Page 30 of Nothing More

She smoothed the front of her jacket, and said, “Yes?”

It was Melanie, expression apologetic. “I know you’re on your way out, but Mr. Ingles is here. I told him you might not be able to see him, but that I’d check.”

“Mr. Ingles?” Surprise smoothed the fear into something more like suspicion, and suspicion she could handle. She gripped it with both hands and sighed. Made a face. “I’ll see him. But only for a moment.”

Melanie nodded. “Right.” She ducked out, and a moment later the door opened wide, admitting Donovan Smith’s protégé.

“Greg. Hello.” She offered her hand.

He had a warm smile ready, and when he shook her hand, he pressed the back of it with his free hand, his head angled so he was staring down into her eyes. “Miss Blake. I’m sorry to intrude – your secretary says you’re leaving – so I won’t take up too much of your time.”

The problem with Greg Ingles – the most obvious, at least – was that, aside from being American, he was every inch the sort of man she’d dated in the past. Tall, and blond, and handsome, with large, square hands, and broad shoulders, and the sort of practiced self-confidence that was bred into boys from good homes, and polished to a satin finish at private school. The sort of man who only ever feigned modesty and that “aw, shucks” nice boy routine, but who savaged the competition in the board room. Scotch, and cigars, and a twenty-something mistress were most likely in his future, if he stayed the course. The sort of man her mother would approve of, and who Raven could easily take to modeling functions, galas, balls, charity events, and museum openings without fear of being embarrassed.

Absolutely perfect…woefully boring. Quick, impersonal sex that barely worked up a sweat, and then staring at the ceiling trying to come up with something to say other than, “Well, that was…” “Yes, wasn’t it?” “Good show.”

She could look at a man like Ingles and think yes, that’s what would be proper, and then reject the idea out of hand. He smiled at her, and he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and projected his interest bright as neon.

An interest she didn’t reciprocate.

When she could, she pulled her hand back and smiled in return – nothing neon about it, she knew. “I don’t know if you’ve spoken with your mentor this afternoon, but I’ve emailed Donovan to let him know that Iwillbe providing a prize for the gala auction.”

“He told me!” He sounded genuinely excited about it. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I was down on three at Langley & Sons when Donovan forwarded the email, so I thought I’d come thank you for your donation in person.” His smile turned apologetic, and his brows tucked together. “I’m sorry I stopped by when you were on your way out, though. I thought I might invite you to a late lunch.”

Oh, Lord. Here it came: the first overture. And she would refuse politely, because that’s how it was done in the professional world, and he would be gracious about it, and wish her a lovely afternoon…but he would ask again. And possibly again. Men trained to be relentless in business weren’t used to taking “no” for an answer, not even in their personal and romantic lives.

She smiled, and drew breath to answer–

And an arm brushed her own; fabric whispered against fabric as Toly stepped up beside her, the sudden heat of his presence startling. He blocked the light from the window, draping her in shadow, and his face, when she glanced sideways at his profile, was stonier than she’d ever seen it. He’d managed new heights of disinterest, his kohl-rimmed eyes brimming with contempt.

It was a shock. As was the hand that he rested in the most respectable part of her back, somewhere between the dip at the small of it and the band of her bra.

Equally shocking was the fact that he spoke. “Miss Blake,” he said, dark gaze pinned on Ingles. (It was gratifying to see that, though Ingles had a scant height advantage, he looked cowed by Toly.) “We’re already running late.”

Raven tried not to gape; hoped her face was at least somewhat composed. He’d never said a word in front of anyone save those she kept closest: Ian, Melanie, Cass. His accent was thick – she suspected he couldn’t control it, couldn’t slip liquidly in and out of voices the way Fox and Tenny could – and it was indeed thick now; harsh and startling beside her own upper-crust tones and Ingles’ faintly Southern speech.

Greg’s brows shot up.

Raven scrambled to compose herself and said, “Yes, that’s right, thank you, Tom.”

Toly’s gaze slid over, narrow and unimpressed, very nearly a warning.

Raven beamed at Greg. “Rain check? I really must get going, but I’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Right, that’s–” He was rattled, and though Toly’s accent was a bit startling if you weren’t expecting it, she didn’t think it warranted this sort of stuttering.

“Have Donovan call me and we’ll sort out the details for the gala,” she continued, stepping around him and heading for the door. Toly dogged her heels, his hand still firmly against her back.

“Uh…yeah.Yes.” Greg tripped over himself to catch up, surging up to walk on her other side the moment they were through the door.

Melanie’s eyes widened as they passed her desk, and Raven shook her head.Idiot men, she tried to convey with a look.

Recovered, Greg said, “We’re going to list the prizes on the website, and I’m sure there’ll be some excitement from the attendees when they see your name on it.”

“Really?”

A poor girl with an armload of fabric samples had to flatten herself against the wall as they passed, three-abreast. Raven sent her an apologetic glance, and then elbowed Toly hard in the ribs, as subtly as she could.Get behind me. But he ignored the jab, and kept pace at her side, the skin of her back beginning to tingle beneath his hand, even with two layers of fabric separating them.

“Oh, yes,” Greg was saying; she had trouble paying attention. “Donovan wasn’t trying to flatter you before: Intemporelle has become synonymous with glamour and quality. There’s no reason your designs can’t be right up there with Alexander McQueen and…well, heh. I confess I don’t know many designers. That was my ex’s area of expertise.” He laughed again, and Raven forced a chuckle.