ended up being turned down by a bagman on the street before she resorted to asking Richard.
He said yes. And something happened that night. He stood by her side the entire evening—well, except for the Aunt Edna tango. Even when her younger sisters tried to lure him onto the dance floor, he resisted. He danced every dance with her, held her tightly in his arms and whispered jokes into her ear so that she would smile in the face of such familial scrutiny. He was sweet, caring, funny and he made her feel like the only woman alive. Most importantly, he saved her from the final humiliation of having to stand in front of the room and not catch the bouquet.
He’d been her hero that night.
And because of it, something had changed between them.
She didn’t really have a name for it. Lately, she found herself looking at him differently. It was suddenly easier to see beyond the moody genius with the colossal ego and ridiculous demands to the considerate guy hidden beneath. She didn’t mind the long hours or the occasional working weekend. And when he ordered in dinner for them and they talked late into the night, it felt…nice. Even a little warm and fuzzy.
A total turnaround from the beginning of their relationship. There had been no warm and fuzzy feelings when they’d started working together. He’d been rude, arrogant and impossible to deal with. Only the fact that she’d managed to match him in wits kept her coming back for more. She also admired his ambition. She’d known even then that if she stuck with him, he could take her as far as she wanted to go in advertising. She didn’t have his creativity, but she made up for it with business savvy. Together, they were an unstoppable team at V.I.P.
Since the wedding, she had been wondering what was behind his unflappable drive. Why did he need to work so hard to get to the top? What was he trying to prove and to whom? The wedding had opened her eyes to Richard the man, rather than Richard the employer, adversary and sometimes friend.
She wasn’t exactly sure that she liked having her eyes opened. In fact, she was sort of hoping that they would close again real soon. Because one thing was for certain, under no circumstances would she do something so ridiculously cliché as falling for the boss.
Not her.
No way.
Wasn’t going to happen.
Except that now, every time he barked an order, she remembered how he’d gotten her the last piece of dark chocolate off the dessert tray. Every time he crashed after he convinced himself that his storyboards were horrible—which they never were—she found herself wanting to pat his head and tell him that everything was going to be all right. And every time he raised his arms in victory and called her into his office so that she could tell him what a genius he was, she remembered how he’d put all that ego aside and made her the focus for one night.
He’d told her parents how amazing her work was and how, when he did leave to start his own ad agency, she was the only one he wanted to come with him. He’d said that he couldn’t succeed without her.
And he’d meant it. The bastard!
One lousy night and suddenly she found herself doing the strangest things, like fussing with her appearance. Something she never did. Her sisters had taught her at a very early age that she was never going to be as pretty as they were so there was really no point in trying. Bridget agreed. In fact, she’d gone so far as to rebel against makeup, styling products and all beauty accoutrements. She preferred looking like herself and not some made-up version of herself with too much eye shadow. And in doing so, she felt that she was making a personal stand for inner beauty in women everywhere.
Not to mention it saving her a lot of money.
Until now. These days she wore perfume to the office and tried to style her long, straight hair rather than wearing it in a bun every day. Not that Richard had noticed any of it. Heck, he didn’t even think she would make the cut on his stupid show.
Wouldn’t that show him if she did make the cut? What would he think then?
The fact that she shouldn’t care so much what he thought didn’t enter into Bridget’s thought process at the moment. Instead she realized that making it to the second round of his stupid show might just prove to him and the world that she was, in fact, a woman.
A desirable woman, if not a spectacularly beautiful one.
Bridget’s mind raced with the possibilities. If she could somehow manage to get close to Brock and dazzle him with her keen wit and natural charm, maybe she could convince him to keep her around for a while. Maybe he might actually fall for her and then Richard would be forced to acknowledge that it was possible for other men to find her attractive.
The seeds of a plan sprung deep in her cortex. All she had to do was attract Brock’s attention.
Bridget turned her gaze to where he stood amongst five of the bevy of beauties. He was flexing his bicep. They giggled, he smiled, and Bridget wanted to puke. Okay, maybe he wasn’t her type. Still, all she had to do was get close enough to talk with him, maybe make him laugh, and she might have a shot.
If that didn’t work, she could always try bribing him. It would be worth anything, if for no other reason than to see Richard eat his words.
“I’ll do it,” she finally announced.
“Really?” he asked, clearly astonished. “I thought you were going to make me do a lot more begging and pleading. All of which, I have to admit, I was willing to do.”
“Not so fast,” she said. “My surrender comes at a price. There is a condition.”
“Damn, I knew that was too easy,” he cursed under his breath. “Okay, let me have it. What do you want?”
“Christmas is coming up in a few months…”
“Oh, no.”
“How many minutes before we go live?”
Her smile was sweet, albeit sinful, and his eyes narrowed as he pantomimed rolling up his sleeves. It’s not as if he didn’t know who he was messing with when he began this particular game. He knew exactly what she was playing for, and considering the stakes, he was willing to negotiate. “One day.”
“Two.”
“A day and a half.”
“Christmas Eve dinner, Midnight Mass and brunch the following morning, all in the presence of my family.”
She was going for the gusto. But so was he. “Fine.”
“And you have to buy me a present.”
“Evil,” he whispered.
“It’s a little game I like to play called hardball, Richard. You should know it, you’re the one who taught me how to play.”
“Agreed. Now, let’s try and do something with you.” Richard scanned the contestants. He remembered from their résumés that one of them was a makeup artist who worked in a salon. “Rachel,” he called to one of the girls and motioned her to come over.
A buxom, blue-eyed blonde stood and made her way toward them in a hip-swaying walk that drew the attention of every man in the room. “It’s Raquel,” the woman said in a perfect
