Working It (4 page)

He looked at her again, this time making sure she
noticed his slow perusal of her form. “You don't look like the by-the-book type.”

“Look all you like,” she said, her voice smug. “By the time I'm done with you, you're going to be so busy you won't even be able to see straight. I'm hard on my clients, but it's worth it. And you're going to be one of my clients, Drew Robson.”

“Whether I want to be or not, huh? That's pretty tough talk.” He took a step back, when what he really wanted to do was step closer. She smelled good. Sort of vanilla-y, which was sexy but at the same time appetizing.

I need not to be thinking of my sales coach as appetizing.

He winced.

Correction. I need not to be thinking of Jade Morrow as my sales coach.

She followed him, not giving an inch, her arms crossed. “Listen. I know you don't want me here, and that's fine. As much as I love a two-hour drive from L.A., coming to your plant in the middle of nowhere isn't fun for me, either. But I will keep coming here, every single day, and picketing your parking lot if I have to. I'm very serious about my job. As far as I'm concerned, you're a client of Michaels and Associates, and you're a client of
mine.
And yes, I'm going to help you whether you want it or not.”

Her eyes were blazing. He sighed.

“I don't have time for this.”

She still didn't say anything.

“Fine. One hour. But I have a lot to do,” he said irritably. He was giving in. He was
caving.
What happened to the persona that was able to intimidate burly
steelworkers on the plant floor? He was a hard-ass. He was a rough boss.

He was, apparently, a marshmallow.

“When?” Her expression was bright and optimistic…and just a little bit smug. “And where?”

“I have stuff to work on—I suppose I could break at seven,” he said. “And what's wrong with here?”

“Too much your turf,” she said firmly. “Business dinner. Let's go somewhere else.”

He shook his head. “I don't think that's a good idea…”

“Of course you wouldn't, but you're coming around,” she said. “Come on. Neutral turf. Just tell me where to meet you. And hand over the slides.”

He sighed. “All right. Seven o'clock at Grady's.”

“Perfect.” She waited a beat. “Slides?”

He looked down at the pages of plastic in his hands. He'd have to scrap them anyway, as Ken had said. “They're confidential,” he said, instead. She might be sexy as hell, but that didn't mean he had to trust her.

She rolled her eyes. “You signed a contract to pay us…and
we
signed a confidentiality agreement.” Her tone said,
Like I'd break that?
She let out a little huff.

Slowly he handed over the slides, watching as she tucked them under her arm.

“All right. Seven it is then,” she said, walking toward the door. Then she stopped, looked over her shoulder for a second, her hips tilted, her expression one of sexy invitation.

“Yeah?” he said when she just stared at him.

“I will say one thing about your sales presentation,” she said with a half smirk. “That suit works for you.”

With that, she winked and walked out, leaving him
zinging with sexual awareness—and crunched with frustration.

This is such a bad idea.
He didn't have the time for even a flirtation with his sexy sales coach, much less…

He groaned to himself.

Sales coach. Damn it, she was brainwashing him already.

 

J
ADE SAT
at one of the booths at Grady's bar and grill, just off the freeway. She had the slides laid out on the portion of the table that wasn't occupied by the huge steaks they'd just been served.

“Now, if you'll look at this slide here…”

Drew frowned at her. “What?”

She muttered to herself, then raised her voice. “I said, if you'll look at this slide here…”

“What?”

She glared at him. “Drew, did you
know
there was going to be a local band playing here tonight?”

He grinned. “Local bands always play at Grady's. Thursdays through Sundays.”

She leaned back, not willing to let him see her more frustrated. “And I suppose this is the only restaurant in town?”

“Well, there's Pietri's, but he's closed for renovation right now,” Drew said, his eyes glinting. “And you were the one who wanted to go out.”

Yeah, she'd been the one who'd wanted to go out. She'd wanted to get the upper hand on neutral territory. She should have known better. This entire
town
was his territory. She'd done more research that afternoon—the slides had gone a long way toward showing her what his company did. She also discovered that his steel plant provided most of the jobs in the small town
of San Angelo. Since they'd sat for dinner, she'd counted no less than twenty people who'd come over to say hi or to have a word with Drew—and express concern about the future of the plant.

They'd also given her the once-over, being the outsider that she was. She got the feeling that they didn't see Drew outside the plant much—or out with women, for that matter.

It really shouldn't have made her feel good to know this, but it did.

“Listen to me,” she said, leaning a bit closer to him. “You're throwing around too many figures here and not enough sales points. Why should they help you?”

He had leaned in to hear her, as well, and she could smell the spicy cologne he was wearing. “Because we're a great steel mill,” he said defensively. “We're—”

“You, you, you,” she interrupted. “They don't
care
about you.”

He looked at her, his blue eyes sparking. “Then why should I do the thing at all?”

There was something about him angry that just made something inside her churn with emotion. To be specific, frustration.

“How did you get this far when you're constantly leading with your chin?” she asked more to herself than him. However, the band had decided to close out their set, and in the relative quiet she could tell Drew had caught her comment.

“I thought you were going to try
helping
me,” he said with sarcasm. “But gee, I can't thank you enough for dinner with such a charming companion.”

“You're picking up the tab,” she said before she could stop herself. Then she took a deep breath.
“Okay. Let me start this over. Investors are like anybody else. They're motivated by self-interest. If you want them to give you money, you have to show what's in it for
them.
”

She was going to continue, but he was staring at her with a strange expression—she would've almost said sadness. “Do you really believe that?”

She blinked. “Do I really believe what?”

“That everybody's in it for themselves.”

She stared at him.

He had changed out of his suit—she wondered if her comment had anything to do with that decision—and was now wearing a T-shirt, like herself, and a pair of jeans. He had the shadow of stubble grazing his jawline, and his office must've gotten characteristically hot because he had the slightest sheen of sweat at his temples. He looked rough, rugged. Possibly dangerous, in all the right ways.

And he was an
idealist.

A six-foot-five, black-haired, blue-eyed, gorgeous
idealist.

She resisted the urge to tug her hair by the roots. This was going to be rougher than she'd thought.

“I'm not saying that the investors are bad people,” she said slowly. “And I'm not saying that you're just trying to suck up to them, either.”

“Really?”

She was going to have to teach him not to drawl like that, all sarcastic and biting. She straightened her shoulders.

“I'm one of the best P.R. and media coaches in the business. I could show you reams of data that show what I've done for my clients.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “Would that have made a difference?”

She smiled when he scowled.

“No. I need to show you what's in it for
you
and for your company.”

“You make it sound like I'm just doing this for me,” he grumbled, and she leaned closer to hear it over the tunings of the next band. “A lot of people are depending on me. A lot of jobs. You see all these people.”

She glanced around, nodded. “I'm not saying that you're selfish, Drew,” she said, a little softer than she intended, causing him to lean even closer to hear her. “I'm just saying that when you know what the other person needs, you can convince them that you can help them. That's all.”

He didn't move, even after she stopped speaking, and she tilted her head. She was only inches away from his face. “I really am trying to help you, Drew,” she said, now almost a whisper.

They stayed that way for a long moment. Then the band started with a jarring clang of noise and they jumped apart.

“Let's get out of here,” he said, taking a look at the bill and throwing some money down on the table. She just nodded, feeling shaken.

Taking a step out into the evening air, she took a deep breath. It had gotten hot in there, hotter than she'd realized. Of course, it wasn't just the temperature, she realized as she watched the flex of his muscles as he walked in front of her.

She was losing focus. Not a great idea…not when she had so much riding on this.

He walked her to her car, an old Ford Mustang painted the same fiery red as her hair. “This your car?”

She smiled. “That's my baby.”

He grinned back at her. “I suppose a woman driving a car like this can't be
all
bad.”

“Thanks.” She took a deep breath. “Enough beating around the bush. I can help you. You're going to need help with this presentation to your investors. If they cough up the money, then you'll have money to pay me
and
do renovations to your factory. That's not self-interest. That's just plain logic. I help you…you help me. That's business.”

His eyes went dark and he looked thoughtful.

“Listen, I know how much you hate the sound of that. You're doing this for the town. When I'm on your team, then that's what I'm doing it for, as well. All right?”

He still didn't say anything.

She leaned against her car, crossing her arms. “Man. What do I have to do to convince you that I'm not just feeding you a line here?”

He stepped close to her.

She held her breath.

“I understand what you're saying,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Really. I do. But…okay, to hell with it. If I screw this up, I
won't
be able to pay you. Period.”

He sounded as though someone had twisted a knife in his stomach. A man like him, admitting how bad off he was, had to be one of the more shameful situations she could've put him in. She felt an instant sympathy for him, and put a hand on his shoulder.

“You're not going to screw up,” she said softly. “I know it.”

“Oh, really?” He was trying to get that sarcastic tone back, but it wasn't quite working. “And how do you know that?”

She grinned. “Because nobody loses on my watch.”

He smiled…and leaned in.

For a brief, brilliant moment, her mind froze. She wasn't sure if she wanted him to move in the rest of the way or if she wanted him to take a step back. Or if she wanted to just move in herself.

Instead he froze, too, inches away from her. They stood there, staring, and she could see the glinting of his eyes, almost black in the moonlight, the shadows making the planes of his face even harsher.

“Okay,” he said, his voice rasping over her skin and causing her to shiver. “I'll do it.”

God, she hoped so. She was afraid of how hard she was hoping. “Do what?” she finally croaked.

He took a step back. “I'll go along with what you suggested. The sales coaching thing. With you.”

She felt… Well, she supposed it was relief. Step one was over. She'd got him to agree to work with her.

Her lips tingled with thwarted anticipation, and she forced her nerve endings to just calm down.
We won, you idiot. Stay focused!

“So.” She cleared her throat, standing straight. “That's fantastic. We should start right away. I mean, you've only got—what?—four weeks. That's not a lot of time, but if we work hard…”

She saw him smiling slightly and shaking his head. “What?”

“There's a little problem,” he said, and he sounded just as frustrated as she felt. “I can't start right away. In fact, you're probably only going to have about two days or so to get me, er, coached.”

“Two days?” She didn't mean to yell, but the surprise tended to bring out the volume in her. “What are you, nuts?”

“I think your temper is beginning to grow on me,” he said with a grin.

“I think your sense of humor is going to kill me,” she bit out. “I also thought that you were being straight with me.”

The humor left his expression. “This isn't me yanking your chain. Seriously. I have to go on a three-week sales trip—a road trip, to some of our more rural customers. They're bigger spenders, and we need those orders now more than ever. I
have
to go.”

“That's what you have salesmen for,” she said, knowing that the argument sounded petulant. But,
jeez,
two days wasn't enough to coach anybody who was going in cold. Even as confident as she was, she wasn't crazy enough to believe that!

He sighed. “Let's just say I'm the closer on this deal.”

She closed her eyes. He
would
have to put it in terms she understood.

“So.” He chucked the bottom of her chin, the grin back in effect. “See you in three weeks?”