gorgeous that she bordered on ethereal. Angelic. Something a man with far more poetry in his soul than Xavier LeBlanc would have to immortalize because all he could think was wow.

Black was Laurel’s color. There was something about it that paired with her skin and eyes to make both luminous. The dress was exactly the right length to be considered modest, but also to make a man wishful. And her stilettos—sexy enough to make his teeth ache along with the rest of his body.

“I got lucky,” she said with a laugh, like everything was fine and his entire world hadn’t just been knocked from its axis. “This was the first dress I tried on and the price tag wasn’t the equivalent of my mortgage.”

“It’s...” Perfect. But his tongue went numb. He swallowed. What the hell was wrong with him? It was just a dress. With a woman inside it. He’d participated in hundreds of similar scenarios where he’d picked up a date at her door.

But none of them had ever intrigued him as much as this one. None of them had irritated him beyond the point of reason. None of them had caught him off guard as many times in a row as Laurel. None of them had stirred something inside that he couldn’t explain or even fully acknowledge.

It was far past time to stop ignoring it and start figuring out how to deal with it.

Because he still didn’t trust her. No matter what. He couldn’t think of her as a hot date or he’d never regain an ounce of control—and he needed control to get through the evening. She was his companion for a fundraising research trip. Nothing more.

“You look great,” he said and cleared his throat. That husky quality in his voice would not do. “If you’re ready?”

He extended a hand toward the limousine at her curb and waited as she locked the door behind her, then he followed her down the sidewalk, trying to keep his eyes off her extremely nice rear. The dress wasn’t backless but it did dip down into a V beneath her hair, which she had worn down. She didn’t seem to ever put it up, which he appreciated. Hair like hers should never be hidden in a ponytail or bun.

And he’d veered right back into thinking of her as a woman instead of his partner in all things fundraising. The problem was that she wasn’t really his partner and he didn’t want her in that role. But he had to do something with her now that she’d shuffled off daily operations to Adelaide, if for no other reason than because Val liked her and had asked Xavier to keep her around. Dinner and an art show it was, then.

The atmosphere in the limo bordered on electric, and he cursed the fact that he’d specifically instructed his staff to skip the champagne because this wasn’t a date. It would have been nice to have something to occupy his hands.

Come on. You’re better than this.

“LaGrange is an interesting restaurant choice,” he said more smoothly than his still-tingling tongue should have allowed. “A favorite?”

Laurel shrugged, drawing attention to her bare shoulders. They were creamy and flawless, like her long legs. This field trip was either the worst idea ever conceived or sheer brilliance. He couldn’t decide which.

“I’ve never been able to score a table there, but oddly enough, when I throw your name around, people jump.” She winked. “Don’t judge, but I’m enjoying my ride on the Xavier LeBlanc train.”

Hell on a horse. The train hadn’t even left the station yet and she was already impressed? He bit back forty-seven provocative responses about what else might be in store for a woman on his arm and opted for what hopefully passed as a smile. “I know the owner of LaGrange. Not everyone jumps when I say jump.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she murmured. “You seem like the type who takes no prisoners. Tell me about running LeBlanc Jewelers. I bet you’re magnificent in the boardroom.”

As ego strokes went, that one could have done some damage, but he’d caught the slightly off-color tinge to her tone. She was fishing for something. That alone put an interesting spin on the conversation. He couldn’t help but indulge her, mostly to see if he could trip her up enough to spill bits of her agenda.