Loe raamatut: «Bidding On Her Boss»

This book is dedicated to Sharon Archer, who is not only an amazing author, but is also a brilliant critique partner and very dear friend. Sharon, thank you for being on this journey with me.

Acknowledgments

Huge thanks to Charles Griemsman for his editing and support with this book—Charles, it’s always a pleasure to work with you. Also, thank you to Barbara DeLeo and Amanda Ashby for the brainstorming and help, and to John for always supporting my dreams.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Acknowledgments

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Extract

Copyright

One

Dylan Hawke had done a few things he regretted in his life, but he had a feeling this one might top the list.

The spotlight shone in his eyes, but he smiled as he’d been instructed and gave a sweeping bow before making his way down the stairs and onto the stage. Applause—and a few cheers that he suspected were from his family—greeted him.

“We’ll start the bidding at two hundred dollars,” the emcee said from the front of the stage.

Dylan sucked in a breath. And so it begins. Step one of rehabilitating his image—donate his time to charity. Now that his brother was marrying a princess, Dylan’s own mentions in the media had skyrocketed, and he’d quickly realized his playboy reputation could be a disadvantage for his future sister-in-law and the things she wanted to achieve for homeless children in LA.

“What do I hear for Dylan?” the emcee, a sitcom actor, called out. “Dylan Hawke is the man behind the chain of Hawke’s Blooms florists, so we can guarantee he knows about romancing his dates.”

A murmur went around the crowded room as several white paddles with black numbers shot into the air. He couldn’t see too much detail past the spotlight that shone down on him, but it seemed that the place was full, and that the waiters were keeping the guests’ drinks topped off as they moved through the crowd.

“Two fifty, three hundred,” the emcee called.

Dylan spotted his brother Liam sitting with his fiancée, Princess Jensine of Larsland. Jenna—who had been hiding incognito as Dylan’s housekeeper before she met Liam—gave him a thumbs-up. This was the first fund-raising event of the new charity, the Hawke Brothers Trust, which Jenna had established to raise money for homeless children. Now that she and Liam were to be married, they planned to split their family’s time between her homeland and LA, and the trust would utilize the skills she’d gained growing up in a royal family. It would be the perfect project for her—she’d said it was something she could sink her teeth into.

Dylan believed in the cause and believed in Jenna, so his job tonight was to help raise as much money as he could. He just wished he’d been able to do it in a less humiliating way. Like, say, writing a check.

But that method wouldn’t help rehabilitate his image.

Which had led him to this moment. On stage in front of hundreds of people. Being sold.

“Five hundred and fifty,” the emcee said, pointing at a redhead near the side of the room, whose paddle said sixty-three.

Dylan threw Sixty-Three a wink, and then crossed to where a blonde woman held up her paddle. The emcee called, “Six hundred.”

Dylan squinted against the lights. There was something familiar about the blonde... Then it hit him and his gut clenched tight. It was Brittany Oliver, a local network weather girl. They’d been out two or three times a few years ago, but she’d been cloying. When he found out that she was already planning a future and children for them, he’d broken it off. He swallowed hard and sent up a prayer that someone outbid her. Maybe the cute redhead with paddle sixty-three.

He dug one hand in his pocket and flashed a charming smile at the audience—a smile he’d been using to effect since he was fourteen. He was rewarded when a stunning woman with long dark hair and coffee-colored skin raised her paddle. He was starting not to mind being on stage after all.

“Six fifty,” the emcee called. “Seven hundred dollars. Seven fifty.”

He knew Jenna was hoping for a big amount from this auction to get their charity started with a bang, so he took the rosebud from his buttonhole and threw it into the crowd. It was a cheesy move, but then the bidding happened so quickly that all of a sudden it hit two thousand.

Dylan steeled himself and looked over at Brittany, and sure enough, she was still in the running. He had no idea whether she’d want to chew his ear off for breaking things off or try to convince him they should get back together. Either way, it would be an uncomfortable evening. He should have had a backup plan—a signal to tell Jenna to bid whatever it took if things went awry. He could have reimbursed her later.

“Three thousand four hundred.”

It was the redhead. Dylan looked her over. Bright copper hair scraped into a curly ponytail on top of her head, cobalt blue halter top, dark eyes that were wide as she watched the other bidders, and a bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. She looked adorable. In his pocket where the audience couldn’t see, he crossed his fingers that she won. He could spend an enjoyable evening with her, a nice meal, maybe a drive to a moonlit lookout, maybe a movie.

“Four thousand six hundred.”

A flash bulb went off and he smiled, but he needed to get the bidding higher for the trust. He ambled over to the emcee and indicated with a tilt of his head that he had something to say. She covered the mic with her hand and lowered it.

“Make it three dates,” he said, his voice low.

Her eyebrows shot up, and then she nodded and raised the mic again. “I’ve just received information that the package up for auction now consists of three dates.”

Over the next few minutes, there was another flurry of raised paddles before the emcee finally said, “Going once, going twice, sold for eight thousand two hundred dollars.”

Dylan realized he’d stopped following the bidding and had no idea who’d won.

“Number sixty-three, you can meet Mr. Hawke at the side of the stage to make arrangements. Next we have a sports star who will need no introduction.” The emcee’s voice faded into the background as Dylan realized the cute redhead had made the top bid. He grinned.

Maybe turning his reputation around and doing his bit for charity wouldn’t be so bad after all.

* * *

Faith Crawford stood, adjusted the hem of her halter top over her black pants and slipped between the tables to where Dylan Hawke was waiting for her by the side of the stage.

Her belly fluttered like crazy but she steeled herself and, when she reached him, stuck out her hand.

“Hi, I’m Faith,” she said.

Dylan took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss on the back. “I’m Dylan, and, on behalf of my family, I appreciate your donation to the Hawke Brothers Trust.”

He gave her a slow smile and her insides melted, but she tried to ignore her body’s reaction. Her body didn’t realize that Dylan Hawke was a notorious charmer who had probably used that exact smile on countless women. Which was why her brain was in charge. Well, she thought as she looked into his twinkling green eyes, mostly in charge.

Dylan released her hand and straightened. “I have a few ideas about places we could go on our first date—”

Faith shook her head. “I know where I want to go.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Okay, then. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”

Oh, she knew exactly what she wanted. And it wasn’t Dylan Hawke, despite how good he looked in that tuxedo. It was what he could do for her career. She’d just made a large investment in her future—having bid most of her savings—and she wouldn’t let it go to waste.

He slid a pen out of an inside pocket of his jacket and grabbed a napkin from a nearby table. “Write down your address and I’ll pick you up. How does tomorrow night sound?”

The sooner the better. “Tomorrow is good. But instead of picking me up, I’d rather meet you. Let’s say in front of your Santa Monica store at seven?”

He grinned, but this time it wasn’t a charmer’s smile. It was genuine. She liked this one more—she could imagine getting into all sorts of mischief with the man wearing that grin.

“A woman of mystery,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Nice. Okay, Faith Sixty-Three, I’ll meet you in front of the Santa Monica Hawke’s Blooms store at seven o’clock tomorrow night.”

“I’ll be there,” she said and then turned and walked along the edge of the room to the door, aware that several curious gazes followed her exit. Including Dylan Hawke’s. Which was just how she needed him—with his full attention focused on her.

Now all she had to do was keep her own attention soundly focused on her career, and not on getting into mischief with her date and his grin.

* * *

Dylan pulled his Porsche into the small parking lot in front of his Santa Monica store. He tried to get around to all thirty-two stores fairly regularly, but given that they were spread from San Francisco to San Diego, it didn’t happen as often as it used to, and he couldn’t remember exactly when he was last at this one. It looked good, though, and he knew the sales figures were in the top quarter of all the Hawke’s Blooms stores.

Movement near the door caught his attention. It was Faith. Her red hair gleamed in the window lights and bounced about her shoulders. She wore a halter-neck summer dress that was fitted in all the right places and flared out over her hips, down to her knees, showing shapely calves atop stylish heels. His pulse picked up speed as he stepped out of his car.

All he knew about this woman was that she liked halter tops, her hair could stop traffic, she was wealthy enough to have spare cash lying around to help out a new charity and her lips could set his blood humming. But damn if he didn’t want to know more.

“Evening, Faith,” he said, walking around and opening his passenger side door.

She didn’t take a step closer, just stood at the shop door looking adorable and said, “We won’t be needing your car tonight.”

He glanced around—the parking lot was empty. “You have a magic carpet tucked away somewhere?”

“No need,” she said brightly. “We’re already here.”

She dug into her bag and came out with a handful of keys looped together on what looked like plaited ribbons. As he watched in surprise, she stuck a key into the front door, and he heard a click. She stepped in, efficiently disabled the alarm and turned back to him. “Come on in.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes, half expecting one of his brothers to jump out and yell “gotcha” because he’d fallen for the prank. But Faith was busy putting her bag behind the counter and switching on lights. Shaking his head, he set the keyless lock on his car, followed her into the store and closed the door behind them. He had no idea what she had planned or what she really wanted out of this date, but for some reason that didn’t bother him. This woman was piquing his interest on more than one level—something he hadn’t experienced in a long while—and he realized he was enjoying the sensation.

“Who are you, Faith Sixty-Three?” he asked, leaning back against the counter and appreciating the way her dress hugged her lush curves.

She faced him then, her cheeks flushed and her warm brown eyes sparkling. “I’m a florist. My name is Faith Crawford and I work for you in this store.”

Faith Crawford? That name rang a bell, but he couldn’t remember any specifics. He narrowed his eyes. “Mary O’Donnell is the manager here, isn’t she?”

“Yep, she’s my manager,” Faith said over her shoulder as she turned the light on in the storeroom in the back of the shop.

He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck. This had gone past Woman of Mystery and was fast becoming ridiculous. Why would an employee want to spend a purseful of money on a night or three with the boss? Could she have an axe to grind? Was she hoping to sleep her way to a promotion?

He blew out a breath. “How long have you worked for me?”

She turned to face him, standing a little taller. “Six months, Mr. Hawke.”

“So you know Hawke’s Blooms has a no fraternization policy.” A policy he wholeheartedly believed in. “Managers can’t be involved with anyone who works for them.”

She didn’t seem fazed. “I’m aware of that, yes.”

“Yet,” he pressed, taking a step closer and catching a whiff of her exotic perfume, “you still paid good money for a date—well, three dates—with me.”

A small frown line appeared between her brows. “Nowhere was it specified that they were supposed to be romantic dates with the bachelors.”

Dylan was about to reply, then realized he was losing control of the conversation. “Then what do you want from me?” he asked warily.

She grabbed a clip from her handbag and pulled her hair back. “I want you to spend the evening here with me.”

“Doing what, exactly?” he asked as he watched her clip her red curls, which burst out the top of the clasp in copper-colored chaos.

“Watching.”

He felt his eyebrows lift. “I have to warn you, kinky propositions still fall under the no fraternization policy.”

Faith rolled her eyes, but he saw the corners of her mouth twitch. “I’ll be making a floral arrangement.”

Right. As if he didn’t get enough of that in his average day. And yet, he thought, glancing at her pale, long fingers, there was something appealing about the idea of watching Faith at work. Her fingers looked as if they’d be gentle yet firm. He could almost feel them on his jaw, then stroking across his shoulders. His skin tingled...and he realized he was getting carried away. This was not a path he could take with an employee—which he’d only just explained to her.

Besides, his attraction was probably a result of being in the store at night, alone, cocooned in the area illuminated by the lights. It couldn’t be more.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Let me get this straight. I know what you’re earning, so unless you have a trust fund, your bid was a decent amount of money to you. Yet you paid it to have me sit and watch you do the job that we normally pay you to do.”

She beamed at him. “That’s it.”

“I’ve missed something,” he said, tilting his head to the side. She was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

She opened the fridge door and pulled out buckets of peonies, lilacs and magnolias. “Have you ever had a dream, Mr. Hawke? Something that was all yours and made you smile when you thought about it?”

Dylan frowned. His career dreams had always been for Hawke’s Blooms, but they were dreams he shared with his family. Had he ever had one that was his alone?

“Sure,” he said casually, knowing it was probably a lie and unsure how he felt about that.

While looking at him, she began to strip the leaves from the flower stems. “Then you know how it is.”

As he took in the glow on her face, his pulse picked up speed. “What’s your dream, Faith?”

She smiled mysteriously. “I have many dreams, but there’s one in particular I’m trying to achieve now.”

He met her gaze and the room faded away. He could have looked at her all night. Then her eyes darkened. Her breathing became irregular. Dylan wanted to groan. She felt the chemistry between them as well. His body responded to the knowledge, tightening, heating. But he couldn’t let that happen. This was dangerous. He frowned and swung away.

“Tell me about the dream,” he said when he turned back around, this time more in control of himself.

After a beat, Faith gave a small nod. “To open the Hawke’s Blooms catalog and see one of my designs there on the page.”

This was all about the catalog? He leaned back against the bench opposite the one Faith was working on and crossed his ankles. “We have a procedure in place for that.”

“I know it by heart,” she said, taking foam and a white tray down from the shelf. “‘Any Hawke’s Blooms florist may submit an original floral design to his or her manager, accompanied by a completed, signed application form. If the manager believes the design has merit, she or he will pass it to the head office to be considered for inclusion in the catalog of standard floral designs used for customer orders.’”

Dylan smiled. She’d recited the procedure word for word. “And,” he added, “that process doesn’t cost a single penny. Why didn’t you go that route?”

“I did.” She clipped the bottoms from a bunch of peony stems. “About twenty times, in fact. After my manager rejected number sixteen, I began to think that way might not work for me.” She smiled and her dimples showed.

He thought about her manager, Mary O’Donnell. Mary was simpering to management, which was annoying, but he knew she ran a tight ship. Was it possible she was blocking her own staff from advancement? “Are you making a complaint about your manager?” he asked, serious.

She shook her head, and her hands slowed to a stop as she met his gaze. “I’m a good florist, Mr. Hawke. I take pride in my work, and take direction from my manager. I do my best by our customers and have a good group of regulars who ask for me by name. So I don’t think it’s too much to ask to have just one of my designs considered so I can move my career forward.”

Dylan knew he was lucky—he’d grown up in the family business, where his input had been not only listened to but also encouraged. But what if he’d been in Faith’s shoes? An employee of a large company who was struggling to have her voice heard. He watched her place flowers in the foam, turning the arrangement with the other hand as she went. He’d like to think he’d have gone the extra mile, the way Faith was doing tonight.

“So you decided to get creative,” he said, hearing the trace of admiration in his own voice.

“Seeing you were auctioning off a night of your time seemed like a sign.” She glanced up at him, her long-lashed eyes earnest. “Do you believe in destiny, Mr. Hawke?”

“Can’t say it’s something I’ve ever paid much attention to,” he said. Unlike, say, the way the side of her jaw sloped down to her neck, or the sprinkling of pale ginger freckles across her nose.

“Well, I do, and I’d just been thinking ‘If only I could speak to someone in the head office myself’ when the posters for the auction went up in the window. The very window where I work.” She paused, moistening her lips. “You can see it was too strong a sign to ignore, can’t you?”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to chuckle or to kiss those full lips her tongue had darted over. Instead, he murmured, “I suppose so.”

“So I attended the auction, used a good portion of my savings, and here we are.” She splayed her free hand to emphasize her point, and then picked up a roll of ribbon and went back to what she was doing.

Dylan shifted his weight. Something about this situation and her confidence was beginning to make him uncomfortable. After she’d spent that amount of money—which he’d reimburse now that he knew she was an employee trying to get a meeting with him—and she’d gone to this much effort, how would she react if he agreed with her manager?

“Tell me, Faith,” he said carefully. “What happens if, after all this effort and expense, I don’t like your design enough to put it in the catalog?”

She looked him in the eye again. There was no artifice, no game playing in her deep brown gaze. “Then I’ll know I’ve given it my best shot, and I’ll work harder to create an even better design.”

Dylan nodded. She believed in herself but didn’t have a sense of entitlement and was prepared to put in the work to improve her situation. He liked her attitude. In fact, there were a number of things he liked about Faith Crawford—including things he shouldn’t allow himself to like now that he knew she worked for him. Such as the crazy hair that his fingers were itching to explore, and the way her sweet-shaped mouth moved as she spoke.

There was also a vibrancy about her that dragged his gaze back every time he looked away. How would it feel to hold all that vibrancy in his arms? Her kisses would be filled with passion, he just knew it, and in his bed... Dylan held back a groan and determinedly refocused on Faith’s floristry skills.

Her movements were quick and economical but still flowed, almost as if her hands were dancing. He’d had a stab at displaying flowers in the past but hadn’t pulled off more than rudimentary arrangements. It had been enough for the roadside stall his family had started the business with but hadn’t come close to what a florist with training and flair could create. Yet having been around professional florists for his entire adult life, he was good at spotting skill in someone else.

He could already tell that Faith didn’t just have the training all florists employed by Hawke’s Blooms stores required. She also had that indefinable, creative something that differentiated the great from the good. Whether she’d harnessed that talent, and was able to use it to create designs of the standard needed to be included in the catalog, was yet to be seen.

But if nothing else, tonight Faith Crawford had achieved one thing she’d set out to achieve—she definitely had his full attention.

In fact, he was having trouble looking anywhere but at her.

* * *

Faith added another peony to the arrangement and tried to ignore the prickles on the back of her neck that told her Dylan was watching her again. Of course, that’s what the whole night had been engineered to achieve, but he was only sometimes following what her hands were doing. At other times...

Heat rose in her belly as she thought about the way he’d been staring at her mouth a few minutes ago. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked at her with that much hunger. Especially a man she’d been wanting to wrap herself around and kiss as if there was no tomorrow ever since he’d stepped out of his sex-on-wheels car.

And that it had to be Dylan Hawke, the CEO of the company? Well, that was fate playing a cruel joke on her. So she pretended that she wasn’t wildly attracted to the man in front of her and that he wasn’t sending her the same signals. She focused on the flowers. Which was working out fairly well, except for the prickles on the back of her neck.

But she needed to concentrate, to stop letting herself be distracted. Ruthlessly she reminded herself of what was at stake: getting this right could mean a fantastic boost to her career. She turned the arrangement with quick flicks of her wrist, checking for symmetry. Just a few stray leaves to trim. She snipped them away carefully. It looked good, balanced in color and form...but was it special enough to go into the catalog? She’d controlled her wilder artistic urges and gone for a safer conservative arrangement to impress. Butterflies fluttered mercilessly in her stomach. For the first time, she realized how much Mary’s criticism had dented her confidence in her creativity.

She reached out to touch a crisp green leaf. This arrangement was finished—but still she hesitated.

“All done?”

She jolted at the sound of Dylan’s voice so close to her ear. Last time she’d been aware of him, he’d been on the other side of the bench. She tried to move to the side. Her foot caught on something and she felt herself begin to fall. A hand closed around her arm, and her almost certain tumble was averted. She closed her eyes, and then opened them to find Dylan staring at her. The picture of him on the company website was nothing like the living, breathing man before her.

With him so close, no more than a hand span away, his scent surrounded her. It was dark and mysterious, surprising. She’d have expected something lighter, more recognizable, perhaps one of the expensive name-brand colognes. Yet this had undertones of a night in the forest—earthy, secretive and alluring. A shiver ran down her body to her toes. Dylan stilled.

Her breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat from his body reaching out to envelop her. The world receded around her and all she could see, all she could feel, was Dylan. His eyes darkened and she swallowed hard. She should step away, not let her body lead her into temptation. But, oh, what temptation this man was. She could feel her pulse thundering at the base of her throat and saw Dylan’s gaze drop to observe the same thing.

“Faith,” he murmured, his breathing uneven.

She closed her eyes, fighting the effect of hearing her name on his lips, and when she opened them again, he was closer than before, his breath fanning over her face. Her hands found their way to his chest, so solid and warm.

A shudder ran down his body at her touch.

“Please—” she said, and before she could finish the thought his mouth was on hers. A small part of her mind told her to pull away, but instead, her hands fisted in his shirt, not letting him go.

He groaned as she opened her mouth to him, and his arms wrapped around her, holding her close while pushing her back against the workbench. His tongue was like nothing else as it stroked along the side of hers, leaving her wanting more. To be closer. So much closer.

She was lost.