Catching The Corporate Playboy. Michele Dunaway
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the tip was just a calling card. You think I’m trying to offer you more.”
“I’m not for sale,” she repeated, the tone of her voice a bit more forceful this time.
He began to chuckle. Whenever he knew the enemy, the enemy never stood a chance. “No, my dear misguided Darci, let’s clear up this misunderstanding. Val told me to leave you a nice tip. That’s all I did. I have no need to buy female services, believe me. Finding a female companion has always been the least of my problems.”
She glared at him for that brazen assertion, and she pushed wayward blond hair up under her pink cap. “You’re a pig.”
Suddenly he had an urge to free her hair from the tight confines of the cap and see what those blond locks really looked like. “Darci, Darci. You’ve prejudged me. Give me a chance to prove you wrong. Come see the sunrise with me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I really am a nice guy.” Well, at least he thought he was.
As she planted her hands on her hips, he leaned forward and pulled one of her hands away. As he did, a wanton shock coursed through him, burning him. Despite his internal signals suddenly going haywire, he managed to maintain his composure. It wasn’t easy. “Come with me,” he repeated.
Like a doe caught in the headlights, Darci stared at him wide-eyed. “Why? Why me?” she whispered, and he wondered if she was as affected as he was by the oh-so-sexy skin-on-skin contact of their hands.
“Because you’ve intrigued me, Darci.” He massaged her fingers with his. “I want to get to know you, and by that I don’t mean let’s just hop into bed.”
“Oh.” She gently detached her hand from his and dropped it to her side. “I’m off in fifteen minutes, but really you shouldn’t—”
“Perfect. I’ll wait.” He planted himself firmly onto the ratty old stool. As she moved off he smiled to himself and sipped his coffee. When it really came down to it, who could resist him?
AS DARCI MOVED out of earshot of Cameron, Val pulled her into the kitchen. “Well?”
“I gave a pretty good performance, didn’t I? I had him eating out of my hand. All I forgot was the quivering lip of submission.”
“If that was acting, girl, then you get an Oscar.”
Darci laughed. Then, for a moment, uncertainty crept in. When Cameron O’Brien had grabbed her hand a sensation had ricocheted through her, and it wasn’t one she was familiar with. But Cameron’s type was one she’d learned to handle, so at that thought her confidence bolstered again.
“So,” Val said, “what’s the scoop?”
“I’m leaving with him to go watch the sunrise.”
“Ooh-ee.”
Darci bristled. “Stop saying that. It’s not like that at all. I’ve got to convince him I’m an uncultured hick, and then pretend I don’t know he’s trying to culture me. And I have to do it all without him figuring it out. So forgive me if I pretend to fall at his feet just a little bit. He’d find it strange if I didn’t. He thinks he’s irresistible, as if he’s God’s gift to women. My actions are only for show, believe me.”
“Oh, I do, girl. I’m glad you’re not going after me. You’re a mean one. Anyway, your shift’s over. Enjoy the sunrise.”
Darci nodded. “That’ll be the best part of all this I’m sure.” She reached into her apron and handed all of her tips to Val. “Leave this where Wanda won’t suspect.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Good.” With that Darci strode out to face her new nemesis. She dropped her eyes to her feet and then looked up at him, her smile wary. “Look, this isn’t really necessary.”
He glanced up from his coffee. “Yes, it is.” When he smiled at her Darci had to calm her fluttering heart. Boy, he could probably charm snakes out of the grass. She bit back her anger at that thought. She could control this. He was using her to win a bet, and he didn’t know that she knew. Piece of cake.
“Really.” Darci made her voice shake with uncertainty. “I should just go home.”
“Not an option.” Cameron stood suddenly, topping her five-foot-six figure by only four inches. No, definitely not her type. She liked them tall, dark, and handsome. Cameron didn’t fit the bill. Not at less than six feet with sandy-blond hair and the palest blue eyes she’d ever seen.
At obvious ease in his polo shirt and khaki shorts, he brushed some lint off his shoulder. “Do you need to change clothes?”
“This is all I have with me.” She smoothed the food-covered apron. “I had planned on going home. Look, Mr. O’Brien, I’m not dressed to be seen with you. This is a bad idea.”
“It’s a good idea, and please call me Cameron. Mr. O’Brien makes me sound like my father.” He gestured toward the restaurant door, and with a slight bow of her head she acknowledged his gesture and led the way.
Surprisingly, Cameron didn’t say anything about her unsightly appearance as he followed her from the restaurant. “Val told me you’d only been working three days. How’s it been getting accustomed to the graveyard shift?”
“Fine.” Being a night owl she actually preferred to sleep longer during the day and work longer at night. Of course, that would change when she moved back to the corporate office in some position much higher than a clerk in the mailroom.
“Great,” he replied. “Would it sound presumptuous if I asked you back to my hotel? It’s a suite, complete with a living area that has a fantastic balcony. I’ve got a great view of not only the Arch, but also the river.”
Play along, Darci, she told herself. “Um, I don’t know about that.” The hesitation in her voice added a bit of a breathless quality to it. Boy, was she good.
“It’ll be innocent. Trust me. If not, the press would hang me out to dry.”
“You get a lot of press?”
“Nah.” He sounded so innocent, but Darci knew he’d just lied outright. One of America’s most eligible bachelors didn’t get any press. Yeah, right. Mr. I’m-Really-a-Nice-Guy probably graced the New York tabloids on a daily basis.
“So, my suite?” One of his blond eyebrows arched up with his query.
Boy, was he smooth. At least she knew he didn’t want to take her to bed, unlike those popular boys in her senior year of high school. That made it slightly better, but despite that, it hurt to know that he was using her because he did want something. He wanted to win his bet.
“Okay, but just for the sunrise,” she told him. “If you even attempt anything else I’m going to knee you in the groin and have you arrested. Comprende?”
His eyes widened at her vicious verbal assault. “Got it.”
“Good.” Darci paused and scanned the restaurant’s parking lot. “Where’s your car?”
“Over here.” He led her to a jet-black convertible. “Do you have one?”
“A Mercedes? No.”
She had to admit he was handsome when he laughed. Dimples formed and his eyes twinkled. “I meant a car. Parked somewhere near here.”
“Oh.” She fought for control and smiled vaguely. He didn’t know that her Porsche Boxter was safely ensconced behind Grandpa Joe’s in the private lot. Being that Grandpa Joe’s remained open twenty-four hours a day, her one indulgence wouldn’t be bothered behind the locked security gate.
“No. I don’t have a car,” she lied brightly. Two could play the lying game. “I usually take the bus. They start running pretty early. I never have to wait too long.”
“Well,