Page 24

I’ve been waiting for tonight all day. After days of refusing to see me, Rachel wrote, I look forward to seeing you.

The words send a warm pulse of satisfaction through me. The gifts worked. In less than a week, I’ve won over her staff, and now their stubborn CEO has invited me to dinner.

Rachel made me work harder than most, but I knew she wasn’t immune. That cool, professional composure was hiding something hotter. The dinner invitation proves she’s finally ready to admit she wants me.

I picture her sitting across from me, her hair down and the warm smile from her photo aimed in my direction. In my head, she sets down her wine, meets my eyes, and admits the service lane isn’t the only reason she invited me to dinner.

Then she leans across the table and kisses me. When she pulls away, she asks me to spend the night with her.

Before I can even form an answer, my mind moves ahead. I picture backing her against a wall in a quiet corner of the Hartwell, her dress gathered around her thighs and her legs wrapped around my waist.

I shift in my chair as the front of my trousers tightens.

How the hell did my mind get us there?

I remind myself that Rachel invited me to discuss a service lane. Still, if she wants to take the conversation in a more personal direction, I’m willing to be flexible.

The receptionist smiles as soon as I enter the Hartwell. “Good evening, Mr. Voss. Thank you for the vouchers.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Ms. Hartwell is waiting for you.”

She leads me past the restaurant, where candles glow on white tablecloths and couples sit over glasses of wine. I look for Rachel as we pass, half expecting to find her waiting at a quiet table in the corner. Instead, the receptionist continues down a wide hall toward the hotel’s event rooms.

Perhaps Rachel arranged something more private.

Muted voices come from behind the last set of doors. The receptionist opens them, and about thirty people turn to look at me.

For a moment, I wonder if she has brought me to the wrong room. There are rows of chairs instead of dining tables, no food, and no sign that anyone is expecting a private conversation.

Then I spot Rachel in the front row.

Her black dress fits close around her waist, and her hair falls loose over her shoulders. She looks exactly as I pictured her—ready for dinner and smiling at me.

She crosses one leg over the other, and her smile widens.

“Here he is.”

Everyone applauds.

I give them an easy smile out of habit, although I have no idea who they are or why they’re pleased to see me. As I look around the room, I notice a single chair at the front, facing all the others.

It takes no genius to figure out that the chair is for me.

My gaze returns to Rachel and the truth becomes clear. She didn’t invite me here because I won her over. She set something up, and judging by that smile, I’m not going to enjoy it.

I unbutton my jacket and cross the room without rushing. Whatever Rachel has planned, I’ll handle it. I have no intention of looking like a fool in front of her.

I take the chair and settle back as every face remains turned toward me. Rachel sits a few feet away, looking far too pleased with herself.

Game on.

“I’ll need someone to take notes.” I pretend to search the room before settling on Rachel. “How about you, Ms. Hartwell?”

“I’m sure you can manage,” she says lightly.

“I could, but writing everything down would divide my attention. This will go much more smoothly if you assist me.”