Текст книги "His Kind of Trouble"

Автор книги: Terri L. Austin

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Keep reading for a sneak peek at the next book in the Beauty and the Brit series

His to Keep

Iain Chapman listened as his lawyer explained about the new economic regulations, zoning details, and ecological classifications that had just been enacted. But as Stan droned on, Iain became more agitated. “For fuck’s sake, Stan, cut to the chase and tell me how all this is going impact the land we want to develop. Preferably in English.” Iain couldn’t take one more acronym. NEDA, CDBG, SBA, USGS. It was giving him a bloody headache, it was. In his right hand, he rubbed a pair of red dice back and forth. It was a habit Iain had acquired over the years, one he couldn’t seem to shake.

Stan Daniels sighed deeply. He seemed to do that a lot around Iain—who had probably paid for the three-thousand-dollar suit the prat was wearing. So he could save his sighs for other clients, because Iain wasn’t having it.

“Cut the drama, mate. Just give me the highlights already.”

“Let the man talk, Iain. It’s why we’re paying him, innit?” From the window overlooking the busy street, Marcus Atwell turned to face them, all the while stroking his chin—a sure sign he was worried. But that was nothing new. It was when Marc started playing with his floppy hair that Iain knew real trouble was brewing.

“What this means,” Stan said, “is you’ll pay more in taxes, shell out more for inspections, and have to jump through more governmental regulation hoops. Get used to it.”

“How much more are we talking about here?” Iain asked.

“A couple million, give or take.”

Iain pushed back his chair and stood, pocketing the dice as he walked across the room. “That sounds like pocket change to you, does it?” Stan came from money and had gone to a fancy Ivy League school. Probably grew up using hundred-dollar bills to wipe his privileged ass.

“Do we really have to do this today?” Stan asked. “It’s pocket change to you too, Iain. You have a multimillion-dollar project you want to implement. This is a drop in the bucket.”

“He’s right, Iain,” Marc said. “We’re not the poor lads from Manchester anymore. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

At the credenza in the corner, Iain poured coffee from an antique silver pot. Drinking from the delicate china cups always made him feel faintly ridiculous, but it added to the traditional British decor. No sense in having four-thousand-dollar Chippendale chairs only to drink from a cheap ceramic mug. Presentation was important. And two million really wasn’t much in the bigger scheme of things, but he didn’t take any of it for granted. Not a bloody penny.

“Send us copies detailing the changes, and cc my project manager, yeah?” Iain sipped his coffee—strong, black, bitter. He glanced over at Stan. “Was there something else? I’m getting billed for every moment you stand there looking like a twat.”

The bald man smiled. “I don’t charge for looking like a twat. That one’s on the house.” He bent to pick up his briefcase. “Always a pleasure, Iain.”

“Fuck off.”

“Nice seeing you, too.” Stan nodded at both men and left the room.

Once he was gone, Marc paced the floor. “She’s coming this morning?”

“Yeah. Should be here in a few.”

“We don’t need to do this,” Marc said. “There are other investors. We could develop the properties slowly, take our time.”

“And we may have to,” Iain said with a shrug, “if this doesn’t pan out.”

“It probably won’t. Brynn Campbell might hate you on sight—and I wouldn’t blame her, because you’re a bit of a blighter, truth be told. And if she finds out you set her up, she could turn Trevor Blake against us.”

“It’ll work, trust me. Hiring Brynn’s firm is a stroke of genius. We need a fresh partner for this project. One with deep pockets. Who better than Trevor Blake? And if we’re really lucky, Brynn’s other brother-in-law, Cal Hughes, might throw in with us. Those two have loads to spare, good business sense, and Trevor’s name carries weight in this town. I went over every other angle I could think of, and Brynn Campbell is the weak link.”

“It feels wrong, using this girl to get to her relatives. Seedy, yeah?”

“It’s called networking,” Iain said. “No different than glad-handing at a cocktail party or going to a charity dinner in order to meet serious players. It’s just business.”

Marc stopped treading over the hand-loomed rug. “Whilst I’m not convinced that this is our best solution, the course she’s teaching might actually do you some good. Your leadership skills are a bit lacking, aren’t they?”

Iain paused, the cup midway to his lips. “What the bloody hell are you on about?” Iain was leadership personified. He had the portfolio and bank balance to prove it. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I lead, mate. I get results.”

“You do,” Marc agreed. “But you also hack off a lot of people. And those you don’t offend are scared shitless of you.”

“Good.” He didn’t give a damn if people feared him, as long as they did their jobs properly. This wasn’t a popularity contest. No one got a prize for congeniality. “If they don’t like working here, they’re free to quit.”

“Which explains our high turnover rate. You could stand to be a little nicer to people. Wouldn’t kill you none, would it?”

“I expect people to show up and do their jobs. In return, we pay them very well at the end of each week. I’m not their mate. End of.”

“The accounting department nearly piss themselves every time you walk into the room,” Marc said.

“And?” Nothing wrong with that. At least his employees respected him.

“My gran used to say you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.”

“That’s daft, it is. Why would I want to catch flies?” Strolling to his chair, Iain carefully set the cup and saucer on his desk, then tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat before resuming his seat. “This scheme is going to work. Brynn Campbell will give me a pointless lesson, I’ll be charming, she’ll be charmed, and in turn, I’ll ask her for an introduction to Trevor Blake. In the meantime, you make sure our proposal is sorted, yeah?”

“I’m on it, but I still say your management style could use an overhaul.”

“Bugger off. By the way, how’s Melanie? Haven’t seen her in weeks.”

“Fine.” Marc combed his fingers through his hair, leaving it more disheveled than before. “Things are fine.”

Something was definitely going on there, but if Marc didn’t want to talk about it, Iain wouldn’t pry. None of his concern, as long as it didn’t interfere with business. “We can’t afford to have you distracted right now. I need you focused on this project.”

Marc’s blue eyes turned glacial. “Since when have I ever cocked-up on a project? I’ll do my bit, you do your part. But if we’re relying on your charm, we could be in real trouble.”

“Funny,” Iain said to Marc’s retreating back. The door shut with a click behind him.

Management training nonsense—Iain couldn’t think of anything more useless. And his management style didn’t need an overhaul. He and Marc had built this company from nothing, in spite of a crap economy. Fine, Iain was sometimes harsh with his employees, but if they couldn’t handle it, they probably didn’t belong here. Besides, he didn’t get his jollies from being cruel. Everything he did, every decision he made, was for the benefit of Blue Moon.

A few moments later, Amelia knocked on the door and slipped into the room. “Iain, your appointment’s here.” Ames was a lovely woman—professional-looking in a conservative black dress. No one would ever guess that they’d met in a strip club.

Iain had been a bouncer, Ames a bartender. When the business started taking off, he’d brought her onboard full time—steady hours, full bennies. With her disarming warmth and bright smile, Amelia made his visitors feel welcomed. In fact, they were so comfortable by the time they entered his office, they’d lowered their guard. And Iain took advantage of it. She was the honey and he was the vinegar. Flies, indeed.

Until now, he hadn’t realized he’d been fondling the dice once again. Shoving them into his pocket, he stood and donned his jacket. Then he smoothed the lapels and straightened his tie. When Amelia didn’t move, he glanced up at her. “What’s the problem?”

She shook her head. “No problem.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Iain, your trainer’s a woman.”

He hadn’t told Amelia about his plans for Brynn Campbell. His assistant would disapprove, and then she’d nag. No, it was better that he and Marc keep this scheme to themselves. “So?”

“She’s very pretty. And she seems so nice. Just for once…don’t be yourself.”

He reared his head back at her words. “What the bloody hell is wrong with everyone today?” Attacking his leadership skills, questioning his ability to be civil. Iain could do civil…when he put his mind to it. “I’ll be myself, thank you. If you don’t like it, sod off, Ames.”

She wagged her finger. “Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about. Do the opposite of that.” When she disappeared through the door, he faced the window and looked out at his three-million-dollar view. Three-point-two-five, if one wanted to be technical. And when it came to money, Iain was always technical.

The morning sun slanted through the tinted window. If he stood at the right angle, he could catch a glimpse of jagged brown mountains in the distance. The palm trees lining the street below swayed in the breeze, reminding him that he was in the middle of a desert. He never grew tired of seeing this. Nothing in Vegas was real—it was all a facade. The buildings, the people—all transitory. And Iain loved every bloody bit of it.

He heard the door open, and after a long pause, close. Her footsteps were hesitant and light across the gold onyx floor.

“Hello.” Her voice was soft, feminine. Young.

Iain slowly turned, a smile fixed on his face. But as he locked eyes on Brynn Campbell, unexpected desire slammed into his gut like a sucker punch. The pictures in Iain’s file didn’t do her justice. Ames had called her pretty, which was also inadequate. Bloody gorgeous more like.

Iain thought he knew everything about Brynn Hope Campbell, from her shopping habits to her tax returns. He knew what hobbies she favored and the classes she’d taken in college. But nothing had prepared him for meeting her in the flesh.

His gaze moved over her, taking in her slight frame. Then his eyes swept over her again. And a third time. With every pass, he noticed something different. The color of her hair wasn’t merely brown—it was tobacco brown with burnished gold highlights. Her eyes weren’t ordinary blue—they were navy. She wore leather flip-flops. Her toenails were varnished the same shade as her turquoise necklace. She carried a black binder in one hand, like a schoolgirl.

Lightly tanned, her skin glowed along high, smooth cheekbones. Her features were dainty, fragile—a lovely setting for those big, dark eyes. Her chin drew to a sharp point below a mouth that was too wide for such a delicate face. Innocent. The word floated through Iain’s mind, but he immediately banished it. No one was innocent—not in this town.

Brynn was on the petite side, but her legs appeared long and slender. The white, loose blouse flowed over her torso, skimming her small tits. The V-shaped collar left her neck and throat bare. Iain’s gaze fell to the wedge of visible golden skin. He wanted to see more. No, that wasn’t true. Iain was a greedy bastard—he wanted to see everything.

She’d pulled her wavy hair into a low ponytail, but a lone curl refused to be confined and brushed against her jaw. She appeared almost fey. A wisp of a woman who might blow away with the gentlest breeze.

And he needed to focus.

He moved toward her and buttoned his jacket, keeping his gaze trained on her. “I’m Iain Chapman.”

“You’re British.” She made it sound like an accusation.

“Observant, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t speak. Taking a breath, she tried again. “I try to be. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Chapman. My name’s Brynn Campbell.” She stared at his silver tie like it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She was timid, but he found that charming. And for the first time, doubt robbed him of his certainty. Was this was the right course of action? A simple introduction to Trevor Blake, that’s all he was after. Right?

“Call me Iain. I’ve been told I require a management makeover. Are you the woman to give me what I need?” He hadn’t intended the innuendo, but he didn’t apologize for it either.

Her gaze fluttered from his throat to his eyes. “I’m not sure. To be honest, I’m not really a teacher. I just write the curriculum.”

He knew that, of course. Had paid Cassandra Delaney a few thousand extra to have Brynn teach the class personally. “I’m not much of a student, so I’d say we’re well matched.” When her eyes swept over his face, he smiled. But Brynn didn’t smile back, as most women would. In fact, she stared at him with a faint frown on her generous lips.

Well, this was new. Iain was used to women flirting with him. And he wasn’t foolish enough to believe they were attracted to his delightful personality. Although he did all right in the looks department, his face wasn’t what lured women, either. No, Iain’s main draw was his fat bank account. He was fine with that. Made things simpler. Everyone walked away happy. There were no expectations, no fuss. No emotional ties.

But this woman wasn’t acting like the others, and he couldn’t say why that intrigued him so much.

Brynn Campbell wasn’t his type at all, and yet he was utterly enchanted by her. She didn’t wear her sexuality like armor. She was small, nearly flat-chested, and dressed as if she were attending a music festival rather than a business meeting. With copper bracelets stacked on her slender wrist, she wore tattered jeans and very little makeup. And the way she watched him with those wide, wary eyes…

When he took a step toward her, she tensed. What did she think, he was going to make a lunge for her? He never dreamed she’d be so skittish. Or that he’d find it so compelling. Something in the way she tensed like prey made him feel very much the predator.

He found he liked that feeling quite a lot.

A knock sounded at the door and Amelia peered in. “Would you like some tea, Miss Campbell?”

Brynn glanced over her shoulder. “That would nice, thank you.”

While she was looking away, Iain took the opportunity to study her breasts. The blouse was deceptively sheer. Tilting his head, he tried to see through the crinkly material, but he couldn’t even detect the outline of her bra. It was maddening and enticing at the same time. As soon as Ames shut the door, Brynn faced him again. And caught him staring.

Swallowing audibly, she raised the black binder, clutching it to her chest and blocking his view. “Why don’t we get started?” she asked.

“Yes, why don’t we?”

She stared at him for a beat, then Brynn squared her shoulders and stuck one hand in her purse. She pulled out a pen, and opened her book to the front page.

Iain tried to get a peek at what she jotted down, but she snapped the notebook closed before he could read it. “Are you taking notes on me, love?”

Brynn angled her head to look up at him. “If I were your employee, your suggestive glances might be considered actionable.”

“Actionable, how? Like we’d clear the desk and have at it?”

Her brows drew together and formed a small V. “That comment would definitely qualify as actionable.”

He leaned down, caught a whiff of perfume—vanilla and something floral. “Pretend you never heard it.” Iain breathed her in. Absolutely delicious.

Her lips had parted slightly, but she didn’t move away. Brynn Campbell might be wary, but she was also interested.

“The key to running a successful business,” she whispered, “is keeping a professional attitude. Sniffing me probably isn’t professional.”

“And here I thought the key to running a successful business was making money. Shows how fucking little I know, eh?”

“Do you always use that language?” Brynn opened her notebook and scribbled again. “With employees, I mean.”

“Yeah. I don’t believe in censoring myself.” He still hadn’t moved away, was still leaning toward her. Her shallow breaths caused her chest to rapidly rise and fall, and that became the focus of Iain’s attention. Her breasts were so tiny, he’d be able to suck on the whole damn thing. The thought made his mouth water.

“Um, I don’t feel very comfortable when you look at me like that.”

Iain reached out, his finger grazing a red splotch on the side of her throat. This hadn’t been part of the plan, but hell, he was improvising. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel comfortable.”

“Oh.” She paused. “I feel that, together, we can create a work environment that is both productive and respectful. I don’t feel respected as a colleague right now.” She stepped back two paces, leaving Iain’s hand dangling in the air before he let it fall to his side.

Blimey, she was serious. And so lovely, it almost stole the breath out of his lungs. Iain felt an unwilling smile pull at the corners of his lips. “Are you quoting from a book, or something?”

Brynn nodded and cleared her throat. “A manual, actually. Leading by Example: A Partnership in Effectiveness.”

“Sounds boring enough to send me to sleep.”

“I wrote it.” She enunciated the words, pointing her chin upward. He’d pricked her ego a bit. It was always vital to know as much about one’s opponent as possible, and Iain had just learned that Brynn Campbell took pride in her deadly dull work.

“Brilliant. Then we can dispense with the lessons. Give me the short version, and afterward, I’ll take you to lunch.” What Iain really wanted to do was take Brynn to bed. He wasn’t sure if she could teach him anything about leadership, but he was almost certain he could teach her a thing or two about pleasure.

And from the looks of her, she needed it desperately.

Order Terri L. Austin's next book

in the Beauty and the Brit series

His to Keep

On sale March 2016

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Acknowledgments

To the usual suspects—you wonderful minxes: Thank you for your constant support. We’ve been scattered like dandelion seeds this year, but you ladies are always there for me.

To Mary Altman, my editor: Thank you so much for all your encouragement. I appreciate the time and dedication you give to a project. Working on this book with you was a wonderful experience, and I loved every minute of it.

To Dawn “Cover Queen” Adams: You nailed it. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And to my husband, Jeff: I couldn’t do it without you. Love you. Thank you. Mwah.

About the Author

As a girl, Terri L. Austin thought she’d outgrow dreaming up stories and creating imaginary friends. Instead, she’s made a career of it. She met her own Prince Charming and together they live in Missouri. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her at www.terrilaustin.com.

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