my entire presentation and you are going to seriously consider my offer.’
Ross flopped back into the sand and groaned loudly. Gorgeous and pushy...why was life punishing him like this?
* * *
She’d arrived in Cape Town yesterday and so far she’d kissed a hot man, had a swim in the Indian Ocean and spent some time in the sun, Ally thought, walking from her hotel room to the lift. That was more excitement than she’d had all year.
Catching a glimpse of her reflection in the lift doors, she nodded her head at her professional look. She felt a great deal more confident in a short flared skirt and ruffled white top; talking to Ross in that tiny bikini—the only one in her size in the hotel shop—had made her feel self-conscious and far too exposed. She’d caught the glances he gave her and been very glad she’d recently hit the salon for her monthly waxing and defoliating session. Imagine sitting there with hairy legs, fuzzy underarms and an untidy crotch—how mortifying that would have been! Ally felt herself blush and told herself not be ridiculous.
Business, Jones. Try to act professional, you moron.
Ally rolled her shoulders... It was back to business now and she would be all and only business. Ross had reluctantly agreed to take her back to RBM, where he would listen to her whole proposal for the campaign, sit through her presentation and seriously consider Bellechier’s offer. She didn’t know if his about-face was because he was embarrassed about his behaviour last night or because he’d rethought his position, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was that she’d got a second chance to do her job—a job that she was good at—and that after this meeting she’d be able to go home to Geneva and tell Luc that she’d given it her best shot.
If Ross said no she could go on to the next candidate feeling utterly guilt-free—she’d tried. Luc would be disappointed—and that sucked—but he wasn’t unfair. He knew that there were some horses—asses?—that were too ornery and too stubborn to drink when they were led to water.
Ally stepped out of the lift and her heart bumped when she saw Ross standing by the indoor fountain. His black shorts hit his knee and he wore a checked orange and white button-down shirt over a white T-shirt. He hadn’t shaved. She suspected that he left his beard to grow for days until it started to annoy him and then he shaved again. She wondered what he’d look like in a suit and tie. Gorgeous, she decided. He had that tall, broad-shouldered, slim-hipped frame that would make a hessian sack look good.
Ross turned as she approached him and immediately took her laptop bag off her shoulder and gripped it in his hand. Lazy eyes started at the tips of her feet and ended on her face.
‘I really, really prefer the bikini, Jones.’
Ally twisted her lips in annoyance but her skin flushed with pleasure. ‘Can you at least try to be businesslike, Bennett?’
‘But it’s so much more fun making you blush.’ Ross placed his hand on her lower back to guide her to the lifts that would take them to the underground parking lot and Ally sucked in her breath at his touch.
Concentrate, Alyssa.
‘Are you always this serious, Jones? Do you ever cut loose, have some fun?’
No, but she’d never tell him that, she thought as Ross jabbed the button of the lift.
‘Well, do you?’ Ross pressed.
‘Of course I do,’ Ally lied. ‘All the time. I work hard but I play harder.’
Ross’s thick eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Really? And how, pray tell, do you cut loose?’
Damn, Ally thought, thinking fast. ‘I dance. Latin American mostly.’ It wasn’t a complete lie—more like a very stretched-out truth. She had taken dance classes when she was a teenager and she’d been pretty good. Until her dance partner had declared that he couldn’t dance with someone who couldn’t communicate and had dumped her for a tall redhead who never shut up.
‘Okay, dance. What else?’ Ross said as they stepped into the open lift.
Okay, now she had to flat-out lie so that he didn’t realise that she did nothing but work. She fiddled with her watch and thought hard. Dammit, what did normal people do?
‘I go clubbing, meet friends for supper, go to the theatre. Movies.’
‘What was the last movie you saw?’ Ross leaned his shoulder into the wall of the lift, half smiling.
‘Why are you interrogating me?’ Ally demanded.
‘Why are you lying to me?’ Ross countered.
‘And why would you think I’m lying?’
‘Because a person who sends e-mail messages at ten-thirty on a Saturday night and leaves voice messages with me on a Sunday morning, Sunday evening and at nine p.m. on Tuesday night does not have a rocking social life. She might even be a bit work-obsessed. And...hmm...who was that person?’ The lift doors opened with a ping and Ross grinned. ‘Oh, wait! That was you. So what was the last movie you saw, Jones?’
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