Gentle Persuasion. Cerella Sechrist
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refreshment on the lanai?”
Ophelia nodded with relief. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
He led her toward a set of glass-and-wood doors opening up onto a patio overlooking the gardens. She breathed deeply, once again enjoying the perfect weather.
“Would you like me to bring in your bags?” he questioned.
She shook her head. “They’ll be fine in my rental car for now.”
While Dane stepped behind the bar, Ophelia used the opportunity to regain some of her scattered composure. She tried to recall the speeches she had formulated on the flight from New York to LAX and then on to Kona International airport. She was good at this—a crack negotiator and a talented recruiter in her trade. But this was different. Everything—her career, the family business, her relationship with her mother/boss—hinged on this one man, this one job.
She was so deeply absorbed in thought that she jerked physically to awareness when Dane approached and set a tray of chilled juice and glasses on the table before her.
If he noticed her start, he didn’t draw attention to it. Instead, he poured them each a beverage and handed one toward her before taking a seat.
“If you don’t mind my asking, Ms. Reid—”
“Ophelia.”
“Ophelia,” he corrected, “how is it that you know who I am?”
She smiled easily at him. “It’s only been, what, three years since you retired to these islands, Mr. Montgomery? Surely, you didn’t think your celebrity status in the corporate world would be forgotten so readily.”
She noticed her mention of his former life caused Dane to reflexively tense.
“Your face has graced the covers of nearly every notable trade magazine in business.” And Dane Montgomery’s face was not a forgettable one, though she didn’t flatter him by saying so.
His jaw, dusted with a fine smattering of stubble, hardened. “I don’t grant interviews anymore.”
“Oh, I’m not a journalist,” Ophelia assured him.
He studied her intently, his mind obviously scanning its memory banks.
“Ophelia Reid...” he murmured thoughtfully.
She took a sip of her juice, its cool sweetness sliding easily down her throat. “This is delicious, thank you. What sort of juice is it?”
“Guava,” he answered with some distraction before looking at her carefully. “We’ve never met,” he noted with certainty.
“No,” she agreed. “We never have.”
He leaned back, his own beverage standing forgotten. “But I would presume to say you’re not here for a vacation, reporter or no.”
Ophelia took the seat across from him, settling into the cushioned wicker chair. “Not exactly,” she admitted. She couldn’t help admiring the lean, muscled lines of his arms as he crossed them over his chest. No wonder the media had so often portrayed him as something of a demigod in the business world. His famed good looks were even more evident in person than they had been in the articles she’d been reading about him. It filled her with intimidation, and she reminded herself that his looks had nothing to do with her mission.
He narrowed his eyes and watched her. She held his gaze and stared right back.
“I’m here to make you an offer,” she finally said.
Dane dropped his arms and stood, his response short and sharp. “Not interested.”
She sighed. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.
“You haven’t even heard the terms.”
He shook his head and placed several steps of distance between them, as though she were contaminated.
“Not. Interested.”
She leaned back, looking out over the garden. “Fine. This job’s not on commission for me, so...” She shrugged.
This statement apparently piqued his curiosity, as she’d known it would. Recruiters usually made their living solely on the commissions they reaped from placing high-salary executives in top-end jobs. Working an assignment gratis had to have a compelling reason behind it.
Sufficiently mistrustful, however, Dane did not nibble on this declaration, at least not immediately.
“Ophelia Reid.” He repeated her name once more. “You’re a headhunter.”
Now it was her turn to tense. “I’ve never been fond of that term. I prefer the more noble title of ‘executive recruiter’ in my profession.”
He scoffed. “You can paint it any color you like—it’s all the same to me.”
She took another sip of juice to prevent herself from rising to the bait. Dane Montgomery’s dislike of recruiters was well known, and she chose not to take his disdain personally.
When she remained silent, Dane began to pace, scratching his jawline thoughtfully before finally snapping his fingers.
“Reid Recruiting Agency.” He slid her a sideways glance. “You’re Lillian Reid’s daughter, aren’t you?”
She suppressed a wince, as she always did, when she was labeled in this manner. Her mother’s reputation forever preceded her, singling her out as the only child of the ferociously famous corporate negotiator.
“The one and only,” she coolly owned, lifting her glass in salute.
He frowned, seeming to notice the subtle frost in her tone. “Lillian Reid as your mother. That must have earned you your fair share of therapy.”
She tried not to glower at him for this observation. Her attempts caused him to grin, and she felt a strange stirring in her stomach at the sight. “So you work for your mother, then?” he confirmed, getting back to the subject at hand.
She nodded.
“How long?”
“Straight out of college. You can’t expect me to confess how many years ago that’s been.”
Dane closed one eye and pretended to size her up. “Less than ten, I’d say.”
She laughed, her tension easing slightly. “They told me you could be charming.”
“Could be?”
“When you want to be.”
“Ah.” He paused. “So?” he prompted.
“So, what?”
“Am I right? Ten years or less?”
She rolled her eyes. “Twelve, if you must know. I’m thirty-three.”
He clicked his tongue. “So young.”
“As compared to your thirty-six years?”
“You have done your homework.”
She swirled the ice in her glass. “I should warn you not to underestimate me.”
He scoffed. “As Lillian Reid’s daughter, you’re probably right.” He frowned. “If you’re not taking a commission, there must be some other incentive. You didn’t come here just for the weather, after all.” His lips twisted into a smirk of disdain.
“No,” she admitted. “I didn’t.”
He returned to his seat and picked up his glass. “Not to sound arrogant, but...the salaries I’ve been offered would have provided a, let’s just say, substantial commission for you, should I accept the proposal. Any particular reason why you’re foregoing your percentage?”
She placed her glass back on the table and leaned forward. “Some things in life are worth more than money.”
He