A Mistletoe Kiss With The Boss. SUSAN MEIER
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make that happen.
Dean hung up the phone. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.”
The words were barely out of her mouth before his phone rang again.
He waved it at her. “Sorry. I have to answer.”
This time he spoke fluent Spanish. Not wanting to appear to be listening in, though she couldn’t since she also didn’t speak Spanish, she looked at the beauty of Paris outside the car windows. The curved arches. The ornate buildings. Happy people bundled in scarves and warm coats, sitting on the chairs of sidewalk cafes, in spite of the December cold.
She almost couldn’t believe she’d been courageous enough to take her own money and track down Dean Suminski, but here she was, in Paris, trying to influence him as an equal—or at least as someone who deserved his support. It filled her chest with pride and her stomach with butterflies, but after three years as Eva’s assistant, she was ready to move on.
Dean talked so long that the city gave way to a quieter area, and then the buildings became fewer and farther apart. Suddenly a private airstrip appeared. Eight or ten bright blue, gray and tan metal hangars gleamed in the morning sun. Around them were five jets that ranged from a sleek, slim, small one to a plane big enough to hold the entirety of Grennady’s parliament.
Dean Suminski continued talking as the limo stopped in front of one of the smaller, sleeker jets. He talked as the driver opened his door. He talked as he motioned for her to get out of the limo and as he followed her out and onto the tarmac.
Finally, he clicked off the call. “This wasn’t my fault. As I said, any call that comes in on this phone is important. Normally, I don’t feel the need to make amends, but if you want, you can fly to New York with me. That gives you almost nine hours to make your pitch.”
Her eyes bulged. It was one thing to take a few steps toward her dreams, quite another to cross an ocean. “Fly to New York?”
“You don’t have time?”
“I...” She didn’t want to tell him she’d used her own money to travel to Paris and couldn’t miss her flight home the following morning. She didn’t want to tell him that her boss and her husband were at Prince Alex’s island home of Xaviera with his family, at the end of their vacation celebrating American Thanksgiving with Princess Ginny and Queen Rose. She didn’t want to admit that Princess Eva didn’t know where Kristen was, and hadn’t authorized her talking to him. She wanted to surprise them with a visit from Dean Suminski in January, as a way to thank them for being so good to her, but also to show them she could get a job done. So that when she left their employ to begin her charity, they’d be her first backers.
But she was also proving to herself she had what it took to be more than an executive assistant. If she couldn’t persuade Dean Suminski to visit Grennady with an eye toward relocating, would she be able to persuade benefactors to put up the millions of dollars she would need for her schools?
“Once we get to New York, the plane will turn around and bring you back home.”
Probably in time for her flight. Or she could simply tell Dean Suminski to instruct the pilot to take her back to Grennady. “That’s generous.”
His eyes turned down at the corners as he frowned. “Generous?”
“Well, you could leave me at the airport.”
“I could.” He glanced away, then looked back. “I know I have a reputation for being...well, not a nice guy. But you don’t need me to be a nice guy. You want time to make a pitch. I’m offering it. Consider this an early Christmas present.”
It suddenly struck her that he must be interested. He hadn’t told her to get lost at the hotel. He’d offered her time in his limo, though that hadn’t worked out. But here he was again, giving her a chance to sell him on her country.
“Thought you said you weren’t thinking of relocating?”
“Thought you said I should be.”
“YOU SHOULD.”
Dean Suminski studied the pretty girl in front of him. Blonde with pale green eyes and a generous mouth made for kissing, she wore a simple black wool coat over black pants and sensible shoes. Normally, he would have had his bodyguard deal with anyone who approached him, but she reminded him of himself ten years ago, when Suminski Stuff was in its infancy. When he wore simple, practical clothes, hoping he didn’t stand out for his lack of sophistication, and when he was trying to raise money from investors to start his business.
Still, he hadn’t gotten this far by being stupid. He’d texted his executive assistant and told her to get everything she could on Kristen Anderson of Grennady, and that’s what the call in Spanish had been about. This woman really did work for Princess Eva.
If Grennady’s royal family had sent her to him, there was a reason. He might not want to be part of a renaissance precipitated by a near coup, but he wouldn’t mind having a desperate country at his mercy.
He said, “All right. I’ll admit that the most popular places to locate a corporation in the United States are getting crowded.” He speared her with a look, delving deeply into those pretty green eyes, knowing she wasn’t very experienced at negotiating and wondering why a princess would send her. Surely, more astute negotiators or even public relations people would do a better job.
Especially since he knew Alex Sancho, Princess Eva’s husband, didn’t like him.
Her eyes brightened. “So there is a chance you’d relocate?”
The sparkle in her eyes hit him like a punch to the gut, surprising him. Those soft green orbs were little mirrors to her happy soul. And that lush, kiss-me mouth? It took a stronger man than he was not to notice its plump fullness.
Still, he shouldn’t be looking. He only dated sophisticates. Women who took lovers, who weren’t seeking happily-ever-after, as this bubbly, obviously naïve woman would be.
But the feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away. It kept telling him that something about her was important. And he should pay attention.
He pointed at the plane. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
She preceded him up the short stack of steps into his jet. When she gasped, he laughed.
“The princess never takes you on her jet?”
“Up until last year, she didn’t do much government business. Actually, she didn’t even have bodyguards.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Are you going to waste these next few hours gossiping?”
“No.” She waved her hands. “Sorry. I know your time is precious.”
“Let’s just buckle in and you can start your pitch once we’re at cruising altitude.”
As he spoke, his second-in-command and best friend, Jason Wilson, stepped into the corridor from the office in the back.
Short, twenty or thirty pounds overweight, but looking expensive and self-assured in his three-piece suit, Jason said, “We have a problem.”
Dean motioned for Kristen to take a seat and buckle in. “I suppose we do if you flew the whole way to Europe rather than phone me.”
Jason caught Dean’s arm and moved him to the back of the plane before he whispered, “While you were in meetings yesterday, I got word from a few investment firms that our stock’s about to be downgraded and they’re going to advise investors to sell.”
Forgetting all about Kristen Anderson, he gaped at Jason. “Sell?”
“Tech Junkie ran an article about you. They suggested that the new product is late because we don’t have one.”