subtly designed to assure her the upper hand. She doubted he’d go for it, but the papers left room for compromise, while still guaranteeing her the majority of control.
By the time Sam arrived—precisely on time and looking even more breathtaking than before in dark, heavily starched jeans, a simple white T-shirt and a fitted black corduroy jacket—Sierra’s heart was flittering and fluttering again. Maintaining a cool facade, she neatened the lay of her sophisticated surplice blouse, greeted him through the door she’d left standing open and waved him on into her office. His gaze flickered over her, and she felt her pulse quicken.
“Thank you for coming, Sam. Please be seated.” Sierra noticed a large gold college ring on his right hand.
He tugged at the sides of his coat and sat. “I guess you’ve thought it over.”
“Yes, I have, and I’ve decided to accept your offer.”
The smile that elicited crinkled his eyes at the corners, cut deep grooves into his dimpled cheeks and flashed an impressive expanse of strong, white teeth. Suddenly her heart wasn’t just flitter-fluttering; it was beating madly inside her chest like a wild thing trying to break free. Alarmed by her own reaction, Sierra forced herself to get down to business, sounding brusquer than she’d intended.
“I took the liberty of having papers drawn up, so if you’ll just sign, we can get on with planning our new venture.” As she spoke, she pushed two sets of stapled papers toward him, placed an ink pen on the desk between them and sat back, aware of his deepening frown.
He began thumbing through one set of papers. “You had papers drawn up? No discussion? No negotiation?”
Her confident smile faltered. “What’s to discuss? You spelled out the particulars yourself, fifty-fifty on the profits. You provide expertise, equipment and labor. I provide land and financing.”
He looked up, nailing her with a direct look launched from beneath the jut of his brows. “Says here that you get final approval on all expenditures.”
“I am providing the funds.”
“What about unexpected expenses—fuel, tools, research material, mechanical failures? They happen, you know, even with new machinery.”
She shrugged. “We’ll work out some sort of system.”
“Over which you get final approval.”
“Someone has to.”
He got to his feet. “Right, and since you’re the older one, that’s naturally you.” He shook his head bitterly. “No matter how hard I work, how much I know, how many times I’m proven right, I can’t change the date of my birth.” He pointed a finger at her, adding, “And don’t you dare tell me time will take care of it.”
He was right, of course, but this was business, and she would be foolish in the extreme not to try to take the upper hand. Wouldn’t she? “Sam, I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just trying to protect my investment.”
“Well, that goes for both of us,” he said, swiping one set of papers off the desk and rolling them into a tube in his hands. “I’ll just let my attorney look these over and get back to you.”
“Yes, of course,” she said softly, feeling slightly ashamed and uncertain.
He turned and walked out without another word, the rigid lines of his back making his anger obvious.
Evidently she had miscalculated. She’d assumed that his youth would naturally compel him to follow her lead. Instead, she’d let him know that she considered his age a tool to use against him. Brilliant.
Sierra dropped her head into her hands. She had just insulted her best hope of proving herself as a businesswoman. So much for her future as a flower producer. Biting her lip, she considered running after him, but in the end she didn’t bother. If she let him walk out, chances were he’d just phone in his refusal and that would be that. On the other hand, if she ran after him, he’d demand more than she could give. Either way, the partnership seemed doomed. And, as usual, she had no one to thank but herself.
Sam yanked open the shop door and stepped out onto the sidewalk, executing a sharp right turn. As he stalked down the street he slapped the rolled papers against his thigh. So she was gorgeous, stylish, self-assured, wealthy and older than him—did that give her any right to treat him like a stupid, wet-behind-the-ears kid? He’d been beating himself up for days because he was sure he’d blown the best opportunity ever to come his way, and all along she’d just been waiting to cut him down to size.
Well, it was probably for the best. Hooking up in any way with Sierra Carlton would undoubtedly be a very bad mistake; an uneven partnership always was. Besides, she was too good-looking for comfort. The last thing he needed was a business partner who could distract him just with the blouse she chose to wear.
Hadn’t she realized that little wrap thing wasn’t conducive to a business meeting? Or was that the point? He could’ve stripped her with just the pull of that string tied at her waist. Didn’t she realize that? Maybe she’d intended to distract him, or maybe she wasn’t as smart as she looked. Just because she was older didn’t mean she knew everything. If she did, she’d know that anything personal between them was never going to happen. Not in his business. Who needed her anyway?
Unfortunately, he did.
The sad truth was that Sierra Carlton and her flower farm were still the best opportunity that he had found to get out from under his equipment payment and make some sort of stable future for himself and the girls.
Mouth thinning into a compressed line, Sam slowed his asphalt-eating strides and blew out an agitated breath. Dismay rose up and threatened to choke him, but his pride still stung so sharply that for a moment he couldn’t let himself feel the other. Then, gradually, the cold air began to clear his head.
Surely there was room for compromise. She had to know that he’d expect some leeway. She wasn’t an airhead, despite evidence to the contrary from that slinky, formfitting, crisscrossed little top.
He briefly squeezed his eyes shut. Why couldn’t she have just approached him as an equal? They could’ve hammered out an agreement in no time. It probably wouldn’t have looked a lot different than the one in his hand, but at least it would have been a mutually made agreement. He’d handled negotiations before, after all. He knew how they worked. Mentally reviewing past negotiations, he tried to enumerate the ways in which Sierra had screwed up this one and, therefore, deserved his scorn.
By the time he reached his heavy-duty truck, he’d worked his way around to a distasteful but honest conclusion. If a man had presented him with that contract he wouldn’t have been nearly as offended. Men always tried to one-up each other in a negotiation. It was expected. Moreover, if it had been grandmotherly Bette Grouper who had presented him with such a proposal, he probably would have signed without a quibble as a matter of respect. But it had been Sierra Carlton who’d drawn up that contract without input from him. Sexy, delicious Sierra Carlton.
He didn’t like where that conclusion inevitably led him. He wasn’t upset because Sierra hadn’t shown the proper and expected respect for him as a business partner, but because she’d treated him “man to man,” not as a man, and an attractive one to boot.
Disgusted with himself, he unlocked the door and got into the truck. Unrolling the paper against the steering wheel, he carefully read
