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His mouth twisted as he surveyed her deceptively relaxed pose on the lounger, long legs kicked out in front of her. He had no doubt her mind was going a mile a minute under those closed lids. That she wasn’t sleeping but strategizing. And a sour feeling tugged at his gut. He’d sidelined her. Put her aside as a problem he didn’t have time to deal with when it was his attraction to her that had been the issue all along. It wasn’t like him to put the personal before business, and he hated that he had.
She opened her eyes, the wariness he’d witnessed this morning making a reappearance. “Did you have a good trip?”
“I did.” He sank into the chair opposite her and poured himself a glass of her mineral water. “I owe you an apology.”
Her eyes rounded. “For what?”
“For underestimating you. For letting you languish in a role that was beneath you.”
She pushed herself up in the chair, her gaze meeting his. “We haven’t done the presentation yet.”
“I’ve seen your ideas.” He took a long swallow of the water and sat back, resting the glass on his thigh. “I was wrong about you. I should have given you a voice.” He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe you were right last night. Maybe my judgment has been off. It’s been a David-and-Goliath battle with the board.”
She pushed her finger into her cheek, a slow smile curving her lips. “I think I’m just going to say thank you and leave it at that. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
A wry smile edged his mouth. “As a matter of fact, I am. You got me thinking last night. In a good way.”
A frown marred her brow. “I might have been a bit harsh.”
He shrugged. “I needed to hear it. I haven’t had any time to think lately, and that’s when I get myself into trouble.”
She pointed toward her computer screen. “Want to see my slides?”
He nodded. “I’ve heard Alexander is a stickler for detail. He likes to wade into the minutiae—a bit of a control freak. So I want to ensure all our ducks are in order.”
They went through the slides. He loved the way she’d laid them out, made a few suggestions of his own, and in a feat that could be classified as the eighth wonder of the world, they did a perfect run-through.
Satisfied the presentation was as smooth and as flawless as it was going to get, he challenged Bailey to a tennis game. She wasn’t half bad. What she lacked in skill, she made up for in determination. Which seemed to be her modus operandi. She’d used the incredibly sharp brain she’d been born with, worked brutally hard and taken herself places.
He studied her as he waited for her to serve, concentration written across her face. Pictured her slugging it out at the local café, serving coffee all evening to put herself through school. Selling fifty pairs of shoes a day at the local mall to secure her future. And he couldn’t help but admire her.
There was a lot of substance to Bailey St. John.
* * *
Bailey was still on a high when she pulled on white capri jeans, a body-hugging tank and a gauzy sheer blouse over it for their dinner at sea. Alexander Gagnon, Maison Electronique’s director of international development and soon-to-be CEO, had flown in by helicopter while she’d been showering, the whir of the blades deafening as he’d touched down with two of Maison’s other senior marketing staff. Tonight they would get to know the three executives over dinner on Davide’s yacht, in a trip up the coast to Cannes. And tomorrow they would present their ideas to the group.
Much more comfortable with the intimate choice of setting this evening, Bailey slipped on strappy, glittery sandals, spritzed on a headier perfume for nighttime and met Jared outside his door. A slow smile curved his mouth when he opened it, denting his cheeks with those to-die-for almost-dimples. “You aren’t going to let me pick your shoes?”
She resolutely ignored the sexy indentations. “I had it under control tonight.”
His gaze swept over her, smooth and all-encompassing. “You look like you’re channeling Grace Kelly.”
She shifted her weight to the other foot. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
The hand he placed at her back to ostensibly guide her down the hallway burned into her skin. “Do that,” he murmured, bending so his softly spoken words rasped across the sensitive skin behind her ear. He looked pretty gorgeous himself in casual black pants and a short-sleeved dark blue shirt that made the most of his eyes. But she’d keep that to herself.
A small powerboat was waiting at the dock to take them out to the yacht. All the others were already on board, the crew member told them, firing the motor. Bailey took it all in, eyes wide. Growing up on a swamp in Florida, she’d been around boats her whole life. She’d seen the cruise ships lined up in Tampa when they’d visited the city. But that was a world away from this. Davide’s yacht was at least seventy feet in length, they were about to cruise to Cannes during film festival time, and it frankly seemed unreal.
As they neared the sleek yacht painted in the blue, white and red colors of the French flag, the powerboat slowed to a crawl. They pulled alongside the yacht and were helped aboard by crew members. The rosy sky descended low over them, the lights of Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat twinkling from the shore as she stood looking back from the deck. It was glorious.
Davide greeted them, then turned to introduce them to the three men beside him. She greeted the two marketing executives who had flown in from Paris, then Alexander Gagnon, a tall, distinguished male with dark hair and cold-as-flint gray eyes.
Her pulse flatlined as Alexander stepped forward. She teetered on her sandals and would have stumbled backward if Jared hadn’t placed a hand to her back and steadied her. It couldn’t be. It could not be.
Her gaze moved over him, hungry to prove herself wrong. But the cold, hard eyes that had studied her, eaten her up with an unflinching need to have her those nights in Vegas almost ten years ago, were unmistakable. And he didn’t miss a beat.
“How lovely to meet you…Bailey,” he murmured, taking her hand to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “Alexander Gagnon.”
Her breath constricted in her chest, a solid lump that threatened to choke her. She had never told him her real name. Had never told any of the men she danced for her real name. And now he knew it. She registered the fact with the almost hysterical need to turn around, jump off the boat and swim for shore.
Whether her body actually turned in that direction or whether Jared felt the shudder that went through her at the touch of Alexander Gagnon’s lips on her skin, she wasn’t sure. He released her for a moment to shake the other man’s hand, then returned his palm to her back and kept it there. Alexander’s gaze tracked the movement, then moved back to her face.
“I’m looking forward to your presentation tomorrow,” he drawled. “Davide has been telling me about your great ideas.”
Bailey’s knees were shaking so hard she had to lean into Jared to keep herself upright. She felt his gaze hard on her, but kept hers focused straight ahead. Alexander was staring at her, waiting for a response. “Yes, well, we—” she stumbled “—we’re hoping you’ll like them.”
“We know you’ll love them,” Jared corrected firmly, his palm pressing into her spine.
Alexander’s lips twisted in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve spent some time in the States. Davide mentioned you did your MBA at Stanford,” he said to Bailey. “Where did you do your undergrad?”
He knew exactly where she’d done her undergrad. A fine sheen of perspiration broke out on her brow. Her voice dry, more gravelly than she’d ever heard it, she forced out, “At UNLV.”
He snapped his fingers. “That must be it. I feel we’ve met before, but I can’t place it. I’ve entertained a lot of clients in Vegas.”
Every muscle in her body froze. The dark glitter in his eyes chilled her to the bone. “You must be mistaken,” she rasped, finding her voice. “I’m quite sure we’ve never met.”
Gauntlet laid, she lifted her chin. Alexander inclined his head. “My mistake, then.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. Requested a martini for the pure, unadorned hit of alcohol it would provide. Jared leaned down to her. “What is wrong with you?”
“I’m just not feeling…quite right.”
His penetrating blue gaze ate through her. “A martini might not be the best thing, then. Let me get you some water.”
“I’m fine,” she said sharply. “It’s probably just the boat. I’ll get over it.”
The martini helped. She sipped it, feeling the alcohol inject itself into her bloodstream, bite into the unreality gripping her. She had to find a way through this that didn’t involve jumping off the boat and getting as far away from that man as she could. She had to pull herself together. But how? He had definitely recognized her. Her mind riffled through the options, desperately, not entirely clearly. She had to continue to pretend she’d never met him. Treat him as if he was just a business acquaintance. But it was just her luck that Alexander was seated across from her at dinner. And the red shirt he had on made it impossible to forget the last time she’d seen him.
