guess he could spare a moment or two.
“So, you’re a producer, Ms. Quinn?” he asked.
“For a show I approved last week,” his father interjected as Ms. Quinn’s hand fell away. “Haven’t had a chance to speak with you about it yet.”
Cole asked, “What kind of show?”
“A holiday getaway program,” Taryn Quinn said.
Out of the corner of his eye, Cole caught Guthrie fiddling with his platinum watchband the way he did whenever he felt uncomfortable. And rightly so. The last holiday series Hunter Broadcasting had piloted died a quick and deserved death. In these tough economic times, if viewers were to swallow yet another “best destinations” show, the promise would need to deliver fresh sparks week after week.
And what about the exorbitant budgets? Sponsors could pull down costs but, since the global financial crisis, any collaboration was a squeeze. Despite her obvious allure, if the decision had been his, Cole would’ve given Ms. Quinn’s idea the thumbs-down before she’d cleared the gate.
Another mess he’d need to clean up.
From behind her desk, Guthrie’s receptionist interrupted.
“Mr. Hunter, you asked to know if Rod Walker from Hallowed Productions called.”
Thoughtful, Guthrie stroked his chin before heading back toward his office. He paused beneath the lintel of that massive doorway.
“Taryn, I’ll drop by and touch base soon. In the meantime …” His focus swung back to his son. “Cole, I’ve allocated Ms. Quinn the office next to Roman Lyons. Do me a favor.”
Cole thrust both fists into his trouser pockets. He guessed the favor. No way would he raise his hand.
“I have a meeting—”
“First, see that Taryn’s settled.” Guthrie’s light expression held while his voice lowered to a steely tone Cole knew well. “Your meeting will wait.”
Taryn nodded her thanks to Guthrie Hunter then turned to his Hollywood-attractive son. Her jaw tightened even as her heart beat a thousand miles a minute. How women must melt at Cole Hunter’s feet. How they must dream of his smile.
“Your father’s a considerate man,” she said as Guthrie’s towering doors clicked shut, “but if you’re busy, please don’t let me keep you.”
When she resumed her seat, crossed her legs and reached for a magazine, rather than run with the offer, Cole Hunter remained rooted to the spot, and for so long Taryn began to wonder whether he’d expected a curtsy before heading out.
Her gaze crept up from the fashion section.
In that rich graveled voice that made her stomach muscles flutter, he explained, “I can’t put this meeting back.”
“Oh, I understand.”
She sent a quick smile he didn’t return. Rather, the crease between the dark slashes of his brows deepened. “My father shouldn’t be long. Rod Walker’s a busy man, too.”
Taryn nodded affably, recrossed her legs, and the magazine took her attention again. But as she flipped to the gossip pages, she was aware of the younger Mr. Hunter checking his wristwatch then shaking his jacket sleeve back down.
“My guest’s flying back to Melbourne at midday,” he went on. “We don’t have much time.”
Glancing back up, she cocked her head and blinked. “Then you’d best hurry.”
Cole Hunter wasn’t hard to work out. Foremost, he was get-out-of-my-way ambitious, which she understood. Nothing compared with the buzz of landing on top, achieving a true sense of financial and personal security. She’d grown up with an aunt. One of Vi’s favorite sayings was, At every turn, in every way, invest in yourself, which meant achieving a good education, grabbing regular exercise, staying loyal to friends and, wherever possible, dodging “trouble.” Which brought Taryn to Cole Hunter’s second quality.
Clearly, he was an intensely sexual being and, for whatever reason, she had piqued his interest. The testosterone pumping through his veins, darkening those ocean-green eyes to a storm, was as tangible as the breadth of his chest or square set of his jaw. The man exuded a masculine energy that stroked Taryn’s skin and stirred a delicious aching heat low in her belly.
Understanding these things about Cole Hunter was the reason for her reservation now. She didn’t care who he was, what he thought of himself, how many women he’d bedded, with how much skill or how little effort. Certainly she wouldn’t be rude, but Guthrie Hunter had hired her and no matter how knee-knockingly sexy, if the son was ambivalent, hell, she’d survive.
As she held her honest-you-can-leave look, Cole shifted his weight and those incredible eyes narrowed as if he were now seeing her in a somewhat different light.
“Actually,” he finally said, “that office next to Roman’s is on my way.” When she opened her mouth to decline, he overrode her. “I insist.”
He extended and continued to offer his hand until, knowing she was cornered, Taryn accepted. As expected, the same fiery trail that had flown up her arm the first time they’d touched sparked again—not that she let any hint of the rush dent her poise. She made certain her eyes didn’t widen, that her breath didn’t hitch. And yet the satisfied grin smoldering in Cole’s eyes said that he knew what she felt because he felt it, too.
As they moved toward the building’s main thoroughfare side by side, she imagined Aunt Vi holding up her hands in warning and shaking her head. Taryn agreed. Cole Hunter was one of those “trouble” spots. Hotheaded, superior, radiating sex appeal like a supernova gave off light and heat.
Thank God they wouldn’t be working together.
Two
“Guthrie would’ve mentioned we’ll be working together.”
When his statement received no reply, Cole wasn’t entirely surprised. Taryn Quinn was attractive and charming. She was also aloof. Mysterious. As they walked together down the eastern wing of the Hunter Broadcasting building, Cole admitted he was intrigued, as his father knew he would be.
Rod Walker’s call was an excuse Guthrie had pounced upon to bring his son and new producer together, despite the fact that Cole was, one, hard-pressed for time and, two, obviously opposed to investing in Ms. Quinn’s proposal. Money was too darn tight and Guthrie knew it. But when she’d seemed so indifferent toward him—sitting there demurely with those shapely legs crossed, engrossed in that glossy magazine—blast it, he’d been intrigued all the more. Against better judgment, he’d decided to escort Taryn to her office and see if he couldn’t prick that haughty shell.
So far, no good.
Passing an interested group of employees, and still awaiting a response, Cole risked a glance. Taryn was staring at him as if he’d announced science had proven that the moon was indeed made of green cheese. Perhaps she was hard of hearing.
He spoke louder. “I said as long as you’re with Hunter Broadcasting, you’ll be working
