The Ashtons: Paige, Grant & Trace. Roxanne St. Claire
Читать онлайн книгу.
Matt, too.
Turning on her heel, Paige headed toward the ladies’ room with enough speed that Eleanor probably thought she was about to have an accident.
Inside, she put both hands on the counter and stared in the mirror. She hadn’t seen the woman’s face, but did she have to? She’d be tall, blond, svelte, perfect. She had a sexy snicker and legs that could stop traffic.
And now she had Paige’s event and a month of attention from “Matty.”
Damn.
No, Paige told herself, shaking her head at her own image as if she could rattle some sense into it. Had she worked all night last night and driven all the way down to San Francisco just to be outmaneuvered by a pair of legs?
She wrinkled her nose at herself, trying to see past her too-small chin, too-nondescript eyes, her too-mouse-brown hair, and way-too-boyish figure.
Megan said her face was delicate. Her mother said a small chin is a sign of good breeding. Her hairstylist did her best to add a few highlights to that brown. And her figure? She ran her hands over the apricot knit dress she’d carefully selected because it was professional but definitely feminine.
Her figure certainly didn’t seem too boyish to Matt Camberlane when he’d explored it yesterday.
“I’m not giving up,” she whispered to her reflection. “I’m not leaving without finding out what spooked him yesterday.” She’d do what she had to do to get the answers she wanted, and if she managed to pull in the contract in the process, wonderful. Megan would be delighted. “Ashtons don’t give up,” she reminded herself.
The door whooshed open and with one glance at the familiar pumps, Paige knew exactly who’d entered. Okay, not blond. Brunette. But tall, svelte and flawless just the same.
The woman’s ebony eyes danced with mirth, and a confident, secret smile played on her lips.
Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Twenty-two years under the tutelage of Spencer Ashton had at least taught her that much.
“Hello,” Paige said, turning from the sink. “Do you work here?”
The woman paused on her way into a stall, noticing Paige for the first time. “Yes, I do. I’m Tessa Carpenter. I work in Marketing. And you?”
“I’m Paige Ashton,” she said, holding out her hand. “I have a meeting here this morning.”
Tessa raised a striking, sculpted brow, as though no one could actually have a meeting at Symphonics that she didn’t know about. “With…?”
“Matt Camberlane.”
That got her attention. The dark eyes widened and dropped in a quick review. “I just left his office,” she announced, then smiled as she stepped toward a stall door. “I think that put him in a better mood than he was in the morning.”
“Oh?” Paige turned to the mirror and unsnapped her handbag. “That’s funny. He was in a great mood all weekend.”
The door froze as Tessa looked at her. “Really.”
Paige dabbed on some shiny lip gloss. “Really.”
“Where did you see him this weekend?”
“A fund-raiser. Dinner. A picnic.” Paige watched Tessa pale ever so slightly. “In fact, we’re having lunch this afternoon.”
“It’s only ten o’clock.” Tessa said slowly. “You’re kind of early for a lunch meeting.”
Paige checked her lips in the mirror. “Yes. I am.” Then she snapped her bag closed and headed toward the door, feeling wickedly elated.
Tessa Carpenter and her endless legs were not going to get her down. She had a mission, a goal. She had no idea how, but she was going to march right into that office and let that electricity zing between them again. She wanted that thrill, that delicious, addictive sensation that wound through her when he kissed her, touched her, liquified her whole being. She wanted it and she intended to get it.
With a determined push, she yanked open the door and walked right into Matt Camberlane.
“Paige?” Matt had to blink to be sure he wasn’t just conjuring her up as he left the mens’ room.
She lifted her face toward him and gave him a bright smile. “I’m a few minutes early.”
“Early?”
“For our meeting.” She lifted her briefcase an inch. “You’re going to love these ideas.”
He deserved this. He deserved to squirm in front of her. He should have explained things to her, not let her run off making all sorts of wrong assumptions. And then he didn’t call her—unless you count a lousy voice mail message with a mumbled excuse about delays in the product launch. Hell, yeah. He deserved to suffer.
Only, he wasn’t suffering. Because looking at those innocent eyes, standing in the enclosed hallway close enough to almost drop a kiss on her caramel-colored hair was not suffering. In fact, it was a lot closer to heaven than hell.
Indicating the executive suites with one hand, he said, “My office is this way, Paige.”
Even though he wanted to touch her so badly he literally ached, he fought the urge to place a hand on her back as they walked together. He wouldn’t touch her. He would not lay a single finger on her body.
Eleanor looked up from her desk and her jaw slackened.
“Hold my calls, please,” he instructed her, not taking the time to respond to the surprised look on his assistant’s face.
Paige seemed to know exactly where to go, entering his office ahead of him.
“Have a seat.” He pulled out one of the guest chairs in front of his desk, somehow not wanting her to sit on the sofa where Tessa Carpenter had just licked her chops over him. Paige wasn’t a slink-on-the-leather kind of girl. She was a sit-in-the-straight-back-chair kind of girl.
Wasn’t she?
As she sat, the hem of her peachy sweater dress rose just enough to make him question that thought. The silky thigh the move revealed collided with the image of Paige sliding out of her clothes the previous day. His whole lower half threatened to jump up and betray his thoughts. Good God, was he incapable of having a conversation with this woman without getting aroused?
He closed the door and tapped the wall switch that automatically lowered the sound system.
“Don’t turn off Frank on my account,” she said. “I’ve been humming ‘Under My Skin’ for two days.”
His reaction to that was definitely above the waist. “You have?”
She turned in the chair to face him. “Just thinking about the VoiceBox launch party makes me hum some great songs.”
Well, that explained it. She hadn’t received the fax or his message. And even after the way they left things on Sunday afternoon, she showed up for a meeting, all professional and ready to work.
Sitting across from her in the other chair, he took a deep breath. There’d be no hasty, feeble explanations of a product delay now. He had to tell her the truth.
“Paige—”
Before he could speak, she began to spread papers on his desk. “Here’s the room layout I worked out.”
“Paige, wait.”
“No,” she shook her head and held up one finger. “You wait. Wait until you see the idea I had for the centerpieces.”
He opened his mouth to stop her again, but his gaze fell on the picture of a gray felt hat—Sinatra’s trademark—tipped over the corner of a laptop screen. He couldn’t help smiling. “Now would you look at that?”
“Oh, that’s just something