Exposing the Executive's Secrets. Emilie RoseЧитать онлайн книгу.
long enough before shaking Clay’s hand to make his lack of welcome known without being flagrantly rude.
The cold shoulder shouldn’t have surprised Clay but it did. Peter had been Clay’s mentor-slash-babysitter from the first day Clay had set foot on Dean’s soil. The man’s allegiance clearly belonged to Andrea now.
“How’s it going, Peter?” Andrea asked.
“Right on schedule except for those cabinets.” Peter addressed Andrea. “The fancy wood the owner requested isn’t in.”
“I’ll make a—” Andrea stopped and glanced at Clay as if realizing that would be his job now. “Clay can call the distributor to check status when we get back to the office.”
“We could make do with mahogany,” Pete insisted.
“My grandfather always said, ‘The customer’s not paying us to make do. He’s paying us to make what he ordered.’” Clay lived by the quote since his clients often made illogical design requests.
“Yeah, well the wood’s holding up everything else in line.”
“I’ll get on it before I leave today. If all else fails, we’ll cancel the order and go with my suppliers.”
“Your daddy won’t like that,” Peter challenged. “We’ve dealt with this company for twenty years.”
“My father’s not running the show right now. I am. If a company can’t deliver, then we’ll find one that can—just like our customers will if we don’t give them what they’ve asked for. If the holdup is a problem, then shift the line. Bump the next order in front of this one. I’ll make sure the client understands the delay.”
The scene repeated itself as they circled the facility and Clay reacquainted himself with familiar faces. Employees addressed Andrea. She redirected them to Clay. By the time they left the building Clay wondered why his mother had begged him to come home. The employees trusted Andrea. They didn’t trust him.
Considering he’d left town rather than live a lie or risk failing Andrea the way his father had failed his mother, the lack of trust rubbed salt in an open wound.
Three
If they had to date, then Clay had decided he’d choose the least romantic in the package first. How intimate could a three-hour cruise on a riverboat carrying four hundred people be?
He gave himself a proverbial pat on the back as he followed Andrea and the hostess the length of the brightly lit main salon of the Georgina past a laden buffet and tables crowded with families, including boisterous children. Treating this date like a client dinner would be a piece of cake in this setting. They’d probably even have to share a table with strangers.
But instead of showing them to one of the eight-person tables, the hostess stopped in front of a glass-and-brass elevator located at the stern of the ship. They entered the cubicle. Clay caught a glimpse of the second floor as the clear box drifted upward. The lighting on the second level was a little dimmer. A DJ occupied a small stage. Most of the patrons looked like college kids. Nothing he couldn’t handle even though he’d given up keg parties years ago.
But the elevator kept rising until it reached the third floor. Clay’s stomach sank faster than an anchor. He’d congratulated himself too soon.
The setting sun on the western horizon cast a peachy glow over the upper deck’s glass-domed atrium. No more than a dozen widely spaced tables for two occupied the area surrounding a parquet dance floor. At the far end of the enclosure a trio of musicians occupied a small stage.
The doors opened with a ding, and the wail of the sax greeted them. Clay had learned to like jazz during his years at the University of New Orleans, but sultry jazz combined with Andrea in a sexy black dress jeopardized his plan to keep the date on a business footing.
“Mr. Dean?” The hostess held open the doors. Her tone and expression implied it wasn’t the first time she’d called him. “I need to seat you. We’ll be underway in five minutes.”
With a growing sense of unease Clay followed Andrea and the hostess to a table tucked into the far corner. No buffet. No crowds. No noisy kids. No distractions.
Too intimate. He seated Andrea and then himself. The linen-draped table was small enough for him to reach across and hold her hand if he wanted. Which he didn’t.
A waitress filled their water goblets, promised to return with champagne and departed.
“Not what you were expecting?” Andrea asked.
How could she still read him after eight years? “I didn’t know what to expect. My mother made the arrangements for each date. All I do is choose a day and time.” He sipped his water, but the cool liquid stopped short of the burn low in his gut. “The riverboat wasn’t here when I left.”
“No. She’s only been here a few years. The owners brought her in as part of the downtown renewal project.”
“There have been a lot of changes.” And not just in his hometown.
It should have been impossible for Andrea to look more beautiful tonight than she had in the siren’s dress at the auction, but she did. Sunlight sparkled on her loose honey-colored hair, and she’d smudged her eye makeup, giving her a just-out-of bed look that played havoc with his memories. Her silky black wraparound dress swished just above her knees and dipped low between her breasts, hinting at the curves beneath, but revealing nothing except the fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
He swallowed another gulp of water and wished he hadn’t noticed the slight sway beneath the fabric when she’d greeted him at the bottom of the gangplank. But hell, he was a man, and there were some things a guy just couldn’t miss. Unrestrained breasts ranked high on that list. His list anyway.
The powerful engines of the riverboat rumbled to life. Clay relished the slight vibration. Some liked the silent glide of sailboats, but he preferred the leashed power and throaty growl of an engine. The boat maneuvered away from the dock and headed up river.
Clay focused on the safe view of the shore rather than the more dangerous one of the woman across from him. The tall pines on the bank were a far cry from the sand, palms and towering waterfront buildings of Miami. He’d become so accustomed to glass, brick and modern construction that he’d forgotten how impressive raw nature could be. The dark green of the treetops and the layers of red and yellow in the riverbank resembled a painting.
The waitress returned, poured the champagne and vanished, leaving a silver ice bucket behind.
Andrea sipped from her flute and stared through the glass at the passing scenery as the sun sank lower. “Wilmington will never be as cosmopolitan as Miami, but it is modernizing.”
Clay ignored his champagne. If he hoped to get through tonight without regrets, then he had to keep a clear head. The last thing he needed was alcohol. He rated his chances of avoiding the dance floor and body contact as slim to none. Andrea used to love dancing. She’d even taken ballroom dancing as a physical education class in college.
“Why did you attend the auction?” He forced the question through a constricting throat.
She blinked at his question and hesitated before answering. “Besides the fact that your mother and Juliana’s were the event organizers and Holly, Juliana and I were informed that our attendance was mandatory?”
He’d suspected his mother’s part in this fiasco would come up eventually. Had she put Andrea up to this? It seemed likely. His mother had adored Andrea, but if Mom was matchmaking, then she was doomed to disappointment. “Yes. Besides that.”
Andrea shrugged, drawing his attention to her bare, lightly tanned arms and shoulders. The pencil-thin straps of her dress didn’t cover nearly enough skin. “Holly, Juliana and I each turn thirty this year, and we gain control of our trust funds. We don’t need the money because we all work and we’re well paid, so we decided to invest some and donate the