Can't Buy Me Love (4 page)

 Meg shut her eyes. She was in dangerous territory, alone in paradise with Cole. She couldn’t succumb to this desire now—not when she managed to repress these feelings for nearly three years. Not if she wanted to succeed. And not if she wanted any semblance of a happy life.

The Big Three on Meg’s compatibility list were anathema to Cole: family, monogamy, and lifelong commitment. Sexy? Yes. Brilliant? Of course. But dateable? Most definitely not and for a multitude of reasons, not least was one she mustn’t ever forget—Cole Jackson was her
boss
.

Chapter Four

“Where are you?” Prim asked. She sounded surprised and vaguely annoyed for her best friend.

“Casa del Mar in Costa Rica,” Meg said, and then deleted another email. “I have one hundred and twenty-seven emails.”

“In seven hours, without Internet?”

“I started with a hundred and thirty-three. I was making progress until you called,” Meg kidded.

Relaxation trickled through Meg with the sound of her best friend’s voice. Prim was the only person Meg could truly commiserate with. They went to business school together, and now Prim worked for Comnet’s biggest competitor, Metro Media.

“Well, don’t delete the one from me.”

“What is it?” Meg asked, and scrolled down looking for Prim’s email address.

“Another offer from Ryan.”

“But I just turned down the last one.” Meg found the email and clicked it open.

“I am merely the messenger,” Prim said. “Ryan is a lot like Cole, when he finds something he wants, he pursues it—relentlessly.”

“I’m not looking for a new job.” Meg scanned the offer, which contained a hefty salary, stock options, and bonuses. “Wow,” she mumbled.

“It’s good, right?” Prim’s voice contained more than a hint of envy. “Better than mine. Guess you were right to serve your time with Mr. Jackson.”

“I’m not serving time,” Meg said. “I’m investing in my career. My future.”

“Right.” Sarcasm laced Prim’s voice. “And can you name for me one person within Cole’s company who he promoted after being his assistant?”

“No one lasted—”

“More than six months. I know. But you’ve lasted three years. Three! You need to hang on to that offer because if Cole doesn’t promote you this year then it is time for you to move.”

Meg skimmed the Metro Media offer as Prim continued to lecture her on job security and self-worth and market value. The offer from Ryan Murphy contained everything she’d dreamed of: executive vice president of Metro Media’s West Coast operations, a six-figure salary with the potential for seven figures if she earned her bonuses, stock options within the first year, a full medical package, and even a golden parachute.

Safety, security, stability—this was her dream come true. So why wasn’t she jumping at this opportunity—an opportunity that Ryan Murphy, CEO of Metro Media presented to her every other month via her best friend, Prim?

If Meg was completely honest with herself it wasn’t just Comnet—it was Cole. She wanted Cole to promote her, to recognize her talent, her dedication, her hard work. She wasn’t certain why Cole’s approval of her and her business abilities mattered so damn much, but it did.

“Please tell Ryan I’m flattered,” Meg said.

“You should tell him yourself,” Prim said. “Keep that business relationship alive. He already thinks you’re some kind of business savant for enduring Cole the last thirty-six months.”

“It’s thirty-seven, but who’s counting?”

“See, that is
more
than three years. You have to go. This is starting to get nut—”

“I’m getting promoted,” Meg said softly.

“What? You are? When?”

“I think. If this deal goes through.”

Prim sighed, and Meg could picture her look of disdain: raised brows, pursed lips, eyes rolled heavenward as if asking for saintlike patience where Meg was concerned.

“You mean the super secret deal you’ve been working on for the last six months? What kind of deal would actually force Cole to pull the trigger and promote you? Not that you don’t deserve it, you obviously do, but Cole promoting you is just, well it’s outside his comfort zone. For whatever reason. Maybe he just loves having you near,” Prim teased.

“Stop,” Meg said, and blushed. “It’s not like that. He merely wants me to prove myself.”

“Prove yourself? What more could you do? I mean really. You’ve been an indentured servant for over three years!”

“He pays me,” Meg said.

“A pittance. Did you see Ryan’s offer? All those zeroes? That’s what you’re worth in the marketplace. Not the measly change Cole tosses your way. And the last six months? I mean what did he force you to work on for the last six months? Have his pool retiled? Categorize his DVD collection? What? What could he possibly have you do tha—”

 “It’s TBC,” Meg whispered.

“Stan Morton!” Prim shrieked. “You got to Stan Morton?”

“Shh, don’t tell everyone at Metro Media!” Meg said, concerned that Prim was already at her office.

“Oh no, I’m still home. I have an assistant. I don’t have to be at the office at the ass crack of dawn. He does. Stan Morton?” Prim said again, incredulous. “He refused every overture we made. Won’t even return calls. How in the hell did you reach Stan Morton?”

Meg smiled and said, “Just lucky, I guess.”

“Luck had nothing to do with this. Girl, you’ve got skills. Mad ones. If Cole doesn’t promote you after this? Damn, you’ll be the hottest commodity going in the marketplace. When do you announce?”

“It hasn’t closed yet,” Meg whispered.

“This is why you’re in Costa Rica,” Prim said. “To close with Stan?”

 Panic rushed through Meg. She hadn’t shared the possibility of the deal with Prim for just this reason: The deal wasn’t closed. And they worked for rivals.

“Girl,” Prim said, “if word leaks Stan is entertaining an offer? That beach in Costa Rica will be crawling with entertainment executives.”

Meg sighed. Prim was right. There wasn’t a media company that wouldn’t consider buying TBC. Stan’s company was rock solid, an asset to any buyer. The stumbling block to the purchase had never been price or risk; the problem had always been that Stan turned away all suitors.

“You better get Stan Morton to the altar before he finds himself another bride,” Prim said.

“Don’t I know it,” Meg said. God forbid Stan find someone he liked better than Comnet or her.

*

“Please tell me that isn’t what you’re wearing,” Cole said.

Meg bit down on the inside of her left cheek. There was nothing wrong with her attire; it was perfectly acceptable. Cole’s eyes roamed upward from her toes and appraised her body.

Meg’s chest squeezed tight under the weight of his gaze. A flush threatened to creep up her neck and into her face, and she bit harder on the inside of her cheek.

“This is a walk on the beach, not a workout session,” Cole finally said.

“It’s chilly outside.”

“It’s eighty degrees.”

“This is completely appropriate.”

“If you’re lifting weights at a gym. This is Costa Rica. A beach. Not Crunch in Los Angeles.”

Meg crossed her arms over the front of her zipped-up sweatsuit jacket. “Forgive me if I don’t feel the need to expose myself to Stan Morton.”

“After last night, it’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

Heat flooded her cheeks.

“Most people have the courtesy of knocking before they enter a room.”

She held Cole’s gaze. An apology? From Cole? Not likely. Again another problem with Cole as a suitor. Any man she chose to date would admit his blunders and
apologize
for them. But Cole Jackson? The man didn’t think he ever committed blunders and the phrase “I am sorry” was not in his vocabulary. Or hadn’t been for the last three years.

“At least take off the jacket.”

Cole stood before her wearing board shorts and nothing else. Meg’s eyes ran over the hard planes of his chest. She should avert her eyes. She should ignore his six-pack abs and she should definitely not stare at the tight little muscular handles at his hips just above his low-slung shorts. But somehow her eyes weren’t responding to the
should
’s running through her mind.

He was a man. A very athletic man. A very muscular man. A very attrac—

“Meg? Meg?”

Good god, was she drooling? Please let there be no actual drool coming from her mouth.

“Yes?” She pulled her gaze away from the lovely trail of dark hair that whispered down his olive-tone skin and into his swimsuit. Why hadn’t she slipped her sunglasses from their perch on the top of her head
before
she entered the living room?

 “At least take off the jacket, so you don’t look so conspicuous. Or better yet, go grab a sarong.”

“A sarong? Since when do you use the word
sarong
?”

“I’m a big fan,” Cole said. “Easy on, easy off.”

“I didn’t pack a
sarong
. I don’t think I own one.”

“Lucky for us, Casa del Mar comes fully stocked.” Cole nodded toward the basket on the deck filled with an array of fabrics. “Might I suggest turquoise to match your eyes? And if I remember correctly, your swimsuit has the same color.”

Cole remembering the color of her swimsuit seemed just outside the employee-employer relationship. Of course he was correct. There, at the very top of the pile, was a beautiful blue sarong with interwoven silver threads.

“Really? A sarong?” She attempted disdain to maintain her distance, but feared she came across as terse. So be it. Any port in this storm.

“I think it’s more than appropriate for a walk on the beach.” Cole’s eyes laughed devilishly at Meg’s irritation. “Don’t you?”

She walked toward her room. She wasn’t going to undress in front of him. If he was going to walk around half naked and cause her to lose all focus on the primary reason they were here, plus make wardrobe demands, then he’d just have to wait.

Once she closed the door, Meg unzipped her dark brown velour sweat suit jacket. Looking like a Greek god wasn’t on her list as a requirement for dating a man—although Cole managed that by any standard. She wanted whomever she dated to be handsome-
ish
. With good looks like Cole’s came a myriad of problems. And the majority of those problems were five-foot-ten with a double D cup size and long blond hair. Problems that she definitely didn’t want to encounter.

Meg hung her jacket in the closet. Date Cole? Was the sea salt in the air rusting her brain? In three years of working with Cole dating wasn’t a topic for discussion. Dating Cole wasn’t even a topic up for consideration. The idea of dating Cole was as grounded in reality as the idea of her becoming president of a company within the next year.

Impossible.

Meg slipped off her sweatpants and folded them. Of course he had a point about her sweatsuit. She did look too covered up for a stroll down the beach. Almost as if she were hiding something. Meg wrapped the sarong around her waist. She looked at her nearly naked body in the mirror and a tickle of fear brushed against her insides. She felt completely exposed. There were no lists for what to do when your boss saw you in your bra and panties. She pulled the swatch of ocean-blue fabric from her hips and held it in front of her body. She turned left and then right examining her reflection in the mirror. Hmmm…no one said a sarong had to go around your waist.

Chapter Five

“That wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” Cole said, and furrowed his brow.

Meg had taken a flimsy swatch of fabric that most women used to barely cover their hips, knotted it on her chest, and managed to nearly cover every last inch of herself.

“I like it this way. A bit more…modest.”

“You say modest, I say matronly.”

He saw more than enough last night to know what that bit of fabric hid, and he knew why Miss Meg attempted to cover herself from head to toe, but it wouldn’t work. The sight of her pearl-colored skin and curvy body was etched into his mind. Meg was beautiful, and smart, and had some kind of indescribable pull on him. Once this deal closed and he sent her to a far-off division of Comnet in Singapore or Sidney, the problem would be solved.

Cole glanced at his watch. “We need to go. If Stan’s itinerary is correct he should just be returning from his walk and we’ll meet him head-on.”

“What if he wants to be alone?” Meg asked as she followed Cole down the deck steps to the beach.

“Stan doesn’t know what he wants,” Cole said. He ground his feet into the sand and walked forward. “I was thinking a bit more about what you said,” he continued. “Last night.”

Meg bit her lower lip. What ran through her mind? The plane? His bedroom? The heat that rolled off of him when she was near?

“About Stan,” Cole said, “and being afraid to sell TBC.”

“Just a bit of pop psychology,” Meg said.

“Well, I don’t usually go in for all of that, but the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Here’s a man and his entire life has been about his business. Building it. Nurturing it. Growing it. And now he’s what? Nearly sixty—”

“Seventy. Stan is sixty-six.”

“Okay, seventy. And you swoop in, this very young, attractive, and vibrant young woman.” Meg’s steps faltered. “And you want his company. Or I do. What does that mean to a person like Stan?”

Meg tilted her head and looked at him.

Cole’s breath caught with the sight of Meg’s vibrant blue eyes made more radiant by the turquoise sarong and the bright blue ocean behind her.

Damn she was lovely—beyond lovely.

Her tiny upturned nose and free-flowing dark hair. If she’d really wanted to appear matronly she should have pinned back those waves of hair. Meg looked so carefree, so open…

What the hell had he been saying?

“What does it mean?” Meg asked, obviously flummoxed by Cole’s pause. “For Stan,” she primed.

“Ah, yes.” Cole ran his hand through his hair and turned away from Meg. Much easier to think when he wasn’t looking at her or into those sunlit blue eyes. “It means he’s nearing the end of one phase of his life,” Cole said. “And preparing to enter another.”

“That’s difficult for men?” Meg asked.