The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

“Jane…”

Her smile lost some of its wattage as she crossed her arms and popped out one hip, the move emphasizing the fullness of her tits and the soft curve of her waist. His brain fizzled—a condition he was beginning to worry wouldn’t fix itself as long as he kept wondering what the exposed bare expanse of her stomach would feel like under his fingers.

“Clover,” she said.

“Yes, Clover,” he said, trying to restart the synapses in his brain, which was a lot easier said than done when he was this close to her. “Did you need some more time to finish getting ready?”

The words—obviously a desperate plea from his subconscious—were out before he could stop them and hung in the air like a half-deflated balloon.

“I am ready,” she replied, her tone a few degrees warmer than ice cream. “Why? Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“Yes. No. It’s…” Sexy as hell. “Different.”

There went her chin. “So am I.”

“This isn’t exactly an event for different.” Shut up, Carlyle. Shut the fuck up.

Her brown eyes narrowed, a

nd she let out an angry little hurumph. “Then I guess you don’t need me.”

With that declaration, she spun around, giving him a perfect view of the skirt clinging to her ass—which he shouldn’t be noticing—as she marched back toward the stairs leading to her door. He’d already fucked this up enough as it was. Everyone knew he wasn’t the charming Carlyle, that was Hudson. Sawyer was the asshole Carlyle, and he’d just proven it by letting his prick do the thinking and then acting like one when he was talking.

He hustled a few steps forward and caught her elbow before she got any farther away, trying his best to ignore the jolt of electricity that went straight to his cock. “Please don’t.”

Yanking her arm out of his loose grasp, she rounded on him—fire in her eyes and something that looked a lot like hurt shimmering underneath. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” As long as it wasn’t him making a public ass of himself, he was totally on board.

“Don’t complain about what I wear,” she said, her voice tight and a little higher than normal. “It’s not like most people who specialize in temp jobs have closets full of ball gowns and formal dresses.”

You are a privileged douchebag, Carlyle. All those details he’d missed before came into focus. The anxious thrum of her pulse in her neck. The way her bottom lip was slightly swollen, no doubt from nervous nibbling. The way she fiddled with the skirt as if she wasn’t used to wearing it or it didn’t feel quite like her. The whole mind-blowing look he had taken in at first glance, but per usual he missed the details and the little tics that clued him in about the emotions simmering underneath.

After his dad’s unexpected death, he’d compensated for this massive shortcoming by being extra careful with his mom, never rocking the boat when it came to her. That’s what had gotten him into this mess where he needed a personal buffer. There had to be some middle ground between the forest and the trees, but damned if he knew—or had ever known—where it was.

“You’re right,” he said, meaning every word. “I’m sorry.”

Accepting his apology with a stiff nod, she strode past him to where Linus held the car door open. “Shall we go?”

Without waiting for his answer, she slid into the backseat of the Town Car. He followed behind, ignoring the clear look of disappointment in Linus’s eyes that even Sawyer couldn’t miss. The driver had known him since he was a kid and had watched him grow up in the backseat of his dad’s car as often as he could persuade the old man into taking him into the office. His dad used to say that there was no better sounding board than Linus. For his part, Linus said he just knew how to “uh-huh” at the right times.

The door clicked shut behind Sawyer, and he found himself sitting almost knee to knee with Clover. He needed to say something—anything—but once again the Carlyle charm fizzled out when it came to Sawyer, so he clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way the entire trip to The Grand Hotel.

Somewhere out there, Hudson was laughing his ass off. And his mom? God, he couldn’t wait to see what her reaction would be to seeing Clover on his arm.

Chapter Four

To be honest, Clover’s first high-society gala was kind of a disappointment. None of the women were dripping in diamonds or draped in fur—too gauche no doubt. The men in tuxedos were more balding-banker types than spies-who-liked-their-martinis-shaken-not-stirred. Everyone was very polite and very not interested in talking to her once it made the rounds that she wasn’t one of the East Upton Lees who counted most of the country’s oil refineries in their portfolio, but just a regular Lee from little ol’ Sparksville.

Even Helene had kept her distance, holding court on the opposite end of the enormous ballroom surrounded by a trio of obvious bride candidates who couldn’t keep their eyes off Sawyer. Not that he seemed to notice. Nope. He’d spent the last hour looking to-die-for hot in his tux while either sexy-glowering at her (it’s apparently a thing) or on his phone as he talked business. It wasn’t fair. No one should be that hot and that annoying at the same time. Not that it mattered. She was here as Sawyer’s buffer not his date. It was best—if not particularly easy—to remember that when he was looking all 007.

Even worse? At the moment, she was about as useful and necessary as a bike to a fish, which meant she was thoroughly and completely bored. Plus, her feet hurt in the kill-me-now heels she’d borrowed. Shifting her weight, she snuck one foot out of her heel and stretched her toes under the cover of the floor-length skirt. Her foot did everything but sing the Hallelujah Chorus in gratitude at being set free from its narrow prison.

Of course, that’s when a man appeared out of nowhere by her side, startling her and sending her awkwardly wobbling on her one foot that was still in a shoe.

His hand shot out to steady her, releasing her almost as fast as he’d saved her from tumbling over. “You don’t have to confirm it, but I can tell,” he said, leaning in conspiratorially. “Your date’s a dud.”

“It’s not a date.” The truth came out before she could think better. Sigh. When would she learn to just keep her mouth shut? Sawyer had been so tight-lipped in the car, she didn’t know what cover story—if any—he wanted her to use.