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An email from Alex with the title Preliminary Sales Numbers jumped out from the screen. She clicked on it.
And blinked. The first line of Alex’s email had fourteen exclamation points. For a numbers girl, that was so out of character. Trinity’s eye immediately scrolled to the bottom line of the profit/loss statement.
“Holy crap.”
It was three hours later in Washington, where Alex lived, but this was too important to wait until tomorrow. Trinity thumbed up Alex on her phone and hit Call.
“Seriously?” she said when Alex answered. “A seven percent increase in sales this month?”
“Would I lie to you?” Alex’s indignation spat over the network. “No. I would not, especially not about something as sacred as my balance sheet. You are a star, my dear. Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop. You’ve almost singlehandedly halted this smear campaign in its tracks.”
Trinity sank down in her seat and shut her eyes. Figured. This had been personal for so long and she’d put her all into reversing the tide. Did this mean she and Logan had to keep going no matter what?
And how long could she actually keep it up without dissolving into a puddle of feminine confusion? Didn’t matter. She couldn’t quit now.
She plied Alex with a few platitudes, asked after Phillip and the twins her friend was carrying, avoided the topic of Logan like a champ and hung up, determined to make some headway on the campaign for Formula-47 now that everything in her life was on track.
The design program she pulled up sat there mocking her, and her mind drifted to who else? Logan. The way his hair always fell into his face and he shoved it back—she loved touching his hair, threading it through her fingers. Which of course reminded her of his big, solid body over hers...
Funny how that was the strongest image she had of him. But Logan was a closet romantic, and she sighed a little over how he expressed it. Like the single long-stemmed rose he’d given her on their first date, which she might have pressed into a book simply because no one had ever given her a rose that matched the outfit she’d been wearing the day they’d met.
The rose popped out in her mind. And twirled loose some other images. In a flash, the entire Formula-47 campaign unrolled with a million and five different bursts of inspiration.
Her fingers flew to the keyboard and when she next looked up, two hours had passed and she had a crick in her neck.
Bloom. The product was going to be called Bloom.
What better image to sell people on the idea of a cream that regenerated skin cells? Fyra’s Bloom promises to make your skin do exactly that. You’ll bloom; your youthful self will bloom; your skin will bloom. The concept had so many applications, she still had new ad copy and packaging ideas zipping through her mind despite having just devoted two hours to dumping the contents of her brain onto the screen.
It was so perfect, even she was impressed, and once she had the name, the whole thing exploded into exactly the multimillion-dollar marketing push it needed to be—and she had Logan to thank for it.
Before she could think of the ten million reasons it was a horrible plan, she ordered a bottle of the most expensive champagne on the hotel’s room service menu. Then she changed into the most seductive black bra and thong she owned, threw on a little black dress that showcased her legs and went to find the only person she had any interest in celebrating with.
When she knocked on his door, he answered with his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loose over his gorgeous chest, as if he’d shrugged it on. His blank expression melted into one of easy appreciation as he swept her with a look that burned her nerve endings.
“Wasn’t expecting you. I like the wardrobe change. As long as we’re not going out.”
She held up the champagne bottle, choosing to ignore his comment about her wardrobe. “I might be convinced to share this with the owner of today’s winning baseball team.”
“No more work tonight?” He still hadn’t moved from the door, blocking the entrance as if to say he had every intention of determining her intent before he let her in. But the sizzling look in his eyes told her he’d clued in pretty fast to why she was here, and it wasn’t to ask him to dinner.
“None. I had a breakthrough on a sticky problem and Alex told me we have a seven percent increase in sales this month. I thought you might be up for a celebration.”
He stepped back and held the door wide, allowing her to brush past him, but she didn’t get far. Snagging her arm, he took the champagne bottle and set it down on the dresser near the door, then whirled her into his arms for a kiss that rivaled the one by the elevator earlier.
Her body went up in flames. Hungrily, she kissed him back as he stripped away every ounce of doubt about what they were doing here with nothing more than his hot mouth on hers.
