Playing Mr. Right. Kat Cantrell
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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.
“I’m magnificent in every room.” He let that sink in, gratified by her instant half smile that said she caught the innuendo. “But in the boardroom, I do my job. Nothing more.”
“So modest. I read up on LeBlanc Jewelers. It’s almost a billion-dollar company, up nearly 20 percent since you took over five years ago. That’s impressive.”
The reminder tripped some not-so-pleasant internal stuff that he’d rather not dwell on tonight. “Again. That’s my job. If I didn’t do it well, the board wouldn’t let me keep it. What about you? Once we organize a fundraiser for LBC and I go back to LeBlanc Jewelers, what do you envision yourself doing?”
Val wouldn’t keep her in the role of fundraiser, or, at least, Xavier didn’t think he would. Honestly, he didn’t know what Val might do and that was at least half Xavier’s problem. The inner workings of his brother’s mind had interested him even less than LBC, and that had left him clueless when thrust into this new role. Xavier had helped Val through some sticky mining contracts, and Val had sat in on the interview with Laurel, but then they’d drifted back into their respective corners. Their relationship didn’t feel any more cohesive. Maybe by design.
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