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She’d shown up at his restaurant that morning with flushed cheeks, her eyes lit up from the run, and wearing a skirt that showed off her shapely legs. Little strands of hair from her bun had fallen into her eyes and he had wanted nothing more in that moment than to brush them softly off her cheeks and tuck them behind her ears, all the while relishing in the soft curve of her high cheekbones.
Thankfully, the presence of his plumber had snapped him out of it.
It was a dangerous impulse. Rachel Knight was about as far off limits as any girl he’d ever met. If Michael knew these thoughts had occurred to him, even for the briefest moment, he’d probably punch him in the face.
And he would deserve it.
Instead, he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. Mary Prescott was someone who could make or break a new restaurant such as his. Somehow, his PR firm had miraculously booked a meeting with her this afternoon. All he had to do was show up, flash a charming smile, and get her to visit San Jose. At least, that’s what the PR manager told him. He wasn’t so sure he was as charming as they made him out to be. That was a lot of pressure on a guy. But he was going to give it his best shot.
The jet landed at the Houston airfield and this time, Logan managed to keep it together. He didn’t want Rachel’s reassuring touch to cause his brain to go haywire again. He needed every brain cell that baseball had left him if he was going to close this deal and charm the socks off of Mary Prescott, the darling of the Food Channel world.
They took a town car deep into Houston, traversing the busy interstates and into downtown. The Prescott home office was located at the very top of a tall, sleek office building with reflective windows on every surface. Logan jumped into the elevator with Rachel by his side, doing his best not to fidget with his tie as they ascended.
“You’re going to do great,” Rachel said, flashing her straight, white teeth in a dazzling smile. She blinked her dark lashes and patted him on the shoulder. “You always were fantastic in high pressure situations. Remember that time the cop pulled my brother over in my dad’s Lamborghini and you talked him out of writing a ticket?”
Logan laughed, feeling the tight bands around his chest loosen from the fond memory. He couldn’t believe she still remembered that. He and Michael had sworn her to secrecy.
“Yeah, if I remember right, Michael was going a little over the speed limit.”
“Um, seventy-five in a thirty,” she answered, raising an eyebrow. “My father would’ve murdered him. I’m pretty sure you saved his life that day.”
He let himself gaze at her face for a long moment, the warm memories making his chest swell. She met his stare, the same warmth reflected in her brown eyes. He realized he’d been wrong to think that Michael was the only friend who hadn’t judged his trailer park background, both then and now. Rachel had never mentioned his lack of money either.
He could only wonder if she judged him now for the luxuries he’d surrounded himself with. A private jet. Expensive suits. Fine dining experiences. According to Michael, Rachel had always detested her father’s wealth and refused to take a single penny of his money once she graduated. Did she think he was a sellout for becoming like them?
The elevator dinged, making him flinch and pulling his attention toward the sliding doors. They stepped out onto a brightly lit floor. White walls, white tile floors, and a large white receptionist desk greeted them. Lime green chairs and a matching oval rug lay to their right. The rail-thin receptionist leaned over her desk, her bright red lips curling into a welcoming smile.
“How may I help y’all?” she asked in a cheery southern accent.
Without warning, the nervousness was back. Logan tugged at his tie and stepped toward her, pressing his lips into a thin line. “We’re here to see Ms. Prescott. My name is Logan Madison.”
“Aw, yes, Mr. Madison.” Her eyes danced with recognition. “She’s been looking forward to meeting you. I’ll let her know you’re here.”
“No need sugar, I have a sixth sense for when a beautiful man walks into my domain,” a sickly sweet voice called from behind them.
Logan turned to see Mary Prescott herself walking toward him with her arms outstretched. She wore a bright yellow blouse and tailored white trousers on her plump frame with her shoulder-length black hair coiffed into a soft wave. Bubblegum pink lipstick caught his attention as she smacked her lips and slid her cat-eye white-rimmed glasses down her nose to get a good look at him.
“Come to momma, sugar,” she cooed, winking salaciously at him. Her gaze flickered over to Rachel for one moment, who stood staring at her with an open mouth. “Why don’t you leave your pretty girlfriend here and we can talk, just the two of us?”
Chapter Five
Logan felt the tips of his ears grow warm. Mary Prescott was certainly a big personality on screen, but in real life, she was almost too much to handle. He sputtered out an unintelligible answer to her request, muttering something about Rachel not being his girlfriend. It didn’t seem to faze her. The smile that stretched across her face could’ve rivaled that of the Cheshire cat.
Mary ran a hand up his arm and squeezed his bicep with a giggle. “My, my, they’re just as nice as they appear on TV. You must work out. That’s so nice. Too many athletes go soft when they retire from the game.”
“Thank you, Ms. Prescott.” Logan rolled his shoulders in a desperate desire to dispel some of his discomfort.
“Please, call me Mary,” she said with a devious smile, placing her hands on her curvy waist. “I suppose we should get to business. Follow me. Bring your girlfriend, if you must.”
She marched off toward a glass door, swinging her hips. Logan hazarded a glance over at Rachel. She was watching him, her eyes as round as dinner plates. There was a glint of humor in them that told him he was in for it later. Being shamelessly hit on by a sixty-year-old southern woman was too good to pass up.
“Can you believe this?” she mouthed.
He shook his head. They were deep in the trenches now. No way out, but through.
Hustling after Mary Prescott, he and Rachel followed her into a corner office with a stunning view of the busy cityscape. It was just as brightly lit as the lobby, with lime green plush leather chairs and a collection of lime green clocks hanging on the wall. A sleek, white metal desk stood in the middle of the room and Mary rounded it, beckoning for them to take the green chairs.
“My assistant tells me you’re here to woo me, Logan Madison,” she said with a toothy smile, delicately seating herself in a high-backed white leather chair. Her gaze flickered to his hands and then back to his face. “Where are my flowers, Mr. Madison? Any man intent on wooing a lady should bring flowers.”
