The Negotiator (Harbor City 1)

Before she could get any further in her often tried, and often failed, begging-for-her-job presentation (she really needed PowerPoint slides at this point), the ding-dong-ding of a xylophone sounded.

“Everyone, if I could have your attention.” Helene Carlyle stood on a small dais, looking at ease in that regal way that people who grew up with old money always seemed to have. “My son, Sawyer Carlyle, would like to say a few words in appreciation of Harbor City General’s amazing staff and all the great work they do there that you good people are helping to fund by being here tonight. Sawyer…?” She looked around as if she didn’t already know where her son was. Clover didn’t buy it for a minute. “Please join me on stage and afterward, I know Cecilia Dowers of the Chicago Dowers would like ten minutes with you, dear.”

Everyone in their vicinity turned to look at them, but Sawyer was still only looking at Clover.

He dipped his head down so his lips nearly brushed her ear. “We’ll finish this later.”

Then, he lifted her hand, flipped it over, and placed a searing kiss in the center of her palm before striding to the front of the ballroom while Clover fought tooth and nail not to melt into a puddle in front of Harbor City’s elite.

…

Walking through the crowd to the raised platform at the other end of the ballroom, Sawyer tried to remember the last time he’d had his ass handed to him on a silver platter that matched the spoon he’d been born with and came up blank. He definitely couldn’t remember a time when he’d enjoyed it quite that much.

Seeing Clover with righteous fury turning her cheeks pink and making her eyes sparkle as she stood there in that teasing slip of a top had been a clarion call to his cock—so much so that this walk across the room was a little more bowlegged than normal.

She was pissed and she didn’t back down from it. Even his mom chose well-meaning, if totally deranged manipulation, over direct attack. It wasn’t their way to face things with so much open emotion or derision. Good or bad, they all danced around the topic. He could have a giant glob of mustard on his chin dripping a river down onto his tie and no one would have said anything beyond that he might want to excuse himself for a minute. If they wouldn’t be straightforward to help him, they sure as hell wouldn’t call him out when he was acting like an ass.

But Clover? There were bulldozers that would have a harder time flattening someone. That woman did not hold back. She was everything the women—including tonight’s candidate, Cecilia Dowers—that his mother was throwing at him were not.

The idea smacked him right between the eyes and by the time he climbed the three steps to the top of the dais, he knew exactly what he was going to do next. The anticipation of Clover’s reaction was almost as enticing as his mother’s.

He squeezed past the band leader and took the mic from his mother, ignoring the speculation gleaming in her eyes. Oh yes, she’d been watching him with Clover and had timed this little announcement to perfection.

“Thank you

, Mother, and thank you to everyone here. I don’t need to tell anyone about the amazing work that Harbor General does. Our family’s biggest hope is that, with the addition of the Michael Carlyle Cardiac Wing, they will be able to continue to do what they do best—save lives.” He paused as the crowd clapped on cue, most of them probably only listening with half an ear. “But that’s not the only announcement I have to make tonight. In addition to celebrating the opening of the new cardiac wing, I have news of another kind of matter of the heart.” The silence after that line had a different feel to it. Everyone here might play at polite, but the uber rich loved gossip almost as much as they enjoyed caviar and champagne—and they’d been watching his mother’s Marry Off Sawyer campaign like they monitored their stock dividend results. “I’d like to introduce you all to my fiancée, Miss Clover Lee.”

As if controlled by an unseeing hand, the crowd turned to look at Clover still standing in the middle of the dance floor, and then everyone started talking at once. Clover stretched a wide smile across her face, clearly as excited as he to everyone in the room, but Sawyer could see the daggers she was shooting him from her eyes. He was going to pay for this later. Why did that bring an answering smile to his face? Out of the corner of his eye he spotted his mother. Unlike the others, she wasn’t looking at Clover. She was looking straight at him, shocked disbelief shining in her eyes for a moment before years of training took precedence and a placid look took its place.

She couldn’t call him out. She couldn’t keep pushing her candidates at him. As long as his new fiancée was in the picture, he was free to attend to the big picture of Carlyle Enterprises and Helene knew it. For her to do anything else wouldn’t be the Harbor City elite way. Mission accomplished.

Now all he had to do was manage the minor detail of getting Clover to agree to an adjustment in her job duties.

Chapter Five

Clover was finally going to learn how to fold a fitted sheet. Of course, she was going to gain that skill in the prison laundry after she killed Sawyer. She hadn’t agreed to lie to the entire world—and even if she had, the pompous ass should have given her a heads up first that it was coming.

The Prince of Carlyle Enterprises didn’t seem to realize that though, judging by his shameless grin as he accepted congratulatory pats on the back while making his way through the crowd. By the time he finally got to her, 90 percent of Harbor City’s one percenters had shaken his hand—with one glaring exception. Helene Carlyle had stayed back on the dais, armed with a barely touched glass of champagne and an assessing look directed at Clover. Before she could translate the look in the other woman’s eyes, the man they had in common stopped in front of her and the band started up again.

Playing the good fiancée, she sparkled up her smile and hooked her arm through the crook of Sawyer’s elbow before raising herself up on the tippy toes of her torture device shoes. “We need to talk. Now.”

She had to give him credit, Sawyer didn’t hesitate in dancing with her, right out of the ballroom. He took a quick left, followed by a right, and then opened up an unmarked door and pulled her inside. In the dim light filtering under the door, she took stock of shelves, filled with toilet paper, towels, tiny hotel soaps, and mini shampoo bottles, lining the walls of the space barely big enough for the two of them. Considering he’d found his way here as easily as a kid in a fairy tale following a breadcrumb trail, it didn’t take a huge leap of logic to realize he’d been in here before.

The fun answer as to why would be this was where Sawyer took his dates for some hot are-we-going-to-get-caught public sex. The real answer was probably more along the lines of him seeking out privacy for another of his never-ending business calls. Mr. Adventure, he was not.

She walked the three-step length of the supply closet before whirling around to face him—arms crossed and unimpressed expression in place—determined not to be the one to crack first. He’d tried that silent negotiating thing with her in his office earlier today. Little did he know that she’d honed her skills in the Turkish bazaars. He was way out of his depth.

“You’re pissed.” He held up his hands, palms forward.

Ding. Ding. Ding. “You think?”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s just a minor detail.”

“A minor detail? Are you nuts?” He had to be. How else could he talk to her in such a calm tone about an insane idea? “This is not what I signed up for. I’m not lying to everyone I know for you.”

“Don’t think of it as a lie,” he said, leaning back against the door and blocking off the one exit. “Think of it as a temporary truth.”

“You’re certifiable.” He had to be. A fake engagement to one of the most eligible bachelor’s in Harbor City so he could avoid his mom’s matchmaking attempts? Now that was an adventure to write home about. Not that she could because of…all the reasons in the world. It was hard to come up with a specific one when he was standing so close, smelling so good, and looking so much better than even the sexiest paparazzi photo. “Anyway, it’s not part of my job duties.”