The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

“It’s Harbor City.” Her pointed chin went up an inch. “It’s an expensive place, and this is a twenty-four hour, seven days a week demanding job—your ad said so.”

Mark that as another reason to smack Hudson upside the head. “Why a month and a half?”

“I have a prior commitment,” she said.

“Looking at your resume, it could be anything from a golf ball diver to a mattress tester.” His cock gave a happy twitch at the mental image of her out of that hideous suit and spread out on his king-size bed. Why had his brain gone there? Because it wasn’t your brain thinking, dumbass.

Her smile grew until she practically radiated sunshine. “I’m leaving for Australia.”

“What’s in Australia?” And why the hell did he want to know? If he kept getting distracted and couldn’t come up with a plan to submarine his mom’s marriage schemes, then he needed to reevaluate his negotiating abilities.

“Endangered Rock Wallabies,” she responded as if that answered anything.

A thousand more questions popped to the forefront, but becoming fascinated by his personal buffer was not on the agenda. “Five thousand.”

Her smile changed. It didn’t dim with disappointment, it developed an unexpected mercenary edge. “Nine point five.”

Silence was a negotiator’s best weapon and he unsheathed it, wielding it with the ease of years of practice. Most people broke only a minute or two in. The soundlessness made most nervous, it made the doubts in their heads louder. But once again, Clover proved she wasn’t most people. She sat straight in the steel-gray club chair across from his desk, her hands folded in her lap and her legs crossed at the ankle. Put her in different clothes and she’d look like a debutante sitting for her portrait, confident she was about to take over the world.

Clover leaned forward as though about to speak, and Sawyer knew he had her. She’d probably counter at seven and they’d end at $5,500. Not too bad a price to pay for someone capable of keeping his mom at bay.

“I can see working with you is going to be very demanding and, after meeting your mother, a serious challenge. Twelve.” One side of her mouth lifted, and he had the gut-sinking suspicion that he’d just walked into a trap. “Final offer.”

What the…?

Sawyer couldn’t remember the last time someone had surprised him in a negotiation. Or won. Doubling down, he leaned forward and placed his elbows on the desk. No way was he going to lose. She had to be bluffing. “Six thousand. Final offer.”

She let out a lengthy sigh and stood up. “And now you’re showing that you’re just as difficult to work with as your mother. Fifteen thousand or you’d better get used to boring lunches discussing the latest fashions.”

Sawyer blinked. And for the first time ever, he had no idea how to respond in a negotiation. Maybe she actually would be worth the money if she maneuvered his mother as expertly as she bargained. She started to reach for her purse as though to leave, and he knew he’d lost. “Sit down, Ms. Lee. I believe we have a deal.”

“Agreed.” A self-satisfied smile tipped her lips upward as she sat back down. “One last thing, I’ll need to be an independent contractor not an employee.”

“Why?” he asked before he could stop himself, still trying to catch up to the fact that he’d just been out-negotiated by a woman who’d earned a living bouncing from one ridiculous job to another.

Her steady gaze skittered away to the left before snapping back to him. “I don’t like being tied down.”

A lie or too much of the truth? It shouldn’t matter, but for some reason it did. “That explains your resume.”

Up went her stubborn chin. “Is there a document outlining my job duties?”

“There will be.” With a few taps and swipes on his monitor, he opened up a new document and then pulled out the shelf hidden into the frame of his desk where he kept his wireless keyboard. “Obviously you’ll need to be available 24/7.” He typed it out in bullet points. Fast. Efficient. Concise. “When you’re not acting as my buffer, you can help Amara with overflow work.”

“Why do you need a buffer?” she asked, grabbing the heavy chair by its arms and scooting it closer while she was still sitting in it. “Is your mom really that bad?”

His fingers faltered for a second and his mind went blank before the ingrained training fell into place. The first lesson in growing up as one of Harbor City’s elite was that no one talked openly about anything that could even tangentially be considered unpleasant.

“No.” He resumed typing out office tasks such as data backups and scheduling. “She’s wonderful. She’s just a little obsessed with marrying me off.”

Why did he say that? What was going to come out next? That his first crush had been his brother’s math tutor?

Clover leaned in close, as if exchanging this kind of personal information was the same as asking about the weather. “And you’re not the marrying kind?”

He pulled at his tie, his collar suddenly tighter than it had been a few minutes ago. “No. I’m the working kind.” Glancing down at her resume, her international experience caught his attention. “Do you speak other languages?”

She nodded, gliding her fingers across his bare desk as if she was unconsciously searching for something to fidget with. “I can speak Spanish, French, passable Mandarin, passable Thai, and Malay.”

A lightbulb went off. “As in the Malay spoken in Singapore?”