‘Are you wasting my time, Miss Beckett?’
Irritation rushed up her spine. ‘With respect, you insisted on this meeting. Granted, I’m curious to find out just what this proposition is, but I hadn’t realised how late it was—’
‘And suddenly you need to be somewhere else? You have someone waiting for you, perhaps? Boyfriend?’ His gaze dropped to the hand curled into her lap. ‘Husband?’
The word held a sneer that stiffened her back, and again she caught that look in his eyes. As if he held her far below his normal regard.
Puzzlement and that growing irritation made her frown. ‘That really isn’t your business, is it, Mr Aguilar? Are you in the habit of interrogating your potential business colleagues like this? It is business you intend to discuss with me, isn’t it? If not, then I suggest you let me out right now—because I wouldn’t want to waste more of your time!’
His jaw flexed for a second before his expression turned neutral. Eyes that had been mocking and mildly amused became opaque. ‘It is a business proposition. If you need to be elsewhere, then so be it. But will you be able to live with yourself if you don’t find out whether this is an opportunity you want to miss or not?’
There was a taunt in those words. There was also a look in his eyes as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no.
‘Does that line usually work for you?’
A sculpted eyebrow went up. ‘What line?’
‘The “do things my way or you’ll kick yourself for ever” scam?’
He gave a half-sigh, half an irritated huff. ‘I grow tired of this vacillating. You have one minute to say yes or no. Starting right now.’
He had the temerity to stare pointedly at his watch.
Dear God, she really had fallen down a rabbit hole! She thought she’d hit bottom with the sleazy proposition from that casting director this afternoon. It still made her skin crawl. But had she merely fallen into another dimension? One where the person making a proposition wasn’t even certain whether he wanted his offer accepted or not, but went ahead and dared her to consider it anyway?
About to shake her head to clear it, she saw his eyes sharpen.
‘Make up your mind, Miss Beckett. We’re here.’
Goldie looked out of her window. Sure enough, they’d pulled up in front of one of those flashy-looking high-rises that dotted the Manhattan skyline. This one came complete with liveried doorman, shiny awning, and a uniformed concierge behind an imposing reception desk.
She redirected her attention to the man whose posture held more than a whiff of impatience and arrogance. ‘Twenty minutes. That’s all I have.’
His mouth thinned. ‘We shall see.’
About to ask him what he meant, she found her words choked off when he opened his door and alighted, then turned to hold out his hand.
She didn’t want to touch him. Not after the way it had felt the last time. And because she didn’t want to let go
of the tear in her top that showed half her boob. She shifted along the seat, and was debating how to exit with as much dignity as she could muster when he reached in and scooped her out as if she weighed nothing.
‘What are you— Put me down!’ she spluttered, outrage filling her as he marched her through the double doors being held open by the doorman and into a waiting lift.
He set her down and immediately the doors slid shut. The whole thing had happened in less than two minutes, and yet Goldie felt as if she’d just experienced the headiest, longest rollercoaster ride of her life. Impressions of heat, masculine scent, tensile strength, strong capable arms and...absurdly...above all, safety, buffeted her as she stared at him in astonishment from her side of the lift space.
Once he’d pressed the button for the penthouse he stepped back with a cool look. ‘You said twenty minutes. I wasn’t about to have the time eaten away while you decided which leg to use to exit the car.’
‘My God, you’re insane!’ Or maybe she was. She hadn’t been given the chance to dissect things properly yet.
His jaw flexed and his hands were rammed into his pockets. ‘Far from it, querida. Someone has to remain rational in what is fast turning into a farce. Tell me—do you always make a huge production out of every small decision?’
‘You don’t know me well enough to label me a drama queen, Mr Aguilar.’
Suddenly the air in the lift thickened. The glance he levelled at her held the heavy weight of judgement. ‘I’ve seen enough to reach a conclusion, I think.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she countered.
One hand emerged from his pocket long enough to wave her away. ‘We will not waste time discussing inconsequential subjects.’