âSo, Miss Courtneyâyes or no?â
âLet me get this straight. For one week you want me to publicly pretend Iâm your mistress.â She flicked her eyes up and down his expensive suit, letting them linger on his silk tie. âWhile you may not be my idea of the ideal date, there must be lots of women whoâd bypass your personality in favor of your money. Since I canât believe youâre offering this out of the kindness of your heart, I wonder why youâve chosen me to come to your rescue?â
To her intense fury, he gave a bark of laughter. âYour tongueâs got a bite like sulfuric acid.â
âAll the more reason for you to avoid me.â
âOh, I think I can handle you.â
ON THE other side of that door was the enemy.
Lauren Courtney took a deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with her palm. The enemy. The man who had evidenceâentirely fabricated evidenceâof a fraud supposedly perpetrated by Laurenâs beloved stepfather. Wallace Harvarson a liar? A cheat? Lauren would as soon believe the sun rose in the west.
But Reece Callahan, owner of the huge telecommunications company whose headquarters were in this glittering building in Vancouver, apparently did believe the sun rose in the west. So it was up to Lauren to set him straight. To protect Wallaceâs reputation now that her stepfather was dead and could no longer speak for himself. That she was gaining entrance to the Callahan stronghold under false pretenses was unfortunate, but necessary; she was under no illusions that a man as ruthless and successful as Reece Callahan would see her otherwise.
Lauren straightened her shoulders, catching a quick glimpse of her reflection in the tall plate-glass windows that overlooked English Bay from the seventh floor. Her chestnut hair was pulled back into a cluster of curls that bared her nape; her suit, a designer label, was severely styled in charcoal-gray, the skirt slit at the back; her blouse was a froth of white ruffles. Italian leather pumps, silver jewelry and dramatic eyeshadow: sheâd do. Under normal circumstances she wouldnât be caught dead in charcoal-gray; primary colors were more her forte. But sheâd decided back in New York that she needed to look both elegant and composed for this interview. That her heart was pumping rather too fast under her tailored lapel was her secret. A secret she intended to keep.
The receptionist opened the paneled oak door and said politely, âMr. Callahan, Miss Lauren Courtney is here to see you.â
As Lauren stepped inside and the door closed behind her, Reece Callahan got to his feet and walked around his massive mahogany desk, his hand outstretched. âThis is indeed a pleasure, Miss Courtney. At your gallery opening in Manhattan last year, when I purchased two of your sculptures, I unfortunately arrived too late to meet you.â
While his handclasp was strong, his smile was a mere movement of his lips; his eyes, ice-blue, didnât melt even fractionally. His face was strongly hewn, with a hard jawline, a cleft chin and arrogant cheekbones that instantly Lauren itched to sculpt. His hair, thick with the suggestion of a curl kept firmly under control, was a darker brown than hers. The color of his desk, she thought, polished and sleek.
His bodyâwell, sheâd like to sculpt that, too, she realized, her mouth suddenly dry. Beneath his impeccably tailored business suit, she sensed a honed muscularity, a power all the more effective for being hidden.
A cold man. A hard man. Definitely not a man to respond to an appeal to sentiment. Yet sentiment, she thought in sudden despair, was the only weapon she had. He was also several inches taller than her five-foot-nine; she wasnât used to looking so far up, to feeling small, and in consequence at a disadvantage. She didnât like it. Not one bit. Steeling herself, knowing Reece Callahan was indeed the enemy, Lauren detached her fingers from his clasp and said coolly, âI hope youâre still enjoying the pieces you purchased?â
âThey wear well. Iâve always liked works in bronze, and yours are particularly fine.â
Even though sheâd fished for the compliment, it pleased her. âThank you,â she said.
âIâm always glad when my investments do well. The prices youâre commanding are escalating very nicely.â