the west coast, with plans to open another in the Caribbean. If we get the account, we’ll need to hire more staff.” He picked up the bag of nuts and studied them for a moment, extending Bill’s agony for as long as possible. “I think Trisha would make a good candidate to head up a new travel segment.”
“So the VP rumor is true.”
Logan slammed the bag on the desk as Bill’s smirk told him he’d just been duped. “Son of a bitch. I can’t trust Sally with a goddamned thing.” He was more annoyed by losing his match with Bill than the knowledge that his Human Resources manager had loose lips.
Bill’s heavy chest rumbled as he laughed. “Sor-a-mundo, buddy boy. I already knew.”
“Well, keep it to yourself, although that’s probably pointless. I haven’t made my decision yet, and if we don’t get Tyndale, we don’t have enough business to form a separate segment. I don’t want Trisha disappointed if it doesn’t happen.”
“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get Tyndale and everything will work out as planned. I’m sure of it.”
PIMPLY KID, pimply kid, pimply kid.
Trisha hesitated outside Logan’s door for a beat as she repeated the mantra in her head, trying to lose the nerves that held on like an angry cold. She’d hoped some miracle would have brought Devon back in time to join her in Logan’s office, but her last-minute check found him still sitting in O’Hare.
She was on her own.
She took one giant breath, exhaled the memory of the previous night’s chat and stepped into the office.
One look at Logan behind his desk sucked the image back to her mind. Not only was he wearing the starched white shirt she’d envisioned the night before, but he’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons, showing a faint hint of dark hair that told her his rocklike chest had the perfect blend of curls that made him masculine but not too hairy.
He’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and his hands were planted firmly on the arms of his chair, his fingers splayed over the ends, just as she’d seen it in her head.
She briefly made eye contact. Just enough to catch him sweep his dark eyes over her body in a manner that stopped short of lustful appreciation. He kept it professional, but sincere. Just a glance that made her wonder if he was interested, but didn’t reveal enough to answer the question.
It still sent a blizzard of tingles through her chest that twirled down to the spot between her thighs.
Her hands went numb, as if she’d just been shot with a local anesthetic. She attempted to wiggle her fingers, but they remained cemented to the files she clutched to her chest.
He lifted his hand and waved to her. “Come on in.”
For a brief millisecond her feet wouldn’t move. She didn’t want to sit at his desk. The image of sitting on it kept elbowing to the front of her thoughts. But she couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to ask him to move to the table.
Reluctantly she stepped inside, trying to keep her eyes focused on anything other than Logan Moore and those lips that, just last night, had been planted firmly between her—
Another clench between the legs told her to calm down and let it go. She was a professional. She hadn’t made it to where she was by lusting over something as silly as a few open shirt buttons.
She picked up her pace and casually took a seat across from him. She just wouldn’t look at him. They were here to discuss her ad campaign, not to gaze into each other’s eyes.
Without a word of greeting, she dropped the folders onto the desk and opened the first. She pulled the now sweaty pen from her left hand and flipped open her notebook preparing to get down to business.
“So this is what we’ve got,” she said. “I think Tyndale is going to like these ads.”
“Good afternoon to you, too, Trisha.”
She slowly brought her eyes from the ads to his face. His mouth was cocked in a half-smile, she could swear his gaze had just been planted on her chest, and when their eyes locked, a bolt of lightning shot through her, curling her toes.
Don’t look at his eyes.
She quickly glanced to his hair and those dark, wavy curls that she’d had her fingers threaded through on a number of imaginary occasions.
Hair, bad.
She shot her eyes down to his chest.
No, not the chest.
His ear, she could focus on his ear, she thought, before remembering she’d nibbled on it last Tuesday.
As her eyes shot around his features like a pinball, she realized she was sinking without a net. She needed to pull it together. She quickly glanced at the bronze Remington statue that stood on the credenza behind him. A team of wild horses. How fitting. She’d need a team of horses to jolt the lust from her head.
“You’re always business, aren’t you, Trisha?”
Her eyes met his as she mentally slapped herself in the face. It was time to act like a grown woman, like a company director who was supposedly slated for a VP position at the prestigious Moore Agency. And if she wanted that spot, she was going to have to prove to herself that she could overcome this lust for her boss and act maturely instead of being some sort of flustered teenager.
She cleared her throat, took a deep breath and began acting like a woman who belonged in the business world.
“I’m just excited about this campaign. I think we’ll get the contract. We’ve come up with some ideas that match the tone of the resorts and the image Marc Tyndale wants to portray. You’ll be impressed.”
He glanced down to the files. “I’m always impressed when it comes to you.”
Not helping.
“I appreciate that.”
With his elbows propped on the armrests, he laced his fingers together and tilted back his chair, relaxed, casual and entirely sexy. His movement caused a light breeze of his aftershave to sweep up her nose, sending another intoxicating wave of heat through her midsection.
“I only have one problem when it comes to you, Trisha.”
That iced her down and grabbed her attention.
She studied him, waiting for an explanation.
His brief grin let her know he’d noticed the look of concern on her face. “Trisha, you work too hard. There’s only a couple nights a week you leave here on time.”
Those would be the nights she cut out to have imaginary sex with her boss.
He pulled up his chair and leaned his arms on the desk, moving a little too close for her comfort.
“What I’m getting at is, I don’t want to be responsible for ruining your personal life.”
Too late.
“If
