Instructing an Heiress (9 page)

"I insist." He gave a nod toward his chair.

The man across from him, a pleasant-looking guy with sandy-brown hair and friendly eyes that sparkled behind steampunk-like, wire-framed glasses jumped up. "We'll get more chairs."

He nudged a classically handsome African American man in the arm to get him moving. There were a few moments of chaos as everyone rearranged themselves. To her consternation, when all the dust settled, she found herself sitting between Ryan and Mr. Cocky.
 

She felt trapped and the polished wood of the chair back pressed coldly against her skin. Even more distracting, her bare arm tingled where it pressed up against Ryan's muscled bicep and every time she moved her knee away from Mr. Cocky's, he shifted his leg over to touch her, again. To make things worse, he stared at her chest so hard she thought her boobs might catch on fire.
 

A fine sheen of sweat broke out across her palms. Revenge was sweet, but this was too close for comfort.

The giant African-American man on the other side of Ryan gave her an admiring once-over, humor sparkling in his dark chocolate eyes. "I can see why Ryan wanted to keep you all to himself," he said, casting his friend a mischievous grin.
 

Mr. Cocky smiled, his gaze on CK. "Dude, you
have
been holding out on us."

"It isn't like that," Ryan said, an edge to his voice.
 

"I bet it's
exactly
like that," the other man teased.

Ryan's mouth settled into a belligerent line. "You'd be wrong."
 

Mr. Cocky scooted closer to CK and laid his arm across the back of her chair. His eyes traveled from her bosom to her face and then anchored back on her bosom. "Would you like a drink?" he asked.

Annoyance sliced through her nervousness. "Last time I checked, they didn't drink." Presenting her back to him, she attempted to ignore the intensifying focus of the group and gave Ryan the full force of her displeasure. "Anderson, what's going on?"

"My friends are your new marketing team."

Her cheeks grew hot. "You brought your friends into this?"

"Into what, exactly?" Steampunk tossed a speculative look at Ryan.
 

"If you're going to meet the Captain's demands, you need a full campaign." Ryan glanced at her dress and a stormy heat flickered through his eyes. "Packaging. Check. Consumer need. Working on. Creating consumer interest...." He tore his gaze away and swept his hand toward his friends.
 

"I'll bite," Dark Eyes said. "What kind of advertising is she here to do?"
 

CK's irritation coiled around in her chest. There was only one kind of consumer interest she was likely promoting and the fact that these men seemed to think so, too, infuriated her.
 

The need to justify herself and tell them this was all about getting married, crawled up her throat and scratched to get out. She clamped her teeth down on the words. She was not going to spill her personal problems to a pack of strangers.

"It's not what you think," she ground out, glaring at Ryan.

"We're creating the illusion of desirability." His white teeth flashed in a sudden, forced smile that he aimed at each of his friends. "CK needs a husband fast and you're here to sell the concept to the public. Be charming. Be mesmerized. Give CK the best you got. She's paying."

"Cool. I'll marry her," Moppy Hair said.

"I can't believe you said that," she hissed at Ryan, outrage boiling through her.

The other men focused on them, stone-faced for a moment. Steampunk turned to Dark Eyes. "He really thinks we're going to fall for that?"

"He hasn't pranked us in a long time," Dark Eyes said. "Not as funny as it used to be."

"Growing up is hell," Ajax said.
 

"Singing telegram people?" Dark Eyes speculated.

"Nah."

"I bet she's with one of those stripper groups," Mr. Cocky purred as he leaned in toward CK.

She shoved him back, hard. "Oh, my gosh. Let it go. I'm not interested." She narrowed her eyes at the rest of them. "I'm also not a stripper." She choked a little on the word, her fury tightening. "My grandfather will absolutely cut me off if I don't get married in a month. Ryan is helping me and I have no interest whatsoever in
any
of you, so get that scared possom-in-the-headlights look off your faces and grow up."

Silence landed on the table like a cement block. The men gaped at her.

Steampunk's eyebrows rose above the rims of his glasses. "Wow."

"It's really her," Dark Eyes said.

"Balls of Steel chick," Ajax added, smiling. "Just like Ryan said."

"Balls of...." CK gritted her teeth and tried to get her temper under control. "You are so not getting a bonus for this job, Anderson."

He shrugged. "I said it after the ChesterCo buy out. At the time, it was a complement."

"CK your real name?" Dark Eyes asked her. "Cute."

"Triple cute," Moppy Hair chimed in.

"A grown woman is not—" she started to protest.

"What's CK stand for?" Steampunk asked.

Moppy Hair raised his hand. "I know! I know! Certified Knockout!"

CK's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

The group looked at him. He gazed back with wide, innocent hazel eyes. "What? I was gonna say something else, but she'd call off the wedding." He angled his hand to his mouth and leaned toward Steampunk. "Women hate the word I was gonna use."

She'd had enough of this farce.
 

Why she'd thought it would be fun to have men think of her as a desirable woman was beyond her. The truth was, being lusted after made her a little nauseous and being seen as an object wasn't nearly fun as she'd imagined. Worse, it was humiliating.
 

CK glanced toward the bar. The atmosphere of the club with its soft red and dark purple lighting and intimate groupings of tables had seemed so elegant when she'd walked in. Now it all seemed lurid and cheap to her.
 

Her throat tightened. Time to find Farley and get out. She didn't care that retreat meant Ryan had won this round. She just wanted this over with.

Ryan braced his arms on the table and considered her for a moment. "What
does
CK stand for?"

"It stands for 'We're done here.'" CK started to push to her feet. The weight of Ryan's hand landed on her bare shoulder.

The warmth of his palm seared through her skin, sending a flare of energy arching into her nervous system. Alarm chased after it.

"Don't manhandle me," she snapped, pushing his hand roughly off of her. She glared at Moppy Hair, the turmoil of her emotions gathering into an aching pressure in her throat. "And don't ever refer to me in terms of a wedding. Unless you want to find yourself nursing a broken nose."
 

"Definitely not interested," Dark Eyes commented, mildly.

"But you gotta love a woman with fire in her eyes," Mr. Cocky said, genuine interest lighting his expression.

"It's the fire up her butt that worries me," Ryan said, sourly.

Heat spread across her face, again, and the lump in her throat tightened. To her horror, tears suddenly welled up in her eyes.

"Now you've done it, moron," Steampunk said.

Mr. Cocky's predatory expression instantly morphed into panicked apology. "No, no, no. Don't cry. I'm not always a dog." He thrust his hand in front of her. "Brad DeJoiner. Let's start over."
 

She bit down on her lip, willing the tears to stop, and blindly reached out to accept his handshake. Dark Eyes stood up and pushed Brad's hand away.
 

Clasping her palm in a friendly grip, he flashed her a bright smile. "Jackson Zimmer. He is always a dog and girl, I like your style."

Brad eased her hand out of Jackson's and lightly kissed the back of it. "Ignore him. I practice law in L.A. He's nothing but a history professor."

Bemused, she watched the two men while she tried to pull her hand free of Brad's. What had just happened? A moment ago she felt like a piece of meat, now they were treating her like a princess.
 

Across the table, Steampunk gave her a wave. "Todd Avery, music producer. And this is Ajax." He thrust his thumb toward Moppy Hair. "He's one of our eccentric millionaires."

"How...nice for him," she said, her tears receding on the tidal wave of friendly male attention. She reviewed the last few moments in her mind.
 

She'd threatened them with bodily harm and now they were being civilized? Men were very...strange. She blinked. "Did you say,
one
of your millionaires?"
 

Brad stroked his thumb across her knuckles. "You have amazing eyes, has anyone told you that?" he asked in a low, smooth voice. "Like lilacs."

"Um, thanks?" She gave a determined yank against his grip. Her fingers popped free and her elbow smacked into Ryan's face behind her.

"Ow, damn it," he said, rubbing his nose.
 

"She warned you not to manhandle her," Brad observed, laughter edging his voice.

"You were doing the manhandling," Ryan muttered.

"You deserved it for embarrassing me in front of your friends." She smiled at the other men. "I'm CK, by the way.
Just
CK," she added, looking pointedly at Ajax. "President and CEO of Kazners Herbal Products." Her smile faltered. "At least for now."
 

Jackson rested his elbows on the table. "So,
just
CK." His dark eyes studied her with open pleasure. "Tell us exactly how a fine woman like yourself has come to rely on an idiot like Ryan to catch you a husband."
 

Wayland blew through the lobby of the five-star hotel where his son always ate dinner on Thursday nights. He paused on the threshold of the restaurant, the blonde beside him clinging tightly to his arm.
 

He scanned the busy restaurant and quickly spotted his son sitting in the far corner. With focused concentration, the boy meticulously cut a bite from his broiled salmon, carefully placed it in his mouth, and then turned back to the iPad propped up in front of him.
 

He nearly cried at the sight.
 

A son of his, in his prime, spending the evening with a bunch of business reports. Where had he gone wrong?

One thing was clear. This intervention was coming none too soon. Nodding to the maitre d' as he passed, he advanced on his son.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, cheerfully. "Got some news for you." He looked down at his date. "Go powder your nose, darlin'. This won't take a minute."

She glanced at Steve and then wandered off without a word of complaint. Once she was gone, he sat down.
 

"Guess who I saw going into Crazy Tom's?" he said, helping himself to Steve's untouched roll.

An exasperated frown flickered over Steve's face. "Why would I be the least bit interested in the patrons of that notorious singles establishment?"

"You might, seein' as how things are adding up to disaster."

Steve shifted his attention off the iPad. "What do you mean?"
 

"Where's the blasted butter?"

"I never use it and neither should you." Steve took the bread out of his hand and placed it on his empty salad plate. "If you'd follow your doctor's recommendations, you'd live longer," he scolded.

Wayland eyed the salmon in front of his son. "Already look like an old alley cat. I'll be danged if I'm gonna smell like one, too."

He reached for the roll just as a server appeared to refill Steve's water. The ornery kid handed the waiter the salad plate and off it went.
 

"Now what is so earth-shattering that you felt compelled to interrupt my dinner?" he asked.

Wayland scanned the table hoping for something edible. "Saw CK and that secretary of hers going into Crazy Tom's. Seen Anderson in there earlier. I'm thinkin' that boy might have some ideas regarding your girl."
 

"CK is not my girl," Steve said, solidly, and then his eyes narrowed.
 
"Are you here to suggest I chase after her?"

"Not suggesting anything. But there sure ain't nothin' wrong with a man having a little fun now and then at a club known for its...well, known."
 

"I fail to see why I should be concerned about CK and her personal life."
 

The kid was stubborner than a mule. Had no idea what it was like to be alone with the years rolling by. "Connect the dots, boy. CK comes out of her office all mussed the other afternoon. Then she's trotting off to meet a man who has more fillies in his stable than an Arab prince. All work and no play builds up a lot of pressure."

"Again, not my business."

Wayland released a frustrated breath. "The merger, boy, the merger. It's obvious she's losing focus."

About to touch the screen of his iPad, Steve paused to study him. "Go on."
 

"Not sayin' I blame her, mind you. She's young and healthy. Not much of a social life, far as I can see. Her bomb's been ticking steadily away and now that it's about to explode, and not really understanding the problem, she turns to Miss Farley for guidance—"

"Not the best of mentors, I've perceived."

Wayland casually pilfered a breadstick out of the cut glass container in the center of the table. "Anderson, being the kind of guy he is, finds he can't resist the lure of a pressurized woman and figures he's just the boy to light her fuse. Then, being that CK ain't exactly the sophisticated party type, she finds herself swept away by it all. A night or two later, she's broken-hearted, embarrassed, and so distracted by her terrible mistake that she can't focus another minute on what's important."

"The merger."

"Bingo." He risked a glance at his son and was gratified to see a frown of concern on Steve's face.
 

"Scandal can be mighty distractin'. Think of the news coverage." He sniffed the breadstick and wrinkled his nose at the dry, tasteless smell. Dropping it back into the decanter, he studied his son. "Catch my drift?"